Holiday Greetings
Dear Friend,
Can I still call you that? We haven't spoken all year, and yet, I'm sending this letter out to you. I know you ripped open the envelope (or clicked on the link, in this case) with haste. Maybe your heartbeat increased when you saw our names splayed across the top of your inbox. Then again, maybe you didn't care one single bit that we had, in fact, thought of you when we asked ourselves, To whom should we send our holiday letter? If you fall into the latter category, you are more than welcome to write to us and let us know that next year, you'd rather not be included on the holiday greetings list. (In fact, why don't you do just that. If enough of you do, then we won't feel compelled to write up the drivel you know is sure to follow. Because really, ain't nobody got time for that.)
So what to say, other than what a superb year we've had?
I'll probably have to think about the entire year for a few moments...to figure out what you'd like to know and what I'm willing to share. Not that you can't just find everything out here, on the pages of this blog. Plus, it might take me a moment to figure out how to say what I want to say. I mean, should I write everything in first person? Or should I follow the more literary route and speak to you in third person? Then, I have to decide: third limited or omniscient? Of course, I'd lean toward omniscient, as this letter is supposed to regale thetrials and tribulations joy and wonder that happened to this screwball family this year. Which means I need to get in the head of everyone, or at least report like I know everything. (I should, I'm the mom, right?) You see what happens? I get caught up in the minutiae and here you are, thinking to yourself to get on with it. Just get the hell on with it! (Oops. This is a family blog. And I didn't put a disclaimer. Well here it is: be forewarned...this post might not constitute a completely family-friendly letter.)
I will tell you one item I won't be sharing in this letter: a picture. Tim and I don't take too many photographs of ourselves, only those of the kids. Part of this lack of documentation might be that we're too busy playing with or taking care of the kids, but a little part of it has to do with the fact that our digital camera is 12 years old. (Yes, that's right. It still works, so why get rid of it? I say the same thing about Tim. All. The. Time.) So if you feel like comparing our fortyish bodies to yours, or if you want to see how we've aged, then I have to say, get used to disappointment and just move on. This is not the right forum. But I will tell you this: Tim still looks the same as he did in high school, albeit a smidge heavier. I look almost the same, except for the wrinkles. (My skin refuses to stay hydrated and I find myself squinting at this computer screen day after day. Those are my excuses...I really have no idea what Tim's excuse is.)
Anyhoo, back to the task at hand. I don't want to waste too much of your time. Let's see, what have we done this year? And what would you like to know? Should I talk about all the awards my kids have won? (Um...they might have won a few, but I'd rather not brag. My snowflakes aren't any more special than yours.) Or the fact that I found great literary success? (I didn't, but I did get a short story published.) Why exactly am I writing then? That's a good question. Many times, I ask myself that very question in cases of letters like these. Keep it short, I think. But then look at this. See all those words down there? Up above? I can't seem to keep it short, either. I guess I'll just spell everything out for you, person by person. If I wrote about our year month by month, you'd be reading about my loving, dysfunctional family well into 2015. (And that is your cue to exit, if you so choose.)
To make this simple and slightly less verbose (hah!) we'll go in birth order of the children, and combine Zoe and Talia. The girls despise when people do that--putting them together without asking, or assuming that if it's good for one half of the identical twin combination, it's good for both--but I have proof that they do it to themselves. Right now, sitting under our slightly underwhelming Christmas tree, are gifts from both of them. In fact, the tag says, To: Aaron, From: Z and T. So, if the girls combine themselves, I think it's appropriate for me to do it, too. Especially when I'm trying to save time here.
The question is, what can I report? As many of you know, the twins turned 12 in January. (I'm still in shock that I'm a parent of two not-always-my-favorite-age 12-year-olds. What will happen in a little over a month, when they've reached 13? Wrinkles on my face won't be the only problem I have.) Since that time, they've been dealing out almost-teen attitude, especially toward their siblings. I find myself, daily, asking them to think about their tone of voice, or whether or not what they said seemed appropriate. ("Yes, Mom, in my head, it seemed appropriate." Then, as they turn away, I wave the middle finger behind their backs. I do. I'm not kidding. You knew I wasn't a saint. Apparently, I'm not a very good mom, either.) These oh-so-lovely-ladies wrapped up their first year of middle school, played far too much Wii over weekends and spring break, and read more book pages than many of their cohorts combined. (Hey, they might have won an award for that...I can't remember. If I did remember, I'd be considered a much better parent, of course, especially if I take out the middle-finger waving.) Most importantly, for much of 2014, both Zoe and Talia begged for a phone. Here we are, at December 22, and we still haven't caved into that demand. I have no plans to do so for at least six months, maybe longer, if I'm lucky. If I tie giving them each a phone to something like, say, reaching a height of five feet, I've got it made. Those chances are slim, and it won't be happening in the next six years. At which time, they will be headed off to college, where they can work a part-time job to supplement a phone and the costs that go with it.
