scenes from our holiday

worth the read

Just had to share the best post I've read in a long time. Enjoy!

the giver

My grandma was a good giver of gifts. Christmas was her favorite, and she knew how to do it well. She made her famous hand-dipped chocolates, supervisesd Grandpa as he hung the rainbow colored lights on the house, and filled her cookie jar to overflowing.

And, Grandma hosted the annual {marathon of a} family party. It always included good food, a ‘talent show’ by the grandkids, and a re-enactment of the Nativity. The culmination of the evening, the part she joyed in the most, was watching everyone open up presents. She’d sit in her chair, directing traffic. I was the oldest grandchild and the official present-hander-outer. She pointed and told me who got what, and in what order. Sometimes, if she bought people the same thing, she had them open their gifts at the same time. That bit of frenzy always made her laugh.

Grandma didn’t have good health, so she couldn’t trudge through the mall. She was a catalog shopper. This was, of course, before the days of cyber-Monday and Amazon, so she had a huge basket full of catalogs from practically every retailer in the country. She scoured the pages, circling items and dog-ear-marking pages. I discovered that I could get a pretty good ‘sneak peek’ at what the Christmas party held in store if I stealthily perused her catalog stash. When she couldn’t find something by mail order, she’d send Grandpa to ZCMI, ad in hand, with specific instructions on what to pick up. She left nothing to chance (or to Grandpa!). I’m sure her Christmas shopping took the better part of 4 months, but this was the day she lived the rest of the year to witness.

Grandma’s gifts were always just right. She had a keen memory for any casual comments made throughout the year about something you needed or were wishing for. And, often, she found something you didn’t even KNOW you wanted, but was just the perfect thing. Grandma could create magic with her gift-giving.

Nine years ago, Grandma and Grandpa had just returned home from our annual family party. She had joyed, once again, in the giving of just the right gifts. Her heart, I’m sure, was full.

And, then, it stopped. She passed away on Christmas Eve.

I miss Grandma. Especially at this time of year. I’m not sure ‘good gift giving’ is a talent I inherited from her. I’m always stumped and wish she were around to lend advice to my own Christmas list. But, thinking of her and her gift giving ways always reminds me of these words from our Savior:

“Or what man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone? Or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent. If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?” ---Matthew 7:9-11

I’ll always be grateful for the ‘good gift’ my Grandma was to me, given by a loving Father. He is the ultimate giver of good gifts, for He gave His Son for whom we celebrate and because of whom we can ‘joy in the giving’ at this Christmas season.

This is me, with a 'thank you, Grandma!' on my lips. Again, the perfect gift!

Christmas is coming...

Are you excited, too?

made where?

My kids (the readers, anyway) have come to a realization that many of the things we have are made in China. I've heard several little "Hey, THIS is made in China, too!" over the last couple weeks. They think it makes their stuff exotic. Or, as Kate said, "They have lots of stuff to make stuff in China." Even her American girl stuff is...made in China.

Yesterday Dallin wanted to make his favorite lunch: Ramen Noodles. He is getting pretty good at making them himself, so I was observing the cooking from across the kitchen. As he was waiting for the water to boil, he kept saying how much he LOVED Ramen noodles and how he wished he could eat them EVERYday. Then, he asked, "Where do Ramen Noodles come from?" I quickly replied, "China. They eat them all the time in China."

But, then I turned the package over to see:
Made in U.S.A.
stamped on the back.

Hmmm.

first professional portraits

My friend, April (who also has a Lea-no-H), took these cute pics of my beauty. Lovely, aren't they!

Thanks, April!

the team

Once upon 5th grade someone decided it would be fun if Adri signed up for basketball. I recently asked my parents if they remember whose idea this could have been? Did I really come to them, begging to try this sport? Was it a wacky idea one of THEM came up with? Did I have a friend who insisted we sign up together? No one could remember. But, somehow---someway I ended up on a basketball team.

My gear-loving Dad took me to his Herman's (his favorite sporting goods store despite the creepy back-stairs entrance) to get some appropriate shoes. For me, the shoes were the highlight of the whole deal: white with turquoise accents and "Reebok" stitched across the side. They were nice shoes. Dad thought so, too. Which is why he insisted that I NOT put them on until I was inside the gym. Now, I'm not discounting his wisdom; I'm sure most NBA players do not wear their court shoes outside, either. However, for me, a fifth-grader who was the most un-pro-like player, it was just plain embarrassing to have to walk into basketball practice, shoebox under my arm, and sit on the sideline changing my shoes "Mr. Rogers style" before practice. But, Dad insisted; I obeyed (wasn't I such an angel child!)

I'm not sure if our team had a name, but our shirts were yellow. For some unknown reason (again, the parents can't explain it, either), I decided that the best shorts to wear with the yellow team shirt were orange. I looked more dorky than the Sunshine Generation kids. I know, because I once overheard a bystander making a comment about my orange shorts and I'm pretty sure it wasn't a compliment.

Besides my 'look' there was my skill. Mmm hmmm. I'm not a really sporty kind of girl. Never have been. I won't even mention my 2 seasons of softball. But, my obvious inabilities were easily made up for by our star player: Mr. T. Really, her name was Erin, but she insisted that we call her "Mr. T." She was a red-headed, freckled, stocky little thing with a mushroom cut hair-do and mad skillz. She could dribble and steal; she'd break away and shoot a lay up before anyone even started running to that side of the court. She was the forward and the backward and everyone in between. I'm sure she was completely annoyed with the rest of the sissies on our team. Other teams in our all-girl league would see her moves (and her hair) and comment that it wasn't fair that the yellow team had a boy player. Erin was awesome!

I only played basketball for one season. It was my gift to the team when I silently bowed out the next year. Soon after, my family moved and I transferred to a different school. I'm not certain, but I would guess that Erin continued to play basketball and was the star player of her high school team. Many years later, I ran into Erin at an amusement park. She was operating the rollercoaster, and when I jumped off I saw her in the little booth working the controls. She yelled my name through the glass and waved. "Mr. T!" I screamed back, excited to see her after all this time. She had turned into a very pretty girl, her red hair long and naturally wavy and her freckles faded and cute across her button nose. I only saw her for that minute, but it made me smile to remember that we were once part of the same team.
Dal started basketball this week. Unfortunately, he seems to have inherited my natural balling abilities. He didn't touch the ball much, but, this boy is definitely a good teammate. He cheered louder than anyone else whenever the ball made it through the hoop. And, maybe just being on the team is what it's all about.