One More Sleep 'Til Christmas

Baby Brother has eagerly been counting down the days until Christmas. Or, rather, the sleeps until Christmas.

When we were making chocolate truffles, he informed me that there were seven more sleeps until Christmas.

When we were making gingerbread houses, he informed me that there were four more sleeps until Christmas.

When we were in the movie theater watching Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens in IMAX and 3D, he got my attention during the movie. Was he scared? Did he need to go to the bathroom? No; he just wanted to tell me that he was excited for Christmas and that there were "three more sleeps until Christmas!"

But finally, it's here. The day that Baby Brother has been waiting for all along is here. There's only one more sleep until Christmas.

Tomorrow, Christmas will be here! So get excited.

Merry Christmas!

A Christmas Story

Context: Little Sister, Baby Sister, and I have a tradition of getting lunch together on Christmas Eve. Two years ago, we had a particularly special experience.

The first miracle was that we went to Chili's at all.

I don't really like Chili's. My sisters don't really like Chili's. We hold the Annual Little Sisters' Christmas Eve Lunch at a different restaurant every year, but we choose restaurants that we, you know, enjoy. Yet against all logic, we agreed that this year, we were going to Chili's.

So at Chili's we arrived, wearing our festive holiday outfits. And when I say festive, I'm not kidding around. We wore red, green, gold, and silver. Baby Sister had jewelry made from tiny jingle bells. We've even been known to put wrapping paper bows in our hair.

Your average restaurant is fairly empty on Christmas Eve, and Chili's was no exception. This Chili's had two sections, a bar and dining room to the left of the entryway and a regular dining room to the right. A few men were seated at the bar, but nobody was in the other dining room.

The hostess smiled when we walked in. She grabbed three menus and began to lead us into the empty dining room to her right...

...and then stopped. Something had stopped her. She stood there for a second, did an about-face, and led us instead to a booth near the bar. That was the second miracle.

Not that we wanted to sit by the bar. In fact, as we sat down I was wishing we'd been seated in the dining room instead. I learned when I was in Europe that people who have been drinking are often unpleasant to be around, and the Annual Little Sisters' Christmas Eve Lunch should not be unpleasant.

Almost immediately, the older man sitting closest to us turned around and began to talk to us.

"Do you want these chips and queso?" he said. "They make you order food if you drink this early, but I don't want them. I promise I've barely touched them!"

"Um," we said.

It is generally not a good idea for young ladies to accept chips and queso from strange men. I would normally never do it. I would normally never encourage my young sisters to do it. But something made me feel like I should.

"Thanks," we said. We gingerly dug into the chips and queso. We hoped that he'd leave us alone.

 

Photo courtesy of Little Sister.

But our new acquaintance was either socially inept, or a little tipsy, or very lonely to be drinking alone early on Christmas Eve, or a combination of all three of those things, because he didn't seem to get that we were trying to brush him off. He kept looking over at us and beaming at us and talking to us.

It is generally an even worse idea for young ladies to allow possibly tipsy men to begin conversations with them. I was aware of this. But after a few times of him not getting that we wanted to be left alone, I had a thought.

I thought about one of my uncles, who hasn't spent Christmas with his family for many years, partly due to choice and partly due to addictions. If my uncle were sitting alone at a bar on Christmas Eve (and, I reflected, for all I knew he was), I would want somebody to be kind to him.

I told my sisters this later. "We thought that exact same thing!" they said. And that was another miracle.

So, cautiously, we began to talk, really talk, to the man at the bar. We told him our first names and a little about ourselves. We told him we were sisters.

"No!" he exclaimed, genuinely surprised. "I don't believe it! You're sisters? But you look nothing alike!"

"It's true!" we laughed.

He shook his head in amazement. "I don't believe it!"

The next miracle came in an unexpected form.

The only thing that Baby Sister was super excited about for our Chili's lunch was ordering and drinking a bottle of root beer. Because root beer, of course, tastes better from the bottle. Baby Sister drank it heartily.

