Is Santa Real?

Snooping in my mother's closet one day, I stretched up to retrieve one of her purses from the shelf that was above her clothes rod. I opened her handbag, and took in the smell of lipstick and DoubleMint gum. There on the bottom of the bag, hidden by the rumpled tissues, was a collection of small foil-wrapped teeth. So THIS is where the Tooth Fairy stored our teeth. Hey, wait a minute!

That was the first of several experiences that made me doubt the magic of childhood, and I became an investigative reporter, asking questions about the tooth fairy, the Easter Bunny, and, most importantly,  the jolly old man in the big red suit. 

Could he be real, if the others weren't? Hoping against hope, I went in search of answers. The logistics of these holiday heroes created confusion in my mind. I WANTED to believe in them all, especially Santa, but evidence was mounting that I had been duped.

My mom was in her bedroom, busily sewing a few weeks before Christmas. I was in fourth grade, and my parents were newly divorced. I lay face-down on Mom's bed, propping up my chin in my hands. 

"Mom..." I began tentatively.

"Yes," she absent-mindedly responded, adjusting the fabric on her sewing machine table.

"Is Santa Claus real? I mean, is he REALLY real?" I asked, hoping he was; knowing he couldn't be.

"Of course, he's real. Santa Claus brings presents to all of the good little girls and boys around the world. If you don't believe in Santa, he won't bring you presents. You want him to bring you presents, don't you?"

Well, of course, I did. I asked several specific questions, trying to catch her in her deception, and she fielded them deftly, but I was still unsatisfied. It was time for a second opinion.

Daddy, Danny, and me

The next time we were with Daddy, I waited for my opportunity to ask him, and being a good sister; this time, anyway, I made sure the boys weren't with us.

"Daddy, is Santa Claus REALLY real?"

He cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses, and blinked a few times. "Princess," he began, "the thing you need to understand about Santa Claus is that he represents the spirit of Christmas."

Do you know what my sweet dad did? He told me the truth. And he told it in the most loving way imaginable. Daddy said the CONCEPT of Santa was very real. Santa represented love and giving. Many people, especially parents, want to perpetuate those wonderful traditions, and they keep the spirit of Christmas alive by acting on Santa's behalf. There are many people who are Santa's helpers, so to speak, who do the work of the beloved legend. Mommies and daddies love their children, and want them to enjoy the tradition of Santa, so they buy the presents, and they give them to their little ones. The outward signs of Santa (pillow tummies under cheap red suits, awkward artificial beards, and black boots) are not nearly as important as what is on the inside that represents the spirit of Santa; the giving and loving.

Dear Old Dad, around 2012.  Photo Credit: Natalie Beidler Mayhew

Daddy let me know that it's always a good thing to believe in the spirit of Christmas; we never want that to end. And it was also okay for me to not believe in the North Pole, and a man who traveled around the entire world in one night to stop at every child's house, delivering presents to good girls and boys. 

True to form, my dad made me feel good about my questions, and even better about myself. 

Santa represents loving and giving, just like my dad. 

A Christmas Wish

Saturday was always a good day to call my dad. He was usually in his big chair watching football, but he never seemed to mind that I interrupted his game. We would talk about his workouts at the gym, the recent happenings at his church, about his friends, and he always made me laugh. Dad would ask, "How are the children?" He loved every single one of those babies that my brothers and I gave him. Before we hung up, he would always say, "Tell the kiddies hello. Give them a big hug from me."  

Last Saturday, before goodbye, he said, "Well, I'll talk to you on Christmas."  That was something we could always count on, our Christmas Day chat.

Sleep has always eluded me, but the last couple of days it has been worse. I stare at the dark ceiling, and check the red light of the digital clock. It doesn't seem to change much. I wander into the living room, and set my computer on my lap. I try to read, or even write.

Ever since I was a little girl, I've been a light sleeper. During the middle of the night, I would awaken to the soft glow of light from the kitchen shining into the hallway, and the sound of the fridge opening and closing, and the rustling of a bag of cookies.  I would sit bolt upright in bed, and scramble out of the covers and off to the kitchen.  SNACK TIME WITH DADDY!

