And just like that, it's over.

I'm having a hard time believe Christmas is already done.

Strange.

I spent a good part of Saturday out doing last minute shopping with Mom (she had all of my gifts already and there were some small things I still needed, so it worked well). Then we went to the Christmas Eve service and proceeded to squeeze all of our family and the Wrights into one pew. (Well, Dad was working, so not everyone, which is the only way we managed without moving a few people onto laps.) That was exciting. Mom said we didn't need to bring our Bibles because it's a candlelit service and we can't see them, and by this point we all have the Christmas story pretty well memorized. So we didn't, and I still felt stupid for not having mine.

A few special songs, the reading of the Christmas story, and a brief message, and then back home.

Then, due to paper routes, as well as a general disregard for normal traditions, we decided to open gifts on Christmas Eve and got our stockings Christmas morning before church. Soon after Dad got home, we all gathered in the living room. Allenna set up her video camera, Mom had her camera, and for a while we had Sasha in her crate while Hershey sat quietly by Mom.

We girls passed out the gifts, and then we debated about how we would determine the order in which the gifts were opened.

I suggested Dad use a die like he did a few years ago. He would roll a die and, based on the number rolled, one of us would open one gift (Dad being #1, Mom #2, and so on). Some didn't want to do it that way, but eventually we pulled Monopoly out from under the couch and Dad was given the die.

My number didn't appear much until the others started coming to the end of their presents. I've been wanted some colored socks so my sisters wouldn't take my socks, mistaking them for theirs and consequently wearing them all over the house and on missions involving paint and dirt. My wish was granted. I think I ended up with a dozen pair of socks!

I also good a fair amount of chocolate, which I didn't expect but was happy with, as well as some jewelry and a watch, fingerless gloves, a hat, polka dot rainboot-style boots, an uber-fuzzy blanket, and an upcoming year-long subscription to ancestry.com!

Apparently I'm usually quite boring to get gifts for. (While I think notebooks, wind chimes, and books are great gift ideas, most people don't seem to agree. Perhaps I'm too specific?) So I tried to branch out and suggest some things that haven't been on any Christmas list before.

I tried to get to bed at a decent time Christmas Eve, because of paper routes. However, Wes is trying to get in a lot of gaming time so he can make progress on his new games before his Christmas vacation is over, and he seems to have forgotten all about the trial of Sunday morning papers, and I have a hard time going to sleep when my room isn't dark, so that plan didn't work too well.

Maybe the whole idea of Sunday being Christmas felt surreal because I was up at 3 to deliver papers, just like any other Sunday. Either way, I was up by 3:30 and not home and in bed for three hours or so. The routes we're subbing didn't go quite as quickly as they should have.

By 8:30 I was back up and trying to get ready, but the skirt I had planned to wear was missing and the only other one I could find that would work with my new boots was dirty. (Pastor had recently mentioned that if the kids wanted to bring a new toy to church, they were allowed to, and I was determined to wear my new boots.)

Eventually I got everything settled. Aside from my shirt, leggings, and skirt, everything I wore was from Christmas: new socks in my polka-dot boots, my fingerless gloves, my new watch, my pink elephant necklace, earrings, and my slouchy hat. (I was informed by one friend that I looked totally hipster in the hat.) 'Twas delightful.

If I decided to wear all my favorite clothes (accessories included) at once, I would look certifiably dorky: blue-striped Peru pants, multi-colored polka dot boots, teal fingerless gloves, and...well, I haven't found a shirt yet that I call my favorite. All I know it is would really clash worse than all the rest. And I'd be happy.

We had intended to have most of the food made and ready to go on Christmas Eve, but we only managed to get the turkey cooking and the potatoes peeled, so we didn't eat as soon as we got home. Mom got the rolls ready (we didn't eat them with dinner but after) and I made apple crisp and helped make a pie. Later in the day, Heather helped Mom make fudge. Now all we need to fulfill the traditional list of holiday snacks is chex mix, but that might have to wait until January.

After we ate, we spent the holiday like any other: quietly, most of us in the living room watching movies and/or napping. I don't know what Christmas is for everyone else, but that's pretty much how it always goes for us.