 

Baby Sister + root beer = true love

Now, Baby Sister is tiny, but when she burps, it's loud. Runner Bean once scored her burps on a scale of 1 to 10, and she got high marks.

So when Baby Sister burped partway through the bottle of root beer, everybody heard it.

BUUURP.

Us. The waiters. Everyone at the bar. They all turned to look at Baby Sister. Baby Sister doesn't really get embarrassed often, so she kind of just shrugged it off. And so everyone smiled or laughed, and the room got about ten degrees jollier.

Our friend was beaming. "You remind me of my little sister!" he exclaimed. "She's tiny, but boy, can she burp!"

He was excited when Baby Sister burped again (loudly again). "Just like my sister!"

We kept talking and talking to him about Christmas in general. And he kept talking and talking right back. Before we knew it, it was time for us to head home. Then we did discovered the last miracle.

Our waiter came over with a huge smile on his face. "Your meal has already been paid for," he told us. Tip and all.

Our first reaction was that the man we'd been talking to had paid for our meal. But then a man at the other end of the bar waved at us and said with a grin, "Merry Christmas!"

We were really touched!

We left an extra tip for our waiter, wrote thank-you notes for the queso and our meals, and wished everyone a Merry Christmas on our way out the door.

When we burst into the Obnoxious home, here's what was said.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: You'll never believe what happened!

LITTKE SISTER: It's a Christmas miracle!

BABY SISTER: THE BEST WAY TO SPREAD CHRISTMAS CHEER IS BY BURPING LOUD FOR ALL TO HEAR!

A Savior Is Born

I've been trying all day to write you a beautiful blog post that explains why it's so important that a little baby was born in a stable in Bethlehem 2,000+ years ago.

The manner of Jesus Christ's birth is not incidental to his life. He wasn't a normal baby that grew into a person who did amazing things. He was predestined for greatness literally from conception. And even before--my church believes that He was foreordained to be our Savior.

We humans need a Savior. After death, we can live with God forever. But only if we meet the conditions of being cleansed of our imperfections and of having eternal, resurrected bodies.

For us to be cleansed of our imperfections, someone has to suffer for them: suffer for our sins, our mistakes, our missteps. For us to be resurrected, someone has to "break the bands of death." That's the phrase they use, which in my personal interpretation means that if somebody willingly sacrifices himself and then comes back to life under his own power, death is destroyed. A door that once only opened inward is suddenly swinging on loose hinges, allowing people to both go in and come out.

The problem here is that, to my understanding, a prerequisite for suffering for other people's sins is to have no sins yourself. Mortals by definition are imperfect. Also physically incapable of withstanding that kind of suffering. And without the power to raise themselves from the dead. A god is perfect, and physically capable, and powerful, but a god has a resurrected body that cannot die.

The Savior could not be a mortal. He could not be a god. So God arranged a way for Him to be both. Born of a Heavenly Father and an earthly mother, Jesus Christ had the perfection and the capability and the power of a god but the mortality of, well, a mortal. He, and only He, could willingly suffer and die for us so that we might be cleansed and resurrected. That was literally what He was born for.

That's beautiful to me. I hope it's beautiful to you, too.

Merry Christmas.

The Christmas Dance

A few weeks ago, Baby Sister went to the annual Hometown High Christmas dance. Which she apparently has time to do when she's not being a lead in a musical, doing face painting, or getting nominated for Best Supporting Actress by the Utah High School Musical Theatre Guild of People Who Nominate Other People. Or whatever they're called.

Basically, you will never be as cool as Baby Sister so you should just stop trying. The end.

For the dance, Baby Sister donned a teal velveteen top with a brocade skirt, a combination of her own devising. I took her to buy gold jewelry at Target and she did her own hair and makeup because, again, she's cool enough and skillful enough to do that. She looked like a million and one bucks.

All of this dance prepping reminded me of when I was Baby Sister's age and went to the Hometown High Christmas dance.

