Adventures with Mavis

"Only weird people don't have car loans." ~ Dave Ramsey.

Um, Dave? I'm okay with being weird, really, but you forgot to add on this little qualifier: "...however, you pay the bank or you pay the parts store."

Mavis is, indeed, twenty-five years old, and no matter how sugar-coated you want to make that by stating that she has been garaged her whole life, driven by one older gentleman, and accrued less than 100K miles, it doesn't change that fact.

Everything's.... sticky. Or needs tuning, greasing, flushing, or filling.

Okay, maybe it's just the gas tank that needs filling. CONSTANTLY.

Wow.

So, yeah. The first time I drove Mavis was Christmas morning. Colby went early to prep for his class and the kids and I followed a little later.

"It has some play in the steering, but we'll straighten that out in a few days.", he said.

Some PLAY in the steering?!?! I was driving a BOAT! On a snowy road, man!! I backed out of the driveway, put it in drive and headed toward the bridges.

"Oh!", I exclaimed as I turned the wheel a full half-rotation before anything happened.

"Oh DEAR!!" I burst out as the overcorrection for said half-rotation nearly put me in the field.

And so went my first couple of times driving the old beast. Once upon a time I was a good driver. No really, I was! And then I had kids and began driving like a cautious elderly granny. I scootched the seat forward as far as it would go, hunched over the steering wheel and clutched it tightly as I drove 10 under the speed limit.

"Whippersnappers!", I'd screech at the people passing me. I'd have pointed my finger at them accusingly, too, but that would mean letting go of the wheel with one hand, now wouldn't it?

I stayed home as much as I could, and hallelujah, it was Christmas break so I didn't have to haul kids to school and back twice a day 'cause at the speed I was driving it was taking 40 minutes instead of 20 each way.

Of course, acquiring a new vehicle the week of Christmas presented its own problems. Like managing to get all the paperwork shuffled and in the hands of the lovely people at the Secretary of State on a day they were actually open. Which would NOT be Christmas Eve. Or the Day Before Christmas Eve. Or the day before that, a day they are usually open late, but decided to close early since it was two and a half days before Christmas, you see.

Then there was the time we left the keys to the new vehicle in the in-laws car and didn't realize it until it was time to pick up the kids from school. As in, they're AT school, I'm at HOME, and there are NO KEYS to go start the car and drive 20 min. to get them. By that time the in-laws (and the keys) had been on the road for more than 3 hours....

Well, thank goodness for family that live nearby and can help out in a pinch!

That was Tuesday.

We stayed home on Wednesday.

Thursday started without a hitch, the car started fine, drove the kids to school without problems, though the snow was starting to come down pretty hard. I watched out the big window at home as the snow fell hard for the next 6 hours.



I'd better get an extra early start, I said to myself as I packed up the two little ones. We set out 40 minutes before the end of the school day. I took it easy until we got into town, but they had a foot of new snow and no one wants to be the idiot who causes the wreck in traffic, so I pulled into a parking lot and pulled the lever on the floorboard into 4WD.

I was kind of nervous to be trying out the 4WD since there was that one time we were driving and it made all sorts of awful grinding/crunching/knocking sounds and Colby mentioned he thought the hub was sticking on the passenger side. I'd been avoiding the lever on the floor all week thanks to that incident.

But with all that snow and craziness on Thursday I decided it was time to give it a go.

I made it all of two miles.

And then the grinding/crunching/knocking sound hit like a force to be reckoned with and brought with it a shake in the steering wheel that had me completely freaked out.

"There's something WRONG with the car!!!" I yelled into the phone. I had the phone on speaker and sitting in my lap 'cause I needed BOTH hands to do anything with that car.

~silence~

"SERIOUSLY! Honey, there's something WRONG!" I whined.

"Well, I kind of need you to DESCRIBE it to me if you want me to help you sort it out.", he replied.

"I.... I don't KNOW what it is, there's something grinding or something or banging-kind-of-like and I can't hardly do ANYTHING with it!".

"Where are you?"

"I'm... I'm on THE ROAD!" I exclaimed as I tried desperately to get the car turned into the parking lot of the local country store.

~silence~ (which, I'm sure was the result of him biting his tongue back from yelling, DUH!!!)

"I think the hub must be sticking again; I just put it in four-wheel drive a few minutes ago.", I said as I got out in the heavy snowfall to inspect the front passenger wheel.