And I still can't believe it's already over. Crazy. And we still don't have any snow. There's a 60-70% chance of some tonight and all through tomorrow. We'll see.

I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas

Whether we'll actually have one remains to be seen.

I can't believe it's Christmas Eve.

Granted, I sometimes live a little disconnected from reality and the occurrence of most holidays seems a bit surreal to me. Usually all it takes are some fireworks or songs or a church service to make it sink in, but I'm really having a hard time getting in the Christmas spirit without snow.

We've been listening to Christmas music since mid-October, I had most of my shopping done probably a month ago, we had the Christmas program at church two Sundays ago and the choir cantata last Sunday, we have a tree, we've watched A Christmas Carol, White Christmas, Holiday Inn, Polar Express, It's a Wonderful Life, and so many other classic movies.... All that would settle the "Christmas spirit" firmly in the minds of a lot of people.

But what exactly is the "Christmas spirit"? Here's the part where a loony fuddy duddy would go into a rant about the commercialization of the holiday and how Christmas is a time of giving and loving and peace on earth and all that. In some areas I agree, but that's not my point.

As I said, I tend to live a little disconnected to reality. I'm not in any way condoning my habits. It means I'm behind in school, I can't finish a book, I didn't rake the yard once this autumn, the hose is full of frozen water, there are months-old rotten watermelons in the garden, and a wealth of other things. My mind tends to wander through a hazy fantasy world far too often, and when someone pulls me down for a breath of fresh air, I get mad at them. When a holiday comes along, I do all of the outward things right to try to get that magical feeling everyone else says they have. I don't have a clue what that's supposed to feel like. Sometimes I wonder if I've ever known what the true, honest, original meaning of Christmas is.

Most the time I manage to keep my head above the clouds because I'm riding one giant of a high horse. It really hurts when you fall off one of those, believe me. Matter of fact, I think I may have tied, glued, and duct taped myself to the saddle just to avoid falling.

This is going to sound cheesy and cliche, but I think this Christmas spirit everyone's talking about is something we are supposed to have all year round, but the holiday reminds people about it and brings them back to it for one month out of the year. It is the mindset of giving and love and laughter and family and hope and peace and beauty and the warm and fuzzy feelings we all want in our lives, but it's being crowded out by rushing and cooking and traveling and other holiday activities, at least in my mind.

I started a rant in a post I never finished and published on this blog. It was about how I could really go for a sabbatical of indefinite duration at some cabin way up in the boonies with nothing but my Bible, a notebook, my dog, and silence. As the song goes, I feel like I'm running just to catch myself. People demanding that I have my order ready as soon as I reach the counter rather than letting me peruse the menu for two more seconds; people swearing up a storm and revving their engines when the light doesn't turn green a whole second after they got there; people whining like children when they don't get exactly what they want, or arguing immaturely because they aren't willing to get off their own high horses and listen to each other. In the midst of the rushing around, we can't stop to collect our thoughts and say a prayer or we'll lose our place in line.

I think the Christmas spirit is an attitude that's completely contradictory to the human nature, and that's why it's such a novelty when people are reminded of it every December. They may not know why, but they know it's something they should strive to get. As much as we want it, though, it takes more than some snow, some movies, and a special church service to get it, and most of us aren't willing to spend more than a month a year in the effort.

Some people would puff out their chests and say, "The reason I don't have a change of heart around Christmas is because I already have the Christmas spirit all year long!" Yes, I want to be one of them. Someone please rip off this duct tape, take a firm hold of my boot, and drag me down until I'm tasting solid earth. Yes, this Christmas spirit is a mindset, but the real thing moves beyond the mind to the heart, and then it comes back out in our actions, in our everyday lives. No one is perfect, and as much as I love the thought I don't think peace on earth is possible when it's man trying to create it. We all have our own varying versions of the idea, and trying to define it could launch us into another world war. But that doesn't mean the individual can't strive to live with the hope of peace in their hearts.

I realize I've yet to say anything about the real reason for Christmas. Some people refuse to celebrate it because it has pagan origins. I like to think that the Christians of the time looked around and saw their drunken Roman neighbors praying to whatever gods they had and decided to take the Roman celebration and turn it into another reminder of the True God and His love, so they chose to honor Christ's birth in the midst of pagan revelry.