I'm sure that paragraph just blew you away, didn't it? Think of all the letters you'll be receiving this holiday season. I'm sure ours will rise to the top of the list as the one with the most important news to share.
That thought, of course, provides a great segue into writing about Aaron, who hasn't asked for a phone this year. Why? Because he was too distracted by the discovery of his abdominal muscles, a body part he showed off to as many people as he could. (Hey, it's better than the alternative. But just wait...) I'm not sure if he thinks those muscles will be a chick magnet or if he just likes to look at his torso flex. Either way, he spent much of the year running around naked at home, even though he turned ten in November. Yes, ten years old and still playing in his birthday suit. (Hold on, Tim still does the same thing. I think the presence of the Y chromosome explains everything there.) This year also stands as a monumental year in the subject of Aaron's hobbies. He played a load of soccer (and is having fun and learning...what a concept), and built many structures: buildings, forts, disco balls, etc. Recycled cardboard, wood, dog food bags--you name it, he used the materials to construct something this past year. The pièce de résistance? His Halloween costume. And what did he dress up for on Halloween? A toilet. Come to think of it, he won an award for that toilet costume... (He sure knows how to make a momma proud.)
I think it's good to just move on at this point to Melina. Not to imply that she's worth no more than what you find at the bottom of a toilet, because she's completely worth more than that. You all know it. In fact, she's the golden child, right? She listens well, she goes to bed pretty easily. She's the star of the show most of the time. She's the one we'll find on Broadway, singing her heart out, or maybe in the alley behind Broadway in a pair of fishnets and a fur shrug, I'm not sure. It's a crapshoot with this fourth child. But how did 2014 go for her? Swell. I'd say that word sums up her year. Wait, that word is not fancy enough. So let's change it to something more fabulous, like exceptional. She charmed the pants off the people at school and earned her reading stripes. She transitioned into first grade with great success (and only a few meltdowns) and last week, she performed as the lead in her reading group's rendition of Little Red Riding Hood. Plus, she received the Frozen CD and soundtrack this year. Clearly, life couldn't be better for her! (I'm a little worried that lately, she's invented a new language, some cross between Swedish, Russian, and one of the 40 Polynesian languages out there. While it's cute, I have no idea what she's saying. Maybe that's a good thing...)
And what about Tim and me? What can I say about us? (I know we're the ones you're really interested in.) The cold winter temperatures of January, February, and March forced me to pull out the old Michigan parka and the patience, considering the temps seemed never ending, much like the constant bickering of the kids. I taught this year, which provided a nice break from the monotony of writing time and volunteering at the elementary school (can you feel the sarcasm in that statement?). My foray into more teaching hours also forced me to admit that I still possesses a shred of passion for the subjects of muscle and nerve. However, if by some grace of good luck I found a literary agent who wanted one of my books, I'd jump off the teaching bandwagon. Stat. I also hurt my psoas muscle, I haven't run since August 2, and who would blame me if I slipped a little Bailey's into my coffee right about now, eh? (Most of you already know this, right?)
There's not much to report about Tim. He likes his job. (Wow, that's a really descriptive and helpful sentence for you. And I call myself a writer?) He's involved in both old-man soccer and old-man baseball now, so his knees tend to thank him more often these days (less time crouched down as catcher). That baseball team, by the way, won the World Series this year. Great job, Mudcats! As you already know from the notes from above, Tim spends time in the buff. He also builds toys with Aaron, sings with Melina, and tries to spread his love of math to the twins. He still leaves his socks on the floor and his coats on the chair, but after more than 14 years of that behavior, I'm not going to start to complain now. (It does no good, anyway.)
That's about it, really. I guess I could tell you that we found a dog, and then rehomed a dog. We adopted a cat and kept the cat. Which means that our family only grew by one mammal, which is in part thanks to a vasectomy in late 2013. (Oh, did we forget to mention that in last year's letter? That's right, we don't usually write these...) Well, thanks to that simple outpatient procedure, Tim and Chris saw an increase in activity in 2014, if you know what I mean. And no new kids means the vasectomy was a success. Like I said, 2014 was a superb year.
And on that note, it's time to say goodbye.
Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Festivus, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy whatever the hell you celebrate or don't,
Chris, Tim, Zoe, Talia, Aaron, Melina, Lucy, Shadow, and Heathcliff
Can I still call you that? We haven't spoken all year, and yet, I'm sending this letter out to you. I know you ripped open the envelope (or clicked on the link, in this case) with haste. Maybe your heartbeat increased when you saw our names splayed across the top of your inbox. Then again, maybe you didn't care one single bit that we had, in fact, thought of you when we asked ourselves, To whom should we send our holiday letter? If you fall into the latter category, you are more than welcome to write to us and let us know that next year, you'd rather not be included on the holiday greetings list. (In fact, why don't you do just that. If enough of you do, then we won't feel compelled to write up the drivel you know is sure to follow. Because really, ain't nobody got time for that.)
So what to say, other than what a superb year we've had?
I'll probably have to think about the entire year for a few moments...to figure out what you'd like to know and what I'm willing to share. Not that you can't just find everything out here, on the pages of this blog. Plus, it might take me a moment to figure out how to say what I want to say. I mean, should I write everything in first person? Or should I follow the more literary route and speak to you in third person? Then, I have to decide: third limited or omniscient? Of course, I'd lean toward omniscient, as this letter is supposed to regale the
I will tell you one item I won't be sharing in this letter: a picture. Tim and I don't take too many photographs of ourselves, only those of the kids. Part of this lack of documentation might be that we're too busy playing with or taking care of the kids, but a little part of it has to do with the fact that our digital camera is 12 years old. (Yes, that's right. It still works, so why get rid of it? I say the same thing about Tim. All. The. Time.) So if you feel like comparing our fortyish bodies to yours, or if you want to see how we've aged, then I have to say, get used to disappointment and just move on. This is not the right forum. But I will tell you this: Tim still looks the same as he did in high school, albeit a smidge heavier. I look almost the same, except for the wrinkles. (My skin refuses to stay hydrated and I find myself squinting at this computer screen day after day. Those are my excuses...I really have no idea what Tim's excuse is.)
Anyhoo, back to the task at hand. I don't want to waste too much of your time. Let's see, what have we done this year? And what would you like to know? Should I talk about all the awards my kids have won? (Um...they might have won a few, but I'd rather not brag. My snowflakes aren't any more special than yours.) Or the fact that I found great literary success? (I didn't, but I did get a short story published.) Why exactly am I writing then? That's a good question. Many times, I ask myself that very question in cases of letters like these. Keep it short, I think. But then look at this. See all those words down there? Up above? I can't seem to keep it short, either. I guess I'll just spell everything out for you, person by person. If I wrote about our year month by month, you'd be reading about my loving, dysfunctional family well into 2015. (And that is your cue to exit, if you so choose.)
To make this simple and slightly less verbose (hah!) we'll go in birth order of the children, and combine Zoe and Talia. The girls despise when people do that--putting them together without asking, or assuming that if it's good for one half of the identical twin combination, it's good for both--but I have proof that they do it to themselves. Right now, sitting under our slightly underwhelming Christmas tree, are gifts from both of them. In fact, the tag says, To: Aaron, From: Z and T. So, if the girls combine themselves, I think it's appropriate for me to do it, too. Especially when I'm trying to save time here.
The question is, what can I report? As many of you know, the twins turned 12 in January. (I'm still in shock that I'm a parent of two not-always-my-favorite-age 12-year-olds. What will happen in a little over a month, when they've reached 13? Wrinkles on my face won't be the only problem I have.) Since that time, they've been dealing out almost-teen attitude, especially toward their siblings. I find myself, daily, asking them to think about their tone of voice, or whether or not what they said seemed appropriate. ("Yes, Mom, in my head, it seemed appropriate." Then, as they turn away, I wave the middle finger behind their backs. I do. I'm not kidding. You knew I wasn't a saint. Apparently, I'm not a very good mom, either.) These oh-so-lovely-ladies wrapped up their first year of middle school, played far too much Wii over weekends and spring break, and read more book pages than many of their cohorts combined. (Hey, they might have won an award for that...I can't remember. If I did remember, I'd be considered a much better parent, of course, especially if I take out the middle-finger waving.) Most importantly, for much of 2014, both Zoe and Talia begged for a phone. Here we are, at December 22, and we still haven't caved into that demand. I have no plans to do so for at least six months, maybe longer, if I'm lucky. If I tie giving them each a phone to something like, say, reaching a height of five feet, I've got it made. Those chances are slim, and it won't be happening in the next six years. At which time, they will be headed off to college, where they can work a part-time job to supplement a phone and the costs that go with it.