Well, it looked fine, so I kicked it for good measure and climbed back in.

"What am I going to do? I need to get the kids from school and I'm already late!!!", I clutched the phone with one hand and cranked the wheel with the other as I tried to turn around in the unplowed parking lot.

It wasn't working. My three-point turn became a seven-point turn and I still wasn't pointing straight out of the driveway.

"You need to back it up about 20 feet or so to get it to disengage the 4WD from the one side and then you'll be completely out of it. Then you can keep going and I'll take a look at it tonight."

About that time I realized I was sitting directly in the way of a big truck pulling a trailer trying to get past me.

"There's NO WAY I can back this thing UP 20 feet in this parking lot!!" I cried, "I'm IN the WAY of someone and I can't get it to do ANYthing and I just need to GO and get the kids NOW!!!" My poor husband could tell I was on the verge of tears and needed to be talked down off my shelf again, so he told me calmly to just continue on down the road, take it easy, and that I couldn't break anything he couldn't fix.

So I pulled back out onto the road and the poor thing thumped along as best it could. It was slow going, but all I cared about right then was that there was some sort of forward progression. I could hardly get any traction at all going up the long hill, but I mashed my foot to the floor and kept going.

Of course, that foot mashed to the floor thing backfired as soon as we reached the top and nearly spun around. Somehow we managed to keep the back end behind the front end, and a little while later made it to the school. I pulled into the school yard and shoved the shifter up into park.

Whew!! I thought as I jumped out in the driving snow and ran up the steps. One of the teachers stood close by and was reassuring the kids that their mom would, indeed, be there soon.

Even though I'd left home early I still arrived 20 minutes late.

The kids ran to the car and jumped in, and while I was helping Emmy up into the back seat I noticed.... something.... a little askew:



Okay, maybe a LOT askew. On the REAR passenger tire. Guess I should have peeked a little at the rear tire instead of just taking a futile kick at the front.

Not my finest hour of automobile ownership there.

I called Colby, Colby called his cousin, and we sat in the cold car and waited. It wouldn't have been a cold car except that I was dangerously close to empty by then and the last thing I needed was to run out of gas on top of all this so I shut it off.

Mavis doesn't call me a "Ding-Dong". Apparently that's not always a good thing.

"Is everything all right?" I heard a voice ask and turned to see the kids' teacher huddled under her coat next to the car. Next thing I knew all the kids were warmly ensconced in the schoolhouse and I stood sipping hot tea at the window, watching Colby's cousin fix my tire. All said, it took an hour and an uncle to come with an air compressor to fill the tire enough to get us home. The kids played happily and the baby sat contentedly in her seat through the whole thing. I'd never been more thankful for a hot cup of tea in my life.

Again, I am so grateful for family that helps out in a pinch, and thankful for the great teachers at the kids' school that stayed late, made me tea, and helped with the kids so tremendously.

But most of all, I am thankful for a husband that can fix anything. Since we bought Mavis he has given up several of his free days to work on her. If he didn't have the tools and ability to fix the old car, we'd have no choice but to have a newer car and most likely a car loan. Without his dedication to keeping wood ready for the fire, fix things like the car, the washing machine, and the well, we would have a much harder time making due on one income. I am so blessed to be able to stay at home with my kids!

But sometimes the stay-at-home-Momma road is a little more adventurous than I bargained for!

Stay tuned for tomorrow's edition of Adventures with Mavis, where I'll regale you with stories of the brakes going out and how I scarred the guys at the tire store for life.

Meet Mavis

There is no Bose stereo system.

Instead, there's a tape deck and a readout that doesn't light up all the way making it impossible to tell what station you're on.

There are no heated leather seats.

Instead, there are three cloth covered bench seats.

There is no Latch system to hook up the carseats in a flash.

Instead, there are.... lap belts?? Uh, guess I need to read the carseat manuals to remember how to hook up the things properly with just a lap belt.

There is no digital clock, thermometer or compass.

Instead, there is a screw-on old-style compass right on the very top of my dash.

That doesn't work.

And a window to look out to tell me what the weather's like. Uh, cold and snowy, anyone?

There are no idiot lights, no bell ringing calling me a "ding-dong" when I'm low on fuel, and no beeping whenever there's a door that's not quite closed.