I'm also of a firm belief that no one can know true peace, true hope, true joy outside of a relationship with God. No amount of man-made peace on earth, of gift giving, of gathering with family, can creating an imitation that can hold a candle to the real thing. For those who have believed the truth, Christmas is the symbol of the spirit they ought to live with in their hearts all year long. God left all and came among His hateful, ugly, proud creation to give them peace and hope like they'd never known. He showed us beauty we'll never find beyond the light of His glory. He gave us love undeserved, unmerited by the best of us; love without limit, without cost, unconditional forever without anything required in return; because what on earth could we possibly give to God, Who is the very thing of love?

The Christmas spirit is not a mindset, but a heartset, defined by the act of a merciful and loving God in giving Himself for creatures who weren't worth it, who will never be worth it. It's an emotion that provokes action, and it cannot be mimicked or recreated by any amount of generosity and peaceful living, of music and empty prayers, of snow and decorated trees. I only pray it doesn't take a special day of the year to bring me back to that knowledge.

I'll get off my soapbox now. None of this was running through my head before I sat down to write this. As usual, writing gets my mind working better than anything. I didn't mean to preach; I just had to get it out, even though I wasn't quite sure what it was until now. I suppose it's kind of a self-evaluation and mental beating-head-with-Sunday-newspaper.

All that said, I would still like some snow, and not just on the 24th and 25th like so many silly friends say. If we're going to have winter, let's do it right and have snow. As it is, we got a very light dusting last night (it took five hours of "flurries" just to stick and layer the ground) and there's something like a 47% chance of more today, and maybe tomorrow. We'll see.

Christmas party, Christmas trees, Christmas time...but no snow.

Hershey is sitting proudly in his chair by the window, watching the world come to life. Sasha's restless in her crate, moaning and grunting because, for once, Hershey is out of the girls' room before 9 and she can't be up to "play" with him.

It's a nice change to the morning routine, if you ask me.

For the last...probably at least the last month, maybe more, I've had my alarm set for 7. I don't think I've actually been up by 7 more than 5 weekdays in the past month. I keep hitting snooze, and then that's deactivated I reset the alarm a couple times. (Usually my excuse is that I'm in the middle of a good - or at least interesting - dream and want to see how it ends. But after a few hours of being awake, I wonder how I could think it was that interesting.)

Sure, sometimes I climb out of bed around 7, but that's only to take Sasha outside so she'll sleep a little longer.

Today I got up to take Sasha out, as usual. When I put her back to bed, I went to the girls' room to get my computer cord, thinking I might make an effort to stay awake. (I really should clean my room, but that's beside the point.)

Hershey was wide awake and standing by the door expectantly: not normal for him. Usually he's curled up as tightly as possible on one of the beds and refuses to move.

I got the cord and decided to let Hershey out, thinking he might just be thirsty and would go back to bed after I gave him some water. He downed nearly a gallon of water, then asked to go out. After that, he wouldn't go back to the girls' room but wandered into the living room.

Sasha wasn't happy, and waited for me to let her out. When I didn't, she barked a few times to remind me she was there.

I went upstairs to get dressed and grab my phone. When I came back, Hershey was gone. No where in the kitchen, living room, bathroom, or girls' room. I briefly wondered if he'd gone stealth mode and sneaked past me on the stairs and was hiding in Wes's room, but quickly dismissed that idea. Hershey can't be quiet about anything.

Then I remembered Mom's light had been on. Sure enough, he had pushed open her door and was curled up on the bed. She didn't let him stay for long.

So I gave him his medicine (buried in a heel of bread slathered in peanut butter so he couldn't pick it out like he usually does) and sat down to check a few of the games I had downloaded to my phone yesterday. Mom came out and cleared off Hershey's chair, opened the curtain, and invited him to hop up. He stared outside for a while, but now he's snoozing. And Sasha's quiet, too.

And yes, I said all that both because I wanted to change style a little and because I don't have much else to say. Even living in a family with comparatively eventful lives, sometimes those lives can feel pretty unremarkable.

I'm trying to remember everything that's happened since my last post.