Daddy would get another cup from the cabinet and pour me a glass of milk. He would slide the cookie package between us so I could help myself to them. We had Chips Ahoy Chocolate Chip Cookies, or Oreos, or my favorite, Keebler Wedding Cookies, small round chocolate chip cookies covered in a thick coating of powdered sugar. I'm sure he would've preferred to have this quiet time to himself, but he always welcomed me to his midnight snack moment. My dad was so awesome. He worked hard, and was gone from home often, showing real estate or going to meetings for his town or business, so I cherished these special times that were just the two of us. When we were done, I would give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and scoot back to my bedroom. "Good night, Princess." I've always been his Princess. Princess Summerfall Winterspring.  

Last night's snack at two in the morning wasn't much fun. I drank my Kava tea, hoping it would settle my brain down long enough to sleep. I haven't had much of an appetite, but when I saw a box of See's chocolates opened on the counter, I popped one in my mouth on my way to bed. Everyone knows See's makes excellent chocolates, but even that piece of candy didn't taste good yesterday. I might as well have eaten sand lately for all of the good food has done me.

Now I realize that Daddy couldn't have known it might be harder to follow through on his comment, which I keep calling a promise, about talking to me on Christmas Day. It would just mean the world to me if he would find a way to do that. You see, my Dad had a heart attack Sunday afternoon, and for all of the help his sweet wife and friends tried to give him, it couldn't change the fact that he was gone.

I've tried to hear him, to practice for Christmas. I sit really still, and sometimes I think if he could talk to me, the words I would hear are, "Don't be sad, Princess." 

It's so hard, Dad. It's just so hard. We all thought you'd live forever, as foolish as that sounds to say. We always thought there'd be more time. More time for visits to Virginia, more time for long-distance phone calls, more time to tell you how awesome you are...how funny you are...how loved you are. And now our time is up. We had our chances, and we all hope you know just how grateful we are to have had you in our lives.

On Christmas Day, I'm going to try to be as still and quiet as I can. I'll give you every opportunity to make good on your promise. Some things don't need to be spoken; I know that. In my heart, I know that you would tell us all, "Don't be sad.  Be happy.  It's Christmas. Love the kiddies for me. Give everyone a hug. Focus on the good times. We had a lot of those, didn't we? I love you." His words would be full of life and love. And maybe they will only come in the form of thoughts, but just in case, I'll be listening, Dad. I'm all ears. Hearing your voice one more time would be the most wonderful gift of all.

*Calendar Schmalendar

Merry Christmas!  Yes, I know that today is December 21, the day of the winter solstice.  Yes, I know that Christmas is not until next Wednesday.  Well, CALENDAR SCHMALENDAR.  We're celebrating today, and I've been wide awake since 3:30.  I've always been a bit of an insomniac, but I'm even more of one on Christmas morning.  "The children are nestled all snug in their beds..."

I feel so, so happy knowing that my boys are asleep in my house.  My sweet daughter-in-law is here. We had a wonderful Christmas Eve dinner last night with my mom and stepdad. It was a lovely evening, full of pleasant conversation, good-natured teasing, and warm feelings. I had been so worried, and it all went beautifully.

Ever since my daughter's ANNOUNCEMENT two Christmas Eves ago that she was moving away from Utah to Colorado, Christmas has been an emotional time for me.  Last year Sierra flew home to join us, and we celebrated our Christmas Adam with her.  (Christmas Adam (December 23) comes before Christmas Eve (December 24), in case you were wondering.) This is our first Christmas apart. Sierra is such a ray of sunshine, I just couldn't imagine a holiday without her.  She had asked Bridger to Skype with her during our family gathering.  I wasn't sure how that would go, but it gave me a glimmer of hope that it would feel like she were there, somehow.

During the most random moments during the last week, I have erupted into spontaneous tears. Over nothing.  One chilly afternoon, I finally mustered up enough enthusiasm to take Marley for a walk on the trail by the canal.  In an effort to warm up my hands, I shoved them into my ski parka, and discovered a Bob's Sweet Stripe Stick.  It was perfect, lint-free, and, I just have to say it, it was in "mint condition."  I have no idea how it came to be in my pocket; I was just glad it was there, my little Christmas miracle.  I think Bob's are the most perfect peppermint, firm enough to suck on, and soft enough to chew, being sweet with a hint of powerful freshness.  They always make me think of Christmas.  I broke the stick in two, and popped half of it in my mouth.  Mmm...so good.  I took in a big breath, and enjoyed the cooling sensation as the peppermint mingled with the crisp December air. And I burst into tears.  