Instead, there is me, trying not to be an idiot without the idiots lights, saying "Grraaar!" when I realize the needle is pointing toward the "E" and I'm late for school.

There is no windshield wiper for the back window.

Instead, there's a snow-and-ice encrusted back window that never defrosts and takes two people to roll down and back up.

That's right, we're talking about my *new ride.

*and by new I mean old. VERY old. As old as the hills. Could be called a classic. Or vintage. Yes, we'll go with vintage.

Come party with me like it's Nineteen-Eighty-SIX!!!

We're talking the year that brought us Pop Secret microwave popcorn, introduced us to Windows, and made a whole lot of *us fall in love with Tom Cruise in Top Gun .

"Come on and take a Riiiide intooo the DANGa ZONE!"

*and by "us" I mean "everyone but me" because, hello, I was SEVEN when that movie came out and it was not a kid-friendly movie therefore I was not allowed to watch that movie.... ever. Although I finally did when I was a senior in high school more than 10 years later. When I was at a friend's house. Sorry, Mom.

*ahem*

Back to 1986 - when *spandex, jazzercise, and aquanet were household words. When gas was $.89/gallon! When even t-shirts and sweaters came with shoulder pads.

*and when I say "spandex" I truly am talking about that clothing made of fabric so skin-tight I can't even post a retro-pic of it on my blog!

Anyway, some of you right now might be thinking, WHY? Why on earth would I do such a thing to myself willingly? And you would, of course, be echoing my own pitiful thoughts of late.

I admit it. The first time I sat in my new car I went into shock. Culture shock. I'll let you know when I come out of my daze. The adjustment period will hopefully take no more than 12 months.

I'll remember the reason we chose to up-downgrade one of these days. Something about having more room than our old one and being debt-free.

Now and then I feel a little sting when I think of the knock to my "status" the older "status symbol" brings along with it. And then I bite my cheek and think of the road trips we'll take with the kids piled up in the back and the open road in front of us and it's all good.

"Live like no other now so that later you can live like no other!" - Dave Ramsey

Calling Me Home

Just what IS my calling, anyway?, my heart wonders.

We're going to go through this again?, He answers.

Well, yes, Lord, now that you mention it, I seem to need to revisit this AGAIN, I sigh.

Sometimes it feels like my "calling" to be a homemaker really just entails being called to referee another argument, to change another diaper, to fix another meal and clean it up and do the dishes and wash the clothes and clean the bathroom and bathe a dirty little grub or pick up another toy.

How can THAT be a "calling"?

It's mindless.

Wearisome.

Dull.

You mean to ask Me how the sum of those things could possibly add up to a complete calling?

Well.... yes, I reply. IS that adding up to something great? Is the whole much bigger than the parts? Do they fit into an equation that you could show me on some exponential growth chart to prove the point of my worth in these tiny little daily tasks?

You're thinking about it from the INside of a very small box, He says. You need to think OUTside the box.

Yeah, I know I have some trouble seeing things 'outside the box' like my brothers do. I guess I should have spent more time with them and their airplanes than with my nose in another "Anne" book.

**Chuckles**

They were not called to the same thing you are called to, He explains. And how much did those "Anne" books draw your heart into a desire to THIS calling? It was Me calling you and I knew how those books would draw you, gently, constantly, even now as you think of them they are still drawing your heart to the simple joys I have waiting for you.

Now, tell Me what you are NOT called to, then.

Okay.

I am....

I am NOT called to be discontent, to want more than I have, to constantly reach for things I don't need.

Good start. Now, turn that around.

Okay, then I AM called to be content, to be happy with what I have, to let go of desires to have things I DON'T need!

Keep going, Daughter.

I am NOT called to be constantly present with or available to the people online or on the phone.

I AM called to be present with AND available to the people You have given me to train, teach, and disciple in a face-to-face, heart-to-heart manner.

Good.

I am NOT called to dress my kids in gymboree from head to toe. (Yeah, but Lord, that is REALLY fun and is such a stress reliever to just sit and search the web for great deals to match all the little cuties and .....)

Trust me, kiddo, the wardrobe they'll have in heaven is beyond anything you can imagine!

*sigh*

I AM called to teach them to value things NOT of this world above things of this world.

I am NOT called to spend ridiculous amounts of time cleaning or cooking. I mean, I *think* I'm not called to those things, right? Sometimes it seems that if the house isn't spotless and the best vegan food isn't on the table that I've failed You!