Oh. Christmas party. It was fun. I'm glad we girls got the chance to get dressed up, and we ate something besides paste or taco shell-wrapped Mexican food. It was a big change from last year, when we all collapsed on the floor in jeans and colorful socks and drank dangerously bright Kool Aid and messy enchiladas.

This time, we pretty much sat around. After all of the pictures were taken, that is. (There were a grand total of 2 Sr. High guys there without girlfriends, and at least a dozen girls, so the youth pastor's wife suggested the girls pair up for pictures and the guys be in every one. Some girls were not in favor of this plan, but we did it.) I know this group of Sr. Highers typically does just sit around at activities, but usually we can lounge or sit on each other and throw pillows or something.

Anyway. Even gift time was quiet. I started out with a cool stationary set (stolen, because I was 23 out of 30 people and there weren't any exciting-looking gifts still wrapped) but that got taken and I ended up with a set of juggling balls. I could have had the pancake maker (a tube with a special tip on the end, which you fill with pancake batter and can use to make neat designs) but the girl who had it wanted to keep it and I'm nice like that.

And yes, my hair stayed curly the whole time. I was happy. And now I have a new technic for styling my hair. Yay me!

After that....

Well, on Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day ancestry.com offered free viewing of their WWII records, so I went and searched for a bunch of my relatives. I couldn't find my dad's dad anywhere, which is really strange, but I did find his dad, who enlisted when he was 63!

Searching those records prompted me to finally transfer the rest of the information from the family tree booklet I have onto the one I started online. It's done at last! Now whenever I decide to use the free 2 week trial of ancestry.com I can start filling in the past 40 years.

I can't really think of much else. Co-op and Institute are out for Christmas break. I failed terribly at memorizing Ephesians, so I'll have to deal with it and pay for the classes and look for a job (or because a best selling author in the next 6 months).

Last night we got our tree. We got a real tree last year, too, our artificial one finally so old and worn that we got rid of it.

It was cool and really windy last night, so we weren't in the mood for browsing every tree in the place. Mom wanted a tall, slim tree, but we couldn't see any of those. Heather found one she liked and was determined to have it, whining anyone else even looked at something different. "Mine doesn't cost as much as yours does" and "Mine's prettier than that one". Eventually we gave in and let her have her tree.

Then, courtesy of some nice route customers, we went to Logan's, and I made a note to never get Balsamic vinaigrette for a salad ever again. Sweet dressing on salad = yuck.

I can't believe we have 9 days until Christmas! Since our first snowfall, we haven't had anything. It's been gray and rainy this week. We got a dusting of snow last night, but it didn't stick. Tomorrow Mom's taking us girls shopping, so maybe a few hours pushing my way through a crowded mall to the sound of Christmas music will get me in the spirit. (I doubt it, but we'll see.)

Strange dreams, hair curlers, and pet rivalry

I was going to do a post on pictures, because I haven't posted very many pictures yet, there's a recent one of Sasha that I managed to snap in a rare moment where she's not moving, and the pictures have been accumulating on my phone and I need to take care of them. But either Blogger or our internet (or both) doesn't want that to happen, because the pictures simply won't be uploaded, no matter how long I wait for it. So that's for another time, I guess.

I do have some stories to tell!

I have this thing similar to recurring nightmares, but it's not actually the same one over and over. It's not even a series. (Yes, some of my dreams have sequels.) It's more of just a strange theme running through them. I don't know when I had the first one. Years ago, I guess. But I had another yesterday night. In the middle of the dream I was thinking to myself, "Oh, no. Not another one of these."

The dreams? My wedding.

This last one must have been number 7 or 8, though I'm bad at remembering most dreams so I'm not sure. Every one is different. Different people are in it, a different location.... There's only one thing that's consistent: I never see the groom's face. In one of the first ones, he even looked directly at me. There was nothing there.

It drives Mom crazy, though I'm not really sure why. She wants to put out a notice on facebook along the lines of: "Will the man stalking my daughter's dreams please show yourself?" Yeah, that'll go well.

The crazy dude always has his back to me and pretty much never speaks. Well, I only assume it's the same guy in each. What I have seen of him is pretty average.