My mind flooded with our plans for Christmas Eve, which we would be celebrating on December 20. Dylan and Jamie were coming to join us. Bridger was heading our way after school. My mom was making rolls and mashed potatoes for our holiday dinner.  She was coming with her husband. And my sweet daughter and her boyfriend would be in Lakewood, Colorado.  I miss her so much I sometimes have to force myself not to think about her, unless I feel like crying, and then I just let the tears come.  

Now I realize that technically, Christmas is next week for many people in the world.  (Did you know it isn't until January 7 for the Orthodox Christians?  I learned that yesterday from one of my friends in Russia. I'm so glad I never had to wait THAT long for Santa to come!)  As a mom of independent children, I am learning that flexibility is the name of the game when it comes to holidays.  When your married kids have the weekend before Christmas off of work, and offer to travel to your home, whatever time you spend together becomes Christmas.  When another married child agrees to bring your precious grandsons to a Christmas morning breakfast, that morning becomes Christmas, and the calendar just happens to concur.  CALENDAR SCHMALENDAR. 

Friday morning I set two intentions for my day.  I wanted to be of service to others, and to experience joy.  Lately, I think I've had a serious mindset, and on this day of celebration for our family, I wanted to be light-hearted, and open to delight.  With those two lovely thoughts in my heart and head, I set out to have a very good day.

Bridger arrived before the big kids, and headed downstairs to wrap the last of his presents and play his guitar.  When Dylan and Jamie arrived, we all visited while I set about making the house smell like the holidays with the scent of sage, rosemary, and thyme.  Mom and Richard joined us, and after dinner, there was a football game silently playing on the TV and a Scrabble game going on at the bar. As I sat in my recliner, enjoying the camaraderie around me, I realized we needed our girl. "When are we Skyping Sierra?" I asked no one in particular, but hoping Bridger would get right on it.  

As soon as I saw her making silly faces on the screen, I relaxed, and I laughed.  That's my girl for you.  She naturally puts everyone at ease with her random humor, and her easy way.  Dylan does not like communicating unless it's face-to-face or texting.  (He even deletes every voice mail message on his phone, in case it's bad news, and he avoids anything like Skype.)  Learning of his aversion just as Bridger was dialing Sierra, I was so pleased to see his joking with Jason and Sierra on the computer. That big brother's love for his sister is stronger than his distaste for techno-communication.  

We took a family photo, which is the poorest of quality, but it's my favorite photograph from the evening.  Surrounded by my Utah family, I held Sisi and Jason in my hands on my laptop, and we were all smiling at my mom as she took a photo during our Skype session. We WERE all there, in the same room, at the same time, laughing and talking, just like old times.  My heart was light and happy.  

I saw this poster on the internet from Cheryl Richardson.  It has been my guiding thought as I have planned for the holidays.  The date on the calendar doesn't matter.  Following traditions to the tee, doesn't matter.  Loved ones matter; that is all.  

Sierra and Jason will be joining us in January, possibly on Martin Luther King, Junior's holiday weekend.  And guess what?  My tree will probably still be up because any time my kids come for a visit is just like Christmas for me.  Calendar schmalendar, indeed!

*"It's the Thought that Counts," Right?

I try; I really do.  Nothing makes me happier than selecting the perfect gift for a loved one.  I enjoy shopping, and then wrapping the presents.  My mom is the same way.  You know what they say about the best laid plans, though.  Mom and I try, but sometimes Mom and I totally miss the mark. Mom has more excuses than I do; she has many, many children and grandchildren for whom to buy gifts.  I have only a few.  So what's my excuse?

Um, I tend to rush.  My speed-reading gets the best of me.  I THINK I know what I'm ordering, but I have been proven wrong more than once. Sometimes there is simply a miscommunication; sometimes we simply don't understand a request.