I've seen you make great progress lately on being more efficient with your time in the kitchen, and yes, child, there are more important things to make progress on than your cooking. The hearts and minds of your precious children take priority, though you would probably be surprised at how many ways you can teach them about Me through these seemingly small things.

I am NOT called to drive an Escalade, carry a Dooney bag, have an ipad, an iphone, or an ipod, get my hair done more than once a year, have a gym membership, or even own a dishwasher, apparently.

Now you're just being facetious.

I am NOT called to be constantly running here and there and trying to escape my duties at home.

I AM called to be at home with my children.

We'll talk more about that later.

Aaaak!!! I know what You're going to say, Lord, and I don't know if I can handle it! I mean, how many times have I heard, "God does not call the qualified, He qualifies the called" but WHAT does that MEAN?!?!

Slow down, there, Sweetie! One. Step. At. A. Time. I'm drawing you. You feel it. Your path is taking you in that direction and you're afraid, but how did you get here? Wouldn't you have been afraid to be *here* even a year ago if you'd known where you were headed? Just be willing to let me guide your footsteps. That's all I ask.

Okay, Father.

I will trust.

I am willing.

I am NOT called to be a career woman.

I AM called to be a homemaker.

A HOME-Maker. What does that mean to you?

I don't know, Lord! Sometimes it feels like my definition of "Home" was screwed up all along!

Well, if it was "screwed up", let's Nail It Down!

Redefine "Home."

Redefine "Home?"

Think about it, Child! When you say "home", you mean out west. Or the house you live in right now. Tell Me now, where is your Real home?

In...Heaven?

Why isn't that your first response? Why do you sound hesitant to respond so? What is "home" but the place where those you love are? Who loves you more than I?

No one, Lord.

No one.

What is your calling, my Lisa?

I AM called to be a Home-Maker.

To show my children what Home is so they will be always drawn to it, to You, so they will recognize Your voice as that of none other than "Father". To give them memories that remind them of what the definition of these words are: Family, Home, Father, and Love .

Why? So I can "show them off" in Heaven or here on this earth? No, rather so that they too can take their knowledge and model these definitions to people in their own homes and around the world.

If there was ever a calling that one could possibly be unqualified for no matter the training or education beforehand it is this: to be a Mother and a HomeMaker.

Please, Lord, don't leave me alone in this task. Give me strength to grasp Your strength. Give me wisdom, much more than I have. Qualify me for the things I am called to do in this tiny little life of mine.

As I was with Moses, so I will be with thee: I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.

Christmas Day

Christmas Day at our house was filled with good memories, the sweet laughter of our children, fun, food, and games. It was really very lovely.

Except for the public humiliation part. I could have done without that.

Christmas morning began quietly and calmly, with Colby out in front of the fire in his rocking chair doing a little more reading before teaching class at church.

Warm.

Cozy.

Peaceful.

And then the kids woke up.

No, really, it was a fantastic Christmas morning. We had a fun breakfast, got ready for church without many mishaps, and the kids' excitement over the arrival of Christmas Day was contagious!

Colby left a little early to prep for his class in the quietness of an empty church and I was excited that I'd finally get to drive my new (old) car! But I'll tell you more about Mavis (the car) on another day.

But first there was the matter of taking pictures. We've ALWAYS taken a family snapshot in front of the tree on Christmas morning since Joshua was a tiny baby. Except this year. I didn't even think about it until I was watching Colby drive away.

Oops.

Oh, well. I'd just have to take a few pictures of the kids before we left for church.

And... we're off to a great start.

Oh, yeah. Doing good here.

Um. Priceless.

Okay! Three out of four looking at the camera and no funny faces. I'll take it!

Okay, who's up for trying a new pose?

Well, three out of four... oh shoot, I cut off someone's head.

Hrm. This is not going well.

Oh for pity's sake. A tongue sticking out, crossed eyes, and half a head again.

And this was 2 seconds before the baby began to wail.

So I picked up the little one and snapped a half-way decent one of the older 3 before we called it a day and headed off to church.

I was very proud of myself for not forgetting the camera. In fact, I even thought far enough ahead to bring the extra batteries, the battery charger, AND set them up in a classroom to charge all during Sabbath School.

I am SO on top of things today, I thought to myself as I set the sleeping baby down in the Mother's Room and listened in on Colby's class.

