Guilt-tinged Gratitude

Have I mentioned we're poor? American poor that is. No starvation going on here, but in general when the kids take their cans of soup to the food drives or make cards for the needy, those items tend to come back to us.

This year so many people are having financial difficulties that I was certain there would be very few gifts for the children other than what I could procure. The day after Thanksgiving, I did some pretty impressive Goodwill half-price sale shopping and was calling it good.

Then our Relief Society President asked if they could give the children each a present, something they needed.

"Thank you. That would be nice."

A week later, the Bishop told us that he'd recommended us to a company that chooses a family each year to adopt. Clothes, mostly.

"Oh, that would be nice, very nice!"

Shortly thereafter, a sweet lady called and told me that the weirdest thing had happened. She'd been buying a tree and a guy came up to her and asked her if she wanted an extra tree because he'd gotten an extra for free. So...did we have a tree yet? Could we take this one off her hands?

"Um...OK...I love real trees. Thanks!"

As my lovely RS President handed me three big black garbage bags of gifts for my lovely children the week before Christmas, she explained that we had asked for so little she added a "few things" to our requests.

"Wow! Thanks! The kids will be thrilled!"

Monday, the 22nd a man showed up to my door when I was expecting a friendly acquaintance from church.

"Hi! Jami? I'm Bob [all names have been changed, except mine]. This is Sandra, Robin, and Jason. Where would you like these?" says he pointing to a few charmingly wrapped gifts.

"Uh, on the couch I guess. Thanks."

"Oh we'll need more room than that. Ho, ho, ho!" And they proceeded to bring more and more and more gifts in.

I suspected they were the company to whom the Bishop had given our information, but they had probably ten gifts per child, much more than I was expecting.

"Um, thanks so much. Um...who are you?"

"Oh, replied Bob. "I already told you: I'm Bob. There's Sandra and Robin. And he's Jason."

Cute, thought I, but who ARE you? "I mean who are you associated with? Are you related to Dave who was coming over at 10?"

"Dave? We're no relation to him . . . but we know him."

OK, Misters and Misses Anony-mice. I get it. No clues. "You really know how to raise my kids' heart rates," I joked. "That's a lot of presents. Thank you!"

The kids added their heartfelt thanks ["Thank you!"(N) "Thank you." (V) "Thanks." (E) "Niiiice!" (J) "Tanksyerwelcome!" (C)] and our benefactors went their merry philanthropic way.

Ten minutes later, two teachers from the school dropped off a turkey, a huge bag of oranges, a half dozen cupcakes and a big box of food.

An hour after that, Sister Sweet delivered a lovely ham and a huge box of yummies.

The receiving cooled off for a day. Then came Christmas Eve at my mom's, relaxed and wonderful. The angel-monkeys sang for Grandma, and two of them played their trumpets. After that came the gifts. Concerned that the kids were not getting many presents this year, mom and the Yvil-auntie got them nearly everything on their lists.

Let me tell you...there was much rejoicing Christmas morning. N in particular just kept opening each of her gifts, hugging them, exclaiming, "I'm just so happy!" Even I teared up a few times.

I am filled with gratitude towards the founders of our feast. However, I do feel a bit guilty: all of that just for us when so many are needy this year. Also I think I may need to buy some carbon offsets for the wrapping paper/cardboard/shrink wrap abomination that constitutes our garbage this week. And perhaps, just perhaps, we concentrated a bit too much on gifts, and not quite enough on Christ this Christmas.

I Loved It First

I've been a regency romance fan for a long time. I still remember the first I ever read: Regency Gold by Marion Chesney. It didn't take itself too seriously and was laugh out loud funny. A charming heroine, a gorgeous hero, and a bunch of mischief. I was 12 and I was hooked. Good clean fun.