Hang on. The pup is attacking my hands as I type. I should probably take her out.

That took longer than I thought. Where was I...?

Oh, yeah. Mysterious, faceless dream stalker.

As far as looks go, what I can see of him is pretty average. Average height (by my standards, not my brother's), average hair. I think once someone said his name, but I don't know what it was.

So that's what haunts my dreams. After the fifth one, it started to get old. This last one was super boring.

The Sr. High Christmas party is tonight, and, for the first time (to my knowledge) it's formal. Mom took Heather and I shopping yesterday for shoes and some accessories. At Payless, we were served by a girl who seemed either seriously starved for human interaction or just overly friendly. Either way, she came by after I had found some shoes (only $11, though they seriously up my chances of killing myself) and was browsing around while Heather hunted for her own pair. I kept pulling out the gaudiest shoes I could find and showing them to Mom, and Ms. Friendly asked if I was getting married!

Yeah, I'm actually still talking about my dreams/nightmares, not shoes, because the irony is so funny.

My first reaction was to blush. Second was a slow, quiet, "Um, no."

She went on to ask what the occasion was ("Prom?") and then decided to ask how old I was. When I told her, she kind of smiled and said, "Oh. The way you carried yourself, I thought you were, like, 21."

Is this a good thing or bad thing?

If nothing else, our interactions with her provided some humor.

Okay, onto something else besides my crazy dreams.

Yesterday Mom took us to get our Level 1 licenses. We left around 9, which had Heather up at 8. (Yeah, Mom called her to get her up and asked, "Are you up?" Heather said, "Um, no." She told me she was staring at the dark window and wondering why on earth she'd be up so early.)

We wished for two miraculous things as we headed to the Secretary of State office: a short line and a nice person to wait on us. Neither has happened any other time Mom's been in there. The service could make bridge trolls look friendly and helpful, from what I've heard.

But miracles do happen! When we arrived, there were only two people in front of us, and the person who helped us was apparently the manager and wasn't so sunshine deprived as her colleagues have all appeared to be (in regards to their temperaments, not complexions). She was friendly, she was patient, and she didn't give us any problems. (And she was wearing a very cute jacket.)

When Mom went to do the same thing with Wes, they gave her trouble over the documents she brought to prove residency, legal presence, etc. We have friends who brought in six or seven things just to make sure they weren't missing anything, and the people got mad at them for bringing too much, while they said the four items Mom brought to cover the four required areas weren't enough. (Fickle, much?) But not this lady. Mom brought two or three extra things for each of us and she didn't ask to see any of it.

After we filled out our forms and she got our names straight, she had us take the short vision test. Heather did fine, even though she's been saying she needs glasses. I, who have glasses, didn't do so well. Evidently my left eye is much worse than I had believed. They split the thing into three sections: left, middle, and right. I could barely tell the left section existed, but the right was clear.

Little things like this make me blush, and, of course, I did. But no worries. I survived.

After that adventure, we went for a little drive to see the snow. Thanks to routes, that didn't last long. Then, because we were nearby, we grabbed papers, and I ended up sitting through the whole route because it was easier than Mom dropping me at home. Cold is the only word there. The heat didn't kick in until near the end of routes. Again.

Then we did a little shopping and headed home.

Mom decided I needed a curly up-do for the party, and she is determined to make my hair curl. (It might just be me, but it doesn't hold a curling-iron curl if I use a whole bottle of hairspray and sit like a statue in an air-tight room all day. [Not that I've tried.])

So I took a shower, towel-dried my hair, and silently submitted myself to Mom's hands. (She can get borderline-violent when it comes to doing hair.) She loaded it with this weird smelling gunk and then loaded the top part with curlers, twisting the bottom in small strands and holding it all together with bobby pins because we ran out of curlers. Then I had to sleep with it like that.

And do papers routes with it like that, because Heather is at a friend's.

We had to get gas first, and I knew Mom wouldn't let me pump after the fiasco on Thursday (I'd rather not talk about it), but I assumed I'd go in to pay. Turns out even Mom isn't (usually) so cruel as to subject me to that torture to my pride, so she paid. Then to the paper office. No one in sight!