Soon the service was starting and before I knew it, the Christmas Program had begun, progressed through the first several songs or skits and *gasp* WE WERE UP!

The children all filed up and stood in front of the podium, all holding hands and grinning out at their friends and family. In one arm I held the baby, and Elayna clasped onto my other.

"Awaaay in a Manger no crib for a bed..." we all sang.

And THEN I realized.... the camera still sat with its nicely charged batteries on our empty pew.

I tried to send eye signals to my mother-in-law to PICK. UP. THE. CAMERA.

It was no use. We were done before I knew it and so the family out west will NOT be watching that video anytime on youtube.

*sigh*

We filed back down the aisle and someone whispered to me that there was a change in the order and I was up NEXT, so I quickly handed off the baby and grabbed my book of poems.

Rushing back up there I hardly felt any nervous twinges at all. I mean, I'm up there on a regular basis, leading song service. I speak up in Sabbath School. I tell the children's story now and then. It's not like I'm a MOUSE that NEVER speaks up in church!!

But, for whatever reason, on Christmas Day something went completely haywire in my poor little brain.

I began reading my selected poem and made it through 2/3 of it.

And then I got to this part:

"I am big, and I can stand things-
Knocks and jeers and rags and cold,
But she's nothin' but a baby,
Just now turnin' five years old."

~*choke*~

Ahem.

*sniff*

"Yesterday I earned a dollar
Sawing wood for Mr. Dare-

**SNIFF**

*sob*

"*sniff* - s-s-s-sorry,", I choked out. "It's not like I haven't read this a dozen times, but *sob* it JUST hit m-me - *sniff* I HAVE a five year-old!! *SOB*"

I looked around the audience for a few cold, hard stares to shore me up, but I very mistakenly glanced at my good friend Dawn, who happens to be the mother of SEVEN children.

There were tears on her cheeks, too.

*SOB*

**SNIFF**

~Ahem~

I continued as best I could:

"Most enough for shoes and stockin's,
'Cause her little feet are bare-r-r-r*sob*"

*SOB*

I tried to look around the audience again, but by then everything was blurry.

Gadzooks!! I thought to myself, I CAN'T just run for the hills and hide my head, the poem HAS to be finished now!

Again I tried to look around the audience. Surely Uncle M. is around here somewhere to give me a nice look of contempt for showing all this emotion publicly to snap me out of this!! Where IS he?!

"That's all right," I heard a voice say calmly and quietly behind me, "I have something I'd like to read anyway."

Oh. Right. He's behind me.

I took a deep breath and tried to continue, biting the insides of my cheeks to take my mind off of my half-crazed desire to just hide behind the podium. It didn't work. The best I could do was signal my poor unsuspecting husband to come up and rescue me.

Which he very valiantly did. I hid behind his green sweater biting my cheeks and fighting off the embarrassment that was then threatening to overcome all the other crazy thoughts in my head.

I will not run for the hills, I will not run for the hills.
I. Will. Not. Run. For. The. Hills.

I had chosen two poems to read and TWO poems were going to be read, so help me.

Colby, bless his heart, read the rest of the first poem waaaay too fast but I did manage to pull myself together enough to get through the entire second poem.

Whew.

By the time the service was done the embarrassment was in full force and I just wanted to pretend I was invisible long enough to get to my car. Yeah, that didn't work so well. But I survived and found great relief in banging my hands against my steering wheel repeatedly on the drive home.

Ah, well. Christmas progressed as Christmasses should, with laughter and tender words and sweet memories being made. The children had so much fun opening their gifts that night and I managed to even stay up past 8 pm for once.

When I recalled the incident at church to my dad the next day, he laughed and said, "So, you got bucked off and you got right back on, huh?"

Yep. I guess I did. But next time I decide to do this sort of thing, I plan to pick something funny to read. That way when I have to pause and get a grip on myself it will be because I'm totally giggling too hard to talk.

The embarrassment might not be any less for that, but at least we'll all remember it later with a chuckle instead of a cringe.

*excerpt of poem Filling Daddy's Place by Bessie Brent Winston. Alabaster Boxes R&H 1947

Christmas Eve

Well. That's it. I thought to myself around 5 pm on Christmas Eve.
Christmas is ruined.

Not that I was being dramatic or anything.