The Christmas dance is the only dressy uppy girls' choice dance at Hometown High, so you better believe I was careful about who I asked. I decided to ask the Good Guy, for reasons that you probably understand from the moniker that he is herein given.

On the day of the day of the dance I, like Baby Sister, wore teal. I'd borrowed this pretty dress from Bessie, who'd worn it to Homecoming the year before. The dress's best feature was arguably a strip of black lace around the waist. I wore it with silver jewelry and my official school dance shoes, which were black and satiny heels with little bows on the front. I was pretty excited to wear this ensemble. I was also very conscious of the fact that it was a borrowed dress, and I was determined not to get it dirty.

Now, the weather had been pretty bad that day. Not as bad as the weather earlier this week, but bad enough that Shutterbug's parents insisted on picking us up after dinner and driving us to the dance themselves.

There was snow and ice everywhere when Shutterbug, Etch-a-Sketch and I went to pick up our dates. The Good Guy lived on a fairly steep hill, so we went carefully, carefully up to get him.

Shutterbug pulled into the driveway cautiously. I stepped out of the car cautiously and took a cautious step.

Cautious, but tractionless. My official school dance shoes went one way, my torso went another, and suddenly I was sprawled on the Good Guy's driveway.

I heard the car door open. "Are you okay?" Shutterbug said.

I was okay. And the boutonnière I'd brought for the Good Guy was also okay. But the front and side of the borrowed teal dress were all wet.

And so, in my awkwardly wet dress, I trekked up the driveway so I could go inside and awkwardly complete one of the most awkward rituals of all time aka pinning a boutonnière to a boy's lapel while his parents are watching. And taking pictures.

Recently, the Good Guy found a picture of us at the dance on Facebook and shared it. You know, to be all, "Ha ha, do you remember that, Awkward Mormon Girl?" That kind of thing.

And I was all, "Ha ha DO I EVER."

Snow Day

You know how sometimes in movies, when something bad happens and one of the characters lets out a huge "NOOOOO"?

Well, this morning, I woke up, checked the weather, and as soon as I saw that it was snowing my soul did a big "NOOOOO!"

And then it did it again when I opened the door and stepped foot in a foot of snow.

And again when I was lurching through the streets of Hometown.

And again when I saw the line to get on the overpass to Work City.

And again when my car got stuck on the overpass. (A friendly stranger got out of his car and actually pushed mine up the overpass.)

And then I was all snowed out and NOed out. So after about fifteen minutes of crawling on the treacherous freeway, I realized this was more than I could handle and I got off at the nearest exit to drive back home.

When I got home, my roommates were preparing to go to work. We all work in the same city, and when they saw that I was distraught at my lack of mad snow driving skillz they offered to drive me.

But then they stepped outside and saw the snow, and their souls also did a big "NOOOOO!" And then we all walked back into our apartment to wait until the roads were a little more clear.

Back in the apartment, there was hot chocolate and Christmas music and the light of our beautifully decorated Christmas tree. We all started talking about what we would do if we couldn't go into work today. A glorious fantasy of a snow day where we all stayed home began to dance in our heads.

Then the Christmas tree lights blinked off...on...off...on...off.

The power was out.

Immediately, we began to discuss flashlights and candles and emergency rations. This soon turned to talk of the zombie apocalypse, and how we would get weapons, and in which direction we would flee to get away from the zombies.

It was a pretty well-laid out plan. And so the glorious fantasy of the snow day was replaced with the exciting vision of surviving the zombie apocalypse.

But then we checked traffic and saw that the roads were now clear. Which meant it was time to go to work. Which knowledge killed both the remnant of the glorious fantasy and the momentum of the exciting vision.

Like good adults, we went outside to our cars, shoveled the driveway, and headed off to work.

I rode with Pepper to work and with the Seamstress home. And then, in return for their hospitality, I grandly announced that I would drive all of us to our ward Christmas party that evening.