Actually, I almost made it through the entire routes without anyone seeing me (to my knowledge). Until we were three minutes from being done. We pulled up to one of the apartment buildings. There was a guy standing outside smoking.

"Do I have to do it?" I groaned, sinking down in my seat.

Mom insisted. I tried covering my head with my hood. No good. The hat Mom had brought? It wouldn't fit.

"He's probably already seen you. Just go."

So I went. I walked quickly up the sidewalk. He glanced at me, muttered a good morning, which I responded to, and turned away to pace up and down the grass. I rushed inside. Down stairs, trip on top step, drop paper, up stairs, smack self in face with paper, drop paper, mumble to self, back outside. The guy wouldn't look at me, and I hurried back to the car.

When we got home, I took Sasha out and then went to bed, drifting in and out of sleep for three hours before I decided I should probably get up. Sasha was two hours overdue for breakfast, and she wanted out.

I've been avoiding mirrors, windows, and puddles because every glimpse of my reflection I've had makes me cringe. Ah, the things we do to look nice. Now my neck and shoulder hurt because I couldn't curl up on my pillow, but the curlers are still intact. And they must remain so all day.

My hair better curl well, and it better stay that way until I take a shower tonight.

What else to say? Um, on Thursday one of the girls at co-op came up to me and remarked that I was wearing a NaNoWriMo hoodie. I excitedly asked if she knew what it was. When she said she did, that's she'd done it, I bounced and nearly squealed. She probably regretted saying anything at all, but it makes me really happy that someone else knows. I'm still waiting for the day a random stranger at the store will say, "You do NaNo? So do I!" But I don't see that happening any time soon. I keep trying.

I made a remark the other day while Sasha was in terror mode that I should have chose the fat, sleeping puppy. Let's be honest: she was in the middle of a nap, and when she did wake up it was because two of her sisters were sitting on top of her biting her tail and face. She didn't even have a chance to come when I stuck my hand in and called because she couldn't move.

And then Sasha calmed down and took a nap and I decided I could live with her. But I do have to wonder what would have happened if I had chosen any of the others. They didn't have very defined personalities at that point, but they were each different in subtle ways. What if I had chosen the sweet one Allenna picked up, or the cute one Heather grabbed, or the biggest, laziest one who didn't even look up?

Who knows?

Who cares?

Sasha's about 13 weeks now, and she is getting better. Now most of her accidents occur because I know she needs to go (she's only been barking in my face and pacing around for five minutes) and I ignore her for too long, or she's been in the crate for an hour too long and just gets too excited when I walk in. She's still not getting very far in training, but what puppy really learns much outside of the very basic commands before they're a year old? Hershey still doesn't obey unless he feels like it.

Yeah, it's not really the best idea to compare them. Not to be mean (though it'll come out that way) but Hershey is kind of...dense? He was crazy as a puppy, but now he's a laid-back, totally mellow, lazy dog who isn't too fond of copious amounts of fresh air and chasing a ball. Sasha could spend all day outside if the weather is good and is always demanding to be played with, and she picks up on things much faster than Hershey ever did. Granted, she's still a puppy, but they really aren't comparable.

Also, our household does not support pet equality, which really frustrates Sasha and makes Hershey smug. Hershey is allowed on the furniture and Sasha isn't. Hershey gets human food and Sasha doesn't (though she still thinks any and all food is hers by rights to take as she pleases). Before Hershey got angry and destroyed them, there were some toys that only Sasha could play with, but his heart was not off limits to her. (Oh, the things we could do with that rubber heart of his. Another time.) Hershey sleeps in the girls' room on a bed, and Sasha sleeps alone in her crate. Sasha has to eat at a specific time, but Hershey is free to eat whenever he is inclined to. (Don't worry, he doesn't over eat in any way. He just doesn't like eating if he's all alone. Especially lately, someone has to stand within sight of him before he touches his food.)

Okay, enough about the pets. (All three of which, by the way, are napping in the living room as I type this.) Actually, I can't think of anything else to write at the moment. And any way, I think this post is long enough now.

So a little cleaning, a little writing, and then probably two hours of preparing before the part tonight. I should be back tomorrow to write a little about that, and maybe I'll even manage to post a picture or two.