I was sitting on the couch with two of my children. My son was sitting in the rocking chair, and the baby was peacefully sleeping. She was the ONLY one with any sort of peacefulness whatsoever in the whole house.

It started out... not SO bad, really. I mean, the kids had spent the night with Grandma and Grandpa Thursday night. Pretty great, right? Mom and Dad get to have a whole evening to themselves (well, plus baby, but still) to get that last minute shopping done, wrap the rest of the gifts, maybe even stay up late watching a Christmas movie!

Except the part where the baby fussed and Mommy fell asleep at 7:30 after wrapping exactly TWO gifts. Perhaps procrastinating on that wasn't such a good idea?

So Christmas Eve Day started Reeeaaally early for me so I could get the rest of those gifts wrapped.

Like 4 am early.

Five hours of wrapping and setting up confusing electronics later and I was ready to head out to have a nice relaxing breakfast with the hubby and baby before picking up the rest of the kids. But the restaurant was really packed and we had so much to do we decided to skip it.

So no breakfast.

I. Do. Not. Do. Well. With no breakfast. At least when I'm nursing a little one. The rest of the time I could take it or leave it, but when I'm nursing, I'm starving pretty much.... all the time.

Picked up the kids, headed over to the grocery store to get last minute food stuffs, then to the dollar store to help a couple kids pick out their gifts for siblings, then to the parts store to pick up a couple of things for the new (old) car and we're off....

....and we're OFF.....

....AND....

....We're....

...still waiting in line at the PARTS STORE?

WHY there's a long line at the parts store on Christmas Eve is still a mystery to me.

I mean, really. If you have THAT hard of a time coming up with gift ideas for your girl, PLEASE use the phone-a-friend lifeline already!!! Poll the audience, do a 50-50, ANYthing but go to the parts store, people!

The Jeff Foxworthy song kept running through my head as we sat there waiting..."Four big mud tires, three shotgun shells, two huntin' dogs, and some parts to a Mustang GT..."

*sigh*

Finally got home, fed the family a late lunch, sent the kids to their rooms to straighten up for Sabbath, got the baby to sleep, and started work on the rolls for Christmas dinner.

About half an hour later I realized I'd used self-rising flour instead of bread flour.

In fact, I was out of bread flour.

Sent the hubby to the store. Started a new batch.

Kids woke the baby up. Kids made new messes. Kids ALL out of sorts after a late night sleepover.

Dinner had to wait since I needed a bread machine for the pizza crust and the bread machines were busy making up for lost time with the rolls that had to be thrown out.

We opened a gift package from out west, and before I knew it my house was being overtaken by Flubber. That's right, flubber. The stuff is AWESOME!

Except when Mommy's on the phone. They KNOW when Mommy's on the phone they can get away with SO much more!

Three tornadoes tore around the house with screams of delight and peals of laughter as they chased each other with pink, glittery, flubber. I had bits of flubber all over the kitchen and rubbed into my couch.

Time for a new direction.

I'd promised the kids that we'd build that gingerbread house from the kit that had been sitting around the kitchen for a week or so. I tried to juggle the building of the house between rolls, pizza, cleaning, green bean casserole and potato soup cooking, sweeping, dish washing... oh and the load of diapers that needed to be washed and line dried before Sabbath, half of which is still on the line...

Yeah, that didn't go so well. So Daddy got volunteered to take over on the gingerbread house. I was really hoping for a 45-60 min. project, but they had every bit of candy and gumdrops used up in 15 minutes flat with the least amount of fuss, fun, or icing as is humanly possible. 'Cause that's just how Daddy rolls. Efficient.

*sigh*

At least I took a sec and grabbed the camera before it was all over.



The ruckus of kids running amok began again approximately 20 seconds after the last candy was pasted onto the gingerbread house.

Mommy was about done.

And then someone started crying (no, not me, I saved that for later...) and next thing I know I'm trying not to freak out on the kid who had been running around the living room with a sharp metal hot-dog roaster (where on earth did they find that within the last 10 seconds?!) nearly poking her sister's eye out!!!

"ALL RIGHT!!! EVERYONE!! TIME. OUT!!!" I yelled at the Christmas tree.

It seemed to be mocking me over there, after all. Pretty and bright and cheery while all this chaos was going on.

And that brings me back to sitting on the couch with two of my children. ALL I was asking for was 5 minutes of absolute sitting-stillness. Quietness. No questions. No toys. No books. No bouncing around. 5 minutes of stillness.