I'm sure that paragraph just blew you away, didn't it? Think of all the letters you'll be receiving this holiday season. I'm sure ours will rise to the top of the list as the one with the most important news to share.
That thought, of course, provides a great segue into writing about Aaron, who hasn't asked for a phone this year. Why? Because he was too distracted by the discovery of his abdominal muscles, a body part he showed off to as many people as he could. (Hey, it's better than the alternative. But just wait...) I'm not sure if he thinks those muscles will be a chick magnet or if he just likes to look at his torso flex. Either way, he spent much of the year running around naked at home, even though he turned ten in November. Yes, ten years old and still playing in his birthday suit. (Hold on, Tim still does the same thing. I think the presence of the Y chromosome explains everything there.) This year also stands as a monumental year in the subject of Aaron's hobbies. He played a load of soccer (and is having fun and learning...what a concept), and built many structures: buildings, forts, disco balls, etc. Recycled cardboard, wood, dog food bags--you name it, he used the materials to construct something this past year. The pièce de résistance? His Halloween costume. And what did he dress up for on Halloween? A toilet. Come to think of it, he won an award for that toilet costume... (He sure knows how to make a momma proud.)
I think it's good to just move on at this point to Melina. Not to imply that she's worth no more than what you find at the bottom of a toilet, because she's completely worth more than that. You all know it. In fact, she's the golden child, right? She listens well, she goes to bed pretty easily. She's the star of the show most of the time. She's the one we'll find on Broadway, singing her heart out, or maybe in the alley behind Broadway in a pair of fishnets and a fur shrug, I'm not sure. It's a crapshoot with this fourth child. But how did 2014 go for her? Swell. I'd say that word sums up her year. Wait, that word is not fancy enough. So let's change it to something more fabulous, like exceptional. She charmed the pants off the people at school and earned her reading stripes. She transitioned into first grade with great success (and only a few meltdowns) and last week, she performed as the lead in her reading group's rendition of Little Red Riding Hood. Plus, she received the Frozen CD and soundtrack this year. Clearly, life couldn't be better for her! (I'm a little worried that lately, she's invented a new language, some cross between Swedish, Russian, and one of the 40 Polynesian languages out there. While it's cute, I have no idea what she's saying. Maybe that's a good thing...)
And what about Tim and me? What can I say about us? (I know we're the ones you're really interested in.) The cold winter temperatures of January, February, and March forced me to pull out the old Michigan parka and the patience, considering the temps seemed never ending, much like the constant bickering of the kids. I taught this year, which provided a nice break from the monotony of writing time and volunteering at the elementary school (can you feel the sarcasm in that statement?). My foray into more teaching hours also forced me to admit that I still possesses a shred of passion for the subjects of muscle and nerve. However, if by some grace of good luck I found a literary agent who wanted one of my books, I'd jump off the teaching bandwagon. Stat. I also hurt my psoas muscle, I haven't run since August 2, and who would blame me if I slipped a little Bailey's into my coffee right about now, eh? (Most of you already know this, right?)
There's not much to report about Tim. He likes his job. (Wow, that's a really descriptive and helpful sentence for you. And I call myself a writer?) He's involved in both old-man soccer and old-man baseball now, so his knees tend to thank him more often these days (less time crouched down as catcher). That baseball team, by the way, won the World Series this year. Great job, Mudcats! As you already know from the notes from above, Tim spends time in the buff. He also builds toys with Aaron, sings with Melina, and tries to spread his love of math to the twins. He still leaves his socks on the floor and his coats on the chair, but after more than 14 years of that behavior, I'm not going to start to complain now. (It does no good, anyway.)
That's about it, really. I guess I could tell you that we found a dog, and then rehomed a dog. We adopted a cat and kept the cat. Which means that our family only grew by one mammal, which is in part thanks to a vasectomy in late 2013. (Oh, did we forget to mention that in last year's letter? That's right, we don't usually write these...) Well, thanks to that simple outpatient procedure, Tim and Chris saw an increase in activity in 2014, if you know what I mean. And no new kids means the vasectomy was a success. Like I said, 2014 was a superb year.
And on that note, it's time to say goodbye.
Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Festivus, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy whatever the hell you celebrate or don't,
Chris, Tim, Zoe, Talia, Aaron, Melina, Lucy, Shadow, and Heathcliff
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P.s. In case it is missed, that signature is for the original. Merry Christmas to her too! ;)