Remember when there was a major shift in videos, changing from cassettes to DVDs?  My brother Eric was making the switch, and had requested some DVDs to replace his favorite shows on cassettes. Mom had offered to take care of that, and like a good shopper, went on eBay, and found a good deal on one of the movies Eric wanted.

Thanksmas afternoon, during our annual gift exchange after our turkey dinner, we were opening presents.  Eric was given a very large, flat gift.  When he removed the item from the wrappings, he asked aloud what it was.  Mom asked, "Isn't that the movie you wanted?"

"Well, yeah, it's the title, but what IS this thing?  It's so...BIG." he said, holding up what looked like a 33 record album.

"It's that disc thing you asked for." Aah...there it was.  Video disc/laser disc.  All the same in mom's head.  "We only have cassettes, so I thought this must be the latest thing."  We chuckled, and chalked it up to another near-hit in the gift exchange.

A couple of years ago, my book-loving son had requested several titles.  The teacher in me loves supplying my kids with books, and I happily went on Amazon, ordering every book he desired.  And some he didn't want, apparently.  He had thoughtfully included title and author names, and had said that used books were fine.  Into the Wild was an easy title to find, but unfortunately, it is a title used by more than one author.

What he wanted was THIS:  Into the Wild, written by Jon Krakauer, a story of action, adventure, a story of man vs. nature, if ever there was one.  The perfect book for my outdoorsman son.

What he received was THIS: a lovely children's book written by Sarah Beth Durst, a story of fantasy and adventure, sure to please any little girl during the holidays.

Close, but no cigar.

This year, in my online ordering frenzy, I was trying to find ammo for my brother-in-law.  Now I'm no hunter, no gun aficionado, but I don't live under a rock.  I was very aware that ammunition is very hard to come by right now.  The gun enthusiasts, preppers, and hunters have been stockpiling their bullets and shells for months.  Stores sell their supplies as soon as they stock their shelves. So it was with enthusiastic delight I discovered .22 ammo on Amazon.  The price was reasonable, and I quickly clicked "buy it now," and checked Rick off my list.  When the large box arrived with all of the gifts I'd ordered, the last little package I removed from it was the ammo.  It was so LIGHT.  These were not bullets; they were pellets.  There's such a thing as .22 PELLETS ?  Who knew?  Dang.  Another miss.

There was the year my dad received multiple copies of the Pink Panther DVD.  What can I say? Great minds think alike.  The siblings were on the same wavelength that year.

Here's to the holiday mishaps, and the smiles they bring in their retellings later in life.  Thank heavens, it's never really about the gifts.   When they say, "It's the thought that counts," I hope discombobulated thoughts count, too.  I seem to be having more of those with each passing year.

No Shakin', Pokin', or Peekin'!

Some of us are naturally patient, following some Christmas moral code about not sneaking around before the holidays, discovering holiday delights before the appointed moment. I was not one of these saints as a child, and my sneaky habits continued well into adulthood.  

I took great delight in finding the Christmas hiding places each year. The family room closet? The skeleton key was above the old wooden door jamb. The locked motor home? Check the key hooks by the back door. With a family of eight kids, Mom felt it necessary to put her holiday goodies under lock and key. When her Christmas cookie and candy stash had obviously been dwindling, she would ask who had been stealing the goodies. I always confessed; I was a thief, but I was an honest thief.

Some of my sweetest memories as a little girl were in the wee hours of the morning on Christmas day. Inevitably, I would discover mom in the kitchen, working diligently on MORE holiday goodies and last minute preparations. I recall one time I padded into the warm kitchen in my footed pajamas, wiping my bleary eyes, but getting more excited by the moment.

Before entering the kitchen, it was with great joy I noticed there had been additions to the Christmas tree since I had gone to bed. Since mom was going to know I was out and about, I decided to ask permission to look. She stopped what she was doing, dried her hands, and knelt by the tree with me, as I oohed and ahed over all of the delights that Santa had left during his visit. That year I received my very first camera, a Kodak Instamatic with the disposable flash cubes. I also recall shaking packages one afternoon when I was left to my own devices, and accidentally pushing too hard on a long rectangular package when lo, and behold, a Barbie's hand poked out of the giftwrap. I fixed it the best I could with some Scotch tape. Luckily for me, no one else was investigating things under the tree like I was, so my parents were none the wiser.