I should now tell you that our party was at our church meetinghouse. Said meetinghouse is at the top of a hill. Hills are known for being inclined surfaces. Inclined surfaces are known for not being compatible with driving in the snow.

Remember how I got stuck driving up a slightly inclined overpass this morning? Remember how I couldn't handle driving in the snow? Remember how I cried? You don't remember that part, because I previously didn't tell you about it. But it happened. I cried quite a lot.

I don't know why I volunteered to drive up the hill to the party. And I especially don't know why I felt so sure that I could do it. But I changed into some party clothes, and I scraped the snow off my Honda, and I hustled my roommates into the car and I drove.

Calmly and easily, I drove the Honda up the hill. We went to the party. We ate. We left. We headed down the hill. We got stuck towards the top and had to be pushed by more kind strangers. Apparently there are lots of kind strangers when it's snowing.

Finally we were on our way down the hill, really down. As we slipped down the snowy hill, at long last my resolve began to break. I was amazed that I'd ever volunteered to go up the hill. I was amazed that we'd made it to the top. I was particularly amazed that I for some reason had also decided it was a good idea to go down.

Why do I do these things to myself?

In a show of bravado, I yelled, "Snow doesn't scare us! Only snow zombies."

But that was a lie, obviously. Because snow scares me. A lot. I would rather have faced snow zombies than snow. We had a plan for snow zombies. I do not know how to plan for snow.

But too late! Gravity had its way with us. We went down, down, down the slippery hill.

Here's some good news: we survived! Here's some bad news: there's approximately ten thousand days left of Utah winter.

I have another party tomorrow, but I'm getting somebody else to drive.

Eight Days of Hanukkah

In honor of Hanukkah, I have written you a song. Or rather, I have written new words for an old familiar song.

And before you're all, "Ooh, Awkward Mormon Girl! You're a practicing Christian even if you are of Jewish descent! It's probably not, shall we say, kosher for you to write Hanukkah songs!"

Well, guess what? A weirdly large percentage of Christmas songs were written by Jews. So...you know.

Also, I want you to know that I almost titled this post "On the First Day of Hanukkah My True Love Gave Me Absolutely Nothing Because I Don't Have a True Love," but I decided that was too long and whiney. So I didn't do that and you're welcome.

On the first day of Hanukkah, my true love gave to me
A Zealot named Judas Maccabee

On the second day of Hanukkah, my true love gave to me
Two games of dreidel
And a Zealot named Judas Maccabee

On the third day of Hanukkah, my true love gave to me
Three kosher pickles
Two games of dreidel
And a Zealot named Judas Maccabee

On the fourth day of Hanukkah, my true love gave to me
Four prayer shawls
Three kosher pickles
Two games of dreidel
And a Zealot named Judas Maccabee

On the fifth day of Hanukkah, my true love gave to me
FIVE GOLDEN SHEKELS (dramatic pause)
Four prayer shawls
Three kosher pickles
Two games of dreidel
And a Zealot named Judas Maccabee

On the sixth day of Hanukkah, my true love gave to me
Six plates of latkes
FIVE GOLDEN SHEKELS (dramatic pause)
Four prayer shawls
Three kosher pickles
Two games of dreidel
And a Zealot named Judas Maccabee

On the seventh day of Hanukkah, my true love gave to me
Seven Stars of David
Six plates of latkes
FIVE GOLDEN SHEKELS (dramatic pause)
Four prayer shawls
Three kosher pickles
Two games of dreidel
And a Zealot named Judas Maccabee

On the eighth day of Hanukkah, my true love gave to me
Eight days of miracles
Seven Stars of David
Six plates of latkes
FIVE GOLDEN SHEKELS (dramatic pause)
Four prayer shawls
Three kosher pickles
Two games of dreidel
And a Zealot named Judas Maccabee

'Tis the Season to Overschedule

Every December, I have two kajillion and three things planned. There are Christmas festivities, family in town, friends on break from school, service projects to participate in, good movies coming out, and all sorts of other loveliness. When I was in public school, I had many band and choir performances. When I was in college, I had finals. And often, work picks up before the end of the year. When I worked in fast food, I used to work two or three times as many hours during December as I did during the rest of the months.