Not too long after my introduction to the genre, I ran into the works of Jane Austen. "Hey," thought I, "these are just like regencies. Only not quite so funny." Still I happily devoured Austen's works and every other novel set in the England's Regency era that I could get my hands on, nearly twenty years of delightful escapism. Sadly, those two decades have also included a dreadful decline. The regency genre has been dying and the few regencies that I've read in recent years have been disappointing. Not good, not clean, and not fun. Frankly, I have missed them.

Then along comes Heidi Ashworth with her book, Miss Delacourt Speaks Her Mind. A new regency? A clean regency? Gimme! Her countdown until the book came out was driving me crazy. [FOUR MORE MONTHS?] So I begged. Gimme, please.

Ms. Ashworth was kind enough to send me a galley proof, so that I could be among the privileged first to read it. I love being first. However, as I awaited the book's arrival, I began to worry. What if it was crap? What would I say? "Um, thanks for lending me a copy." "Loved the cover. What kind of rose is that anyway?" Uh...awkward.

No need for worries! I can whole-heartedly recommend Miss Delacourt. It is a delightful romp, everything I'd hoped for: an outspoken (yet lovable) heroine, a dashing (but repressed) hero, and all the impediments to true love I could ever want, all neatly resolved within a gorgeous hardback. It's fresh, funny, filled with love, Shakespeare, some rose patent infringement, and a lot of fun!

So now it's your turn. Sure I cheated, cut in line and read it first, but you can now order your own copy of Miss Delacourt Speaks Her Mind through Amazon with a pleasant little discount, or you can ask your library to order it so you can read it for free. I did both, but I'm betting Amazon will get it to me first. By a long shot.

Here Mom! I made you this!

Forty-something

Yep that's right folks! I am officially forty-one TODAY!

We partied yesterday because the 17th is

wacky Wednesday which looks like this:

6 am Seminary Kids out the door

(J says this doesn't count since he and E ride bikes and that I'm just using them to garner sympathy. True enough.)

7 am School Kids up

7:45 School kids to school

8:00-9:30 Last minute prep for teaching later on

9:45 Homeschool kids to co-op classes

1:00 Teach General Science at co-op

3:00 Pick up big kids from building class

(4:15 Yay! No activity days today.)

4:30 Cub Scouts (Yay! I'm not the assistant den leader anymore! Sorry Jen. Still love you!])

6:30 Brownie Girl Scouts

7:00 Mutual (church youth activity) for E & J

7:30 Pick up V from brownies

8:30 Pick up kids from mutual

10:00 The Man leaves for work

(I'll squeeze in meals, baby care, survival housework and emergencies in between.)

(A visit from the Truth Fairy: I am writing this on Saturday and scheduling it to post on the 17th, because I know that I will have no time at all to write on Wednesday. I will have time to check my email and stat-counter for little signs that you all love me. You know, like COMMENTS or gift cards or something.)

Anyway! Happy Birthday (forty-one years of mortal probation down and no more than fifty left to go) to me!

Is Santa Real? An odd question in May

"So Mom is there a Santa Claus?" asked my vibrant six year old this morning. It's a pretty standard question around here-in December. (I've got no idea what brings it up in May.)

I give my standard response. "No, honey. He's a nice pretend person."

[I now pause to defend my Santa-killing position. Every Christmas I teach my children that Christmas is about the baby Jesus being born to be the Savior of mankind. If I teach them that Santa is real, at some point I'd have to admit the truth.

"Sorry Sweetheart, I was lying (in the nicest possible way). Santa is a wonderful pretend person. But not Jesus. He's not a wonderful pretend person. Well, he's wonderful, but not pretend. I wasn't lying about Jesus. He's real. Sure you've seen Santa and he was a fake and you haven't seen Jesus, but I testify to you that he's real. Really, really real."

I didn't want to go there. So back to my standard answer.]

"No, honey. He's a nice pretend person."

"MOM! Don't say that. He is too. He's real. And he gives you one less present every time you say that!" V. informed me.

"Hm...I have noticed the take getting smaller every year. Maybe there's something to that, V."