There is one Christmas memory that holds some shame for me. Let me apologize to my little brother Danny one more time.

We were living in the small brick ranch house on Kenmore Road in Amherst, Virginia. I must have just turned five, so Danny would have been nearly three. I was somewhat of a tomboy, in those days; I would rather play veterinarian than house, and if I were going to play with dolls, they had to be boys. I always chopped off my dolls' hair, and requested mom make them some pants so they wouldn't have to be embarrassed to wear those ridiculous frilly dresses that came with them.  

This particular holiday in 1965, I had told Santa I wanted a Tubsy doll. Yes, she was a girl, but she could get in the tub, and splash in the water. I LOVED water, and taking baths, so I thought I would make an exception in Tubsy's case, and ask for a girly doll.  

Suffering from Christmas Eve insomnia, I crept out of bed in the middle of the night to see if Santa had come. My parents had probably barely fallen into an exhausted slumber, so I was safe to have the joint to myself.  

I tiptoed downstairs to the basement. The family room was illuminated the big, fat, colorful light bulbs on the fragrant pine tree. And there she was:  my very own Tubsy!  I dumped my stocking, ate a piece of candy, and then put the contents back into the fuzzy, red stocking with the white fringe.  

One of the surprises in my pile was a life-sized Raggedy Ann. She was as tall as I was! Now I had already met my quota for girl dolls this year. I was amazed at the sheer size of her, but she was not a BOY, and therefore, could not have been meant for me. I didn't ask for her, and Santa would have known I usually only like boy dolls, but wait! What did my little eyes spy on the other side of the tree? A matching Raggedy ANDY in Danny's pile. A great big BOY doll.  

I know I shouldn't have, and even felt a twinge of guilt as I did it, but who would ever know? Danny was little; he wouldn't care. And Santa was too busy to come back to see if I were still being a good, little girl. I took a big breath, and I did it. I switched the dolls. I was so happy. I now had the biggest boy doll in the world, and all was right with the world. I quietly scurried back upstairs to try to sleep until it seemed like a more appropriate time to wake the rest of the family to see what Santa had brought.

When we stepped into the family room, I took Danny by the hand, dragging him toward his pile under the tree. "Danny, LOOK!  Look what Santa brought you...a great, big Raggedy Ann. Isn't that GREAT?" My parents were dumbfounded, but what could they say?  

My mom stared at me, wide-eyed, as I got busy showing Danny all of the WONDERFUL things Santa had brought us. I could feel her glare, but I was the only one who had known what I'd done. I tried hard to avoid her gaze.

"And Danny, look! Santa brought me a Raggedy Andy. We can play together. Sometimes I will even let you play with my doll, if you want!"

If my parents had pushed the issue, the validity of Santa would come into question. I'd done it. I'd pulled off the big switcheroo! And my poor brother was now the confused, albeit not proud, owner of his very own Raggedy Ann. The memory of my deception haunts me to this day. Again, I'm sorry, Danny. You were two. Hopefully, you don't even remember this particular bad big sister incident, but if you do, I'll try to make it up to you. 

I wonder if I it's too late to order you a big Raggedy Andy of your own...

*Family Heirlooms: Use 'Em or Lose 'Em

People who save beautiful things for a special occasion drive me a little crazy. If you have something beautiful, don't you deserve to enjoy it whenever you want? You know the folks who have all of their beautiful china on display, but only dust it? The ones who never eat off of their special  I don't understand them.

My stepmom has many family heirlooms from her grandmother and mother that have been passed down to her. She also received beautiful china of her own when she married my dad. Yes, there is a beautiful cabinet in the dining room with everything on display, and there is a buffet filled with actual SILVERware. I'm so proud of her; we use it. We have to wash the dishes by hand, but that's okay; at least she considers us worthy of her lovely dishes. I think it is so special the way her dinner table looks; she has a flair for decorating.