One year, a fellow asked me on a date at the end of November. And I said, "Well, let's see. The next time that I'll be free is probably... December 21st." I think he thought that I was lying, but I most certainly wasn't.

If someone asked me on a date right now, I'd have to tell them to wait until next year. 'Cause I ain't got time for that. I have so many things going on between now and the end of the year that I feel like I'm about to spontaneously combust. Everything is happening at once. It's a good thing that I don't have to schedule time to breathe, because if I did, I would die.

Overscheduling is, I should mention, often the Obnoxious way. My family tends to live at the speed of light, moving from activity to activity barely hanging on by the seat of our pants. Sometimes it's a good thing: we do get things done. Sometimes it's a little much. Or a lot much.

So far, I've managed to juggle everything really well. Except for the fact that I've become a little, shall we say, loopy. I'm here. I'm there. I'm all over the place.

Over the weekend, I identified all the potential problems in a potential relationship with this guy I don't really know but kind of think is cute. First I identified all the problems; then I solved them. And I was like, "There we go! Things will definitely work out and we can get married sometime in the next year and have seven kids." And then I started writing a journal entry explaining all of this to my posterity and whoever else is going to read my journal. And then halfway through I was like, "Wait. What? Why did I do this? I don't even know anything about this guy. What is wrong with me? Why did I spend so much time on this?" The answer is that at some point, my rational mind became overtired from being worked so hard. It stopped working the way it usually does and instead started rationalizing things that don't make sense. And that's only the beginning.

On the way home from work today, I was crying. When I walked in the door, I was angry. And about five minutes later, I was peaceful and serene and preparing a pot of beef stew. And a couple of hours later, I was being vaguely charming at family home evening. And now I'm all giddy and happy and I don't even know. While I was in the shower, I composed a Hanukkah carol of my own devising (because it's the first night of Hanukkah, goyim.) I'm giggling while I write this.

I think I am currently a little what they call, what's the word, unstable.

But oh well! There are things that must be done, and I will do them. By the grace of God, I will get through this month.

A Fear of Doing Good

Something's on my mind.

It's been on my mind for a while now. A month at least. I've brought it up in my institute class and in the temple prep class that I teach. I think about it all the time.

It's from Doctrine and Covenants Section 6. I love Section 6. Section 6 has gotten me through the past year. It seems like every time I read it, I notice something new.

One day, I particularly noticed these verses:

33 Fear not to do good, my sons, for whatsoever ye sow, that shall ye also reap; therefore, if ye sow good ye shall also reap good for your reward.

34 Therefore, fear not, little flock; do good; let earth and hell combine against you, for if ye are built upon my rock, they cannot prevail.

At first I was like, "That's so weird! Why are we being told not to be afraid of doing good? Who's afraid of doing good? Why would anyone be afraid of that?!"

But then I thought about all those times I considered helping somebody out, but didn't. The reasons I didn't help them out usually weren't, "I don't have the time/money/desire to help." They were usually one of the following:

1) "They probably won't want my help."

2) "They will think I'm weird for noticing that they need help. They'll think I'm a stalker/have a crush on them."

3) "Someone else will do it better than I could."

4) "They would prefer that somebody else help them."

And so and so forth. In short, I don't help because I'm afraid of looking silly or embarrassing myself or butting in where I'm not wanted.

Isn't that weird? Humans are weird.

I know I'm not the only person who feels this way. When I mentioned this to my temple prep class in connection with how service prepares us for the temple, so many students told stories of how they helped somebody that they were afraid to help or how somebody else they didn't know well helped them. Their words taught me that most of the time, people are glad to receive help of any kind. We shouldn't be so afraid of offering service to one another!

Anyways, that's my spiel. It's Christmas. Let's serve each other and not be afraid. K thnx bye.