Lots of big, deep sighs filled the room.

And that was just me.

It took about 10 minutes of preliminary wiggles and giggles to finally get settled down, and then we all sat there in the silence.

"Aaaahhhhh", I could hear my soul saying.

Then I noticed that my five year old had gone from being wigglishly still to really, truly still. Like barely making the movements for breathing kind of still.

Wow, I thought, we're really making some progress here!

"Good Job, Emmy!", I praised her.

*** SOB *** "MommyIamthinkingaboutdaddyinthefireandgettingBURNEDandit'smakingmesoSAD-D-D-D!"

*SNIFF*

*SOB*

....and so commenced 5 minutes of good, solid wailing in my arms.

And yes, my daughter has a VERY active imagination.

Daddy was nowhere near the fire. He was in the kitchen trying to get the pizza served up on paper plates so Mommy could be sane.

Or at least, appear to be sane for the sake of good holiday memories.

I mean, that's the important thing, right? I asked myself. Making the great memories that will stay with those crazy kids throughout their whole life and make them homesick for mom and pop when they're off living their own lives?

After dinner we set to practicing our musical selection for the Christmas program at church the next morning. Let me just say that the memory-making bit slipped to the back of my mind as I tried desperately to corral 3 sleep-deprived, sugared up (hey! stop sneaking the gumdrops from the gingerbread house!!!) kids into practicing their song half an hour past bedtime.

Well, hopefully they'll remember at least some of the fun and not just the crabby mother when they're older.

"There's always Christmas Day to make up for it...", I mumbled as I slipped into dreamland shortly after 8 pm. "There's always Christmas Day."

How (Not) To Make Christmas Crack, er, I Mean Crunch

Last year when the online forum I'm a member of started raving about something called "Christmas Crack" I sort of wrote it off as a bunch of half-crazy clothes-obsessed women gone mad. I mean, who takes butter, brown sugar, a bunch of saltines, a package of chocolate chips, throws them all together and calls it good?

Didn't even sound remotely appealing to me. Probably because last Christmas I was pregnant and the thought of chocolate ANYTHING was enough to send me into dry heaves.

So. Fast forward twelve months and there I am staring at the same group of women RAVING about this recipe and how they can't stop eating it - hence the name "Christmas Crack".

Some did the political correct thing and changed it to "Christmas Crunch" or "Reindeer Crunch". Personally I think "Reindeer Crunch" sounds a bit... brown. And shovely-ish.

Just my opinion.

I finally gave in and tried it once a very helpful lady posted a series of pictures on how to make this stuff. It looked so simple! And now that there's no more pregnancy hormones making me gag randomly, it actually did look good.

So without further ado, here is my version of How To Make Christmas Crack.. er, Crunch. Or maybe I'll just call them Reindeer Tooties. But I don't think Reindeer Tooties are flat. Or have sprinkles.

Oh, well. Here ya go! Call 'em whatever you want!

First, heat the oven to 400, then line a cookie sheet with raised edges with tin foil and put down a single layer of saltines (one sleeve).

Take 2 sticks of butter (hey, I never claimed these were HEALTHY) and 3/4 c. brown sugar, throw them in a pan, and heat on med/high.

Boil for 3 minutes, stirring constantly with a wire whisk.

Pour mixture over the crackers and smooth out with a spatula.

Bake for FIVE (5) MINUTES!!!

Do NOT walk away and forget them for 20 minutes.

I REPEAT: Do NOT bake these things for 20 minutes. Unless you like having your kitchen fill up with smoke.

After you've pulled them out at the appropriate 5-min. mark, they'll be all bubbly. Wait a few minutes until you can see the crackers pretty clearly, and then sprinkle your chocolate chips over the top.

Wait a few minutes more, then when they look shiny, spread all over with a butter knife.

Sprinkling all over with holiday colors is, of course, optional.
Pop in the fridge for an hour or so.

When they're completely cool, peel off the tin foil and break into pieces! Congratulations, you're done!

So far I've tried this with semi-sweet, milk chocolate, mint chocolate, and butterscotch chips. My favorite is the mint chocolate chips!

Ha-ha, my pretties! Welcome now to the world of Christmas Crack! It does seem to be frighteningly addictive! Good luck with that! Consider yourself forewarned!

Merry Christmas and Happy Holiday Baking!