Every family is different; there are those who purge nearly everything, and those who hoard, and everything in between. There are not many things to be passed down in our family. My dad has a cool smoking stand, a triangular cabinet owned by his father that stores pipes and tobacco. My mom has her mom's bedroom set, and she and my aunt take turns wearing a ruby ring that belonged to their mother. Other than those things, there aren't many family heirlooms.

When my grandmother died, guess what I selected when it was my turn? Her beautiful red London Fog wool coat. Not exactly something I will be able to pass on to my daughter; it's showing signs of wear. I have loved using that coat for the last 24 years, and always think of Grandma when I wear it.  

My mother gave me one more thing from Grandma, and it makes me chuckle. I received her sex manual; an old-fashioned book written by a doctor that her doctor gave her when she was a young wife.  

The best part about it is the letter that is tucked inside written by a doctor to my grandmother, wishing her the best as she tries to become a better wife. There are no pictures or illustrations, just lots of boring details about the mechanics of sex. Again, Sierra is welcome to it, but not exactly something to include in my will.

I tend to be a purger.  When something no longer serves its purpose, loses its appeal, or just becomes another item to store, I usually get rid of it. I am not one to wear jewelry of value, so I won't have much to pass on in that department. I have a wedding set in my jewelry box that my father gave to my mother. They divorced when I was ten. Much later, when I was married, my father gave it to me, and I wore it after I had lost so much weight that my own ring did not fit. I loved that the ring connected me to both of my parents.

When I was visiting everyone back home in Virginia about fifteen years ago, I happened to be talking to my stepdad while he was in the basement getting rid of things they no longer wanted to store. My kind of guy; he's a purger, too. Calvin pulled an old decrepit postal box off the shelf, opened it, and said, "We don't use these. Let's toss this box."  My mom saw the box, and took a quick inhale.  

"Those were my mom's. Maybe Denise wants them."  Within that ratty-looking box were the delicate glass ornaments that belonged to my grandmother from so many years ago.  I loved them.  

"I can seriously have these?"  They were mine for the asking.  How I cherish the one heirloom-quality collection I have. These ornaments were the first set my grandmother had as a new bride in 1934. They are made of the thinnest of glass, and hand-painted. They were run-of-the-mill ornaments back then, probably purchased at the local five and dime store, but they are so special now because of their antiquity.  Almost 80 years old...

For the first few Christmases, I hung them on my tree, but inevitably, one would break during the decorating; they are so fragile.  I continued to wrap them in the toilet paper that cushioned them in the old postal box, but a few years ago, I decided to put them in an egg carton to protect them a little better, or so I thought.

A couple of years ago, I purchased a tacky table-top tree on which to hang them.  That never set well with me; they needed a special place to go.  When I opened the carton this year, I discovered another broken ornament, so I left the box in the basement.

Several friends were talking about old family Christmas decorations, and I happened to mention Grandma's ornaments.  My friend Carol asked me to show them to her.  Since she lives in Massachusetts, the only way I could do that was to take pictures of them.

So last night, while I was waiting for Bridger to get home from playing in the pep band at the

My favorite one is broken. I can't bear to part with it.

basketball game, I decided to photograph the ornaments. I gingerly removed each of the little glass decorations from the egg carton, and hung them on the tree, taking pictures of each one, trying to catch the light just right to showcase the individuality of each ornament.I even photographed the broken one; it was one of my favorites, and I couldn't bear to throw it away.

I felt ashamed that I hadn't even brought the box of ornaments upstairs this year. These beautiful family heirlooms should be showcased every year for as long as they last. They do no good sitting in a crate in the basement closet, getting more fragile with each passing year. They are a connection to my dear grandmother, and just having them in view makes me happier.

So this morning, as I hang each ornament on my Christmas tree, I will walk the walk, and not just talk the talk.  I am going to use these beautiful gifts as they were meant to be; part of our family's heritage and Christmas traditions. They have their special place of honor, right where they belong:  on my Christmas tree. I am so glad I took the time to photograph them last night because I know they will not last forever. While they do, I promise to treasure them and include them in my holiday decorating.

That's a Wrap! (Wrapping Gifts with the Pleated Paper Technique)

If you have a few moments, and enjoy paper crafts at all, you might get a kick out of this little tutorial. However, if you are experiencing anxiety about the holidays, or are feeling overwhelmed this time of year, you might want to skip this post, and take a few minutes to put your feet up, and read something else, like SIMPLIFYING THE HOLIDAYS. 

Back in the day, as long as the identity of a gift I was giving was hidden by paper, I was content with my wrapping skills. I had a big supply of gift bags in a variety of sizes that suited my needs perfectly.

And then it happened. I received an exquisitely wrapped gift from my sister-in-law Cristina. I was fascinated. The paper was PLEATED, there was a bow, and inside the box, there was tissue paper, delicately covering the gift for its final unveiling. I felt so honored that she took the time to do that for me. Then I wondered, how did she DO that?  

Lucky for me, she was more than willing to share her gift-wrapping secrets. Ever since then, I have enjoyed making an extra effort in wrapping gifts, especially when I know it will be appreciated. 

Do I wrap every gift this way? Um, no. I have gift bags and speed-wrapping skills for last minute presents, and gifts for folks who just want to tear into the present.

It takes a little mechanical thinking to execute the folds, but only a little, because I'm able to do it. Hopefully, between my instructions and the photographs, you'll see how simple pleating can be.

First of all, when you're cutting the paper, you'll need to allow for extra width to make the pleats. There is probably a mathematical equation to determine exactly how much more paper is needed, but if you were hoping for that info, you are reading the wrong blog. A mathematician I'm not!

You can make vertical or diagonal pleats. Your first crease will determine the direction of the other folds. You can pleat the whole front of your package, if you want to get crazy with it, or you can simply make a couple of creases, and sharply flatten the pleats.

For finishing touches, I love to combine textures, utilizing twine, gauzy ribbon, wired ribbon, curling ribbon, shiny bows, and floral picks. During the Christmas holidays, there are so many decorative additions to choose from:  holly and berries, ornaments, pine cones and evergreens.

My tips for saving money on wrapping supplies are HERE.


I hope you have as much fun with this pleating technique as I do!

This first example demonstrates a diagonal pleat:

For this diagonal pleat, I placed the box on top of the paper to see where I wanted the top and bottom of the pleat to be.

This is what it looks like on the outside of the paper.

Once the pleats are made, flatten them with your hand so that
the edges are sharp,  and secure their placement with tape on the inside.

Place the box on the inside of the paper, and wrap as you normally would,
securing the overlapping seams with tape.

Add ribbon and a bow, if desired.

For the pièce de resistance, add a coordinating gift tag, and you're done! Talk about eye candy.

The next two examples utilize a vertical pleat. I suppose it goes without saying, you can make horizontal pleats, if you so desire. Once you have the basic concept, you can go crazy with pleating your packages.

Here's a close-up of the pleats for vertical lines.

A view from the side of the pleats. Make sure you make sharp creases before securing things in place.

Secure the pleats in place with at least three pieces of tape on the inside of the gift wrap.

Voilá!  The completed pleats. To complete the look, add a floral pick, like this white poinsettia to some gauzy ribbon.

And..."That's a wrap!"

Thanksmas, THE Most Wonderful Time of the Year

There seems to be so much hoopla surrounding the holidays. Some of us can't start early enough, and some of us freak out when the retailers jump the gun three months before any given holiday hits. I, for one, believe in celebrating everything as long as possible.  

You want to listen to Christmas carols in July? Wonderful. You enjoy partying it up by noting all of the holidays in December, including Kwanzaa and Hanukkah? You overachiever, you! You like to say Happy Holidays to be inclusive? Bless your heart. You don't want to take down your Christmas tree until Easter? My hat's off to you!  

I say we don't celebrate enough. To wait until Christmas Eve, for me, would be a tragedy. It just so happens that our family's holiday traditions started evolving about 22 years ago, when Sierra was about two, and Dylan about four. 

My mom lived back east near five of my siblings. Her other three kids lived out west. To divide herself between her two camps of kids, she started celebrating Thanksgiving here with us, and Christmas there with them. And someone got the bright idea to go ahead and celebrate Christmas a little early with Mom the week she came to visit. Thus, Thanksmas was born. Thanksgiving dinner segued into Christmas tree decorating and a family gift exchange.

Sierra started to help with dinner with her green bean
casserole.

We take turns hosting the event between our homes in Utah and Idaho. The host family provides the turkey, and the rest of us have standard assignments. My brother Eric makes the best HOLIDAY STUFFING ever, Mom makes the rolls and a pie or two, Joelle, our Idaho girl, makes the creamiest mashed potatoes, I make the pies, and the last few years, my Sierra has made the green bean casserole.  

So many people seem to get worked up about taking each holiday as it comes, making certain that Halloween ends before putting up anything Thanksgiving-related, and NEVER mixing in Christmas decor until the Turkey Day festivities have been cleared away. Not us. We go full bore on Christmas during the month of November in preparation for our family's Thanksmas celebration.

I like to have my tree up before everyone arrives.  Some of us let the kiddos decorate our trees after

Dylan ALWAYS helps the littles
decorate the tree. He is Mr. Tradition
in our family.

dinner while the kitchen is being restored to order. All of the gifts are put under the tree. After we all gather in the living room, we each take turns telling what we're thankful for, going in order from youngest to oldest.  

It's kind of cheesy, and sort of predictable, but it helps us focus for a moment on something other than the gifts. It's a nice transition from Thanksgiving to Christmas. Then the passing out of the presents begins, and there is a frenzy of paper tearing and bow throwing, "thank yous," and "I love its."

My kids have always looked forward to Thanksmas more than Christmas because that is our big holiday celebration with my family. It is the only holiday out of the whole year that we celebrate with my side of the family. Holidays are about family time after all, and it is so wonderful to have everyone gathered together under one roof for that very special time. Christmas has always been low-key around here. Thanksmas is the big deal for my kids.

My children are the oldest of the cousins out west, and so our family is feeling the subtle, and not-so-subtle changes in our holiday celebrations first. 

Last year, our Sierra was living in Colorado, and could only come home for one holiday, so we thankfully saw her over Christmas. This year, Dylan and Jamie will be taking a Thanksgiving holiday with the Hansens, which is only fair. Again, Sierra has asked to be excused this Thanksmas, saying she will celebrate with us in the new year, when air travel is less expensive, and they can arrange time off of work. I have adult children now, with significant others to consider. We may see our holidays evolve further once grandchildren enter the picture, and we juggle schedules to meet the desires of in-laws.  

Over the years we have seen our celebration include newcomers, and we've had some sad goodbyes. My mom has been widowed twice since we started celebrating Christmas in November over two decades ago. As babies joined the family, our numbers grew. My big kids have brought their boyfriends or girlfriends.  As my nieces from Virginia have moved out west to go to college, they have attended if they didn't have other plans. All are welcome.

Flexibility is the name of the game when it comes to family and holidays. That's how we ended up with Thanksmas. I have the fondest memories of those gatherings. Combining our holidays of Thanksgiving with Christmas gives us the best of both worlds. I have a feeling we'll be seeing new traditions develop, and old traditions will be tweaked to accommodate our ever-changing family.

These pictures are in no particular order, and may or may not include everyone who has attended our holiday celebration.  I just wanted to post a few of my favorites that show the camaraderie of the cousins, the silliness, and the warm family feelings. Thanksmas is truly my most favorite holiday of all.

Shrink and her boys.  Both of my boys call me Shrink. 

Those smiles light up the room.

Our family smile; must be genetic.  The sense of humor sure is!

Rudolph noses...Bubba teef...there's always room for silliness.

One of our favorite dogs, enjoying a quiet moment before the festivities begin.

I'm being nice, and not posting all of the pictures of everyone in their tryptophan-induced slumber.
Here are two of my nieces.  Everyone gets pretty cozy when all of us gather.

There's always laughter.  Lots of laughter.

Rowan is too big for my brother Eric's lap, and will soon be driving a car. 

Kalvin is a big boy now.

The girlies are always sharing chairs.

We encourage outside play for the littles to help with the agony of waiting to open presents.

Many hands make light work. Cris and Sisi are keeping an eye on things.

This little family travels 7 hours to join us in Utah from Idaho!

So grateful these days for any celebration that includes this big guy, my oldest.

Laughter is good.

These two are always up to silliness.

My mom is always good to involve the youngsters.

My sister and niece.