All things family-related. My husband and me, the children we made, the grandbebes that thrill us now. Our whole great big, loud, messy family. Love! *sigh…
Stormie and Amber-i like to give their workspace a personal touch.
When you are creative and colorful and you are forced to work in a beige-windowless-cube-filled work space with a bunch of odds and ends people, it is no wonder you look for any and all reasons to cheer up the ol’ cubicle during Christmas! The lighting is bad, but you can see that Amber and Stormie had their fun being decorative and merry!
There is Stormie’s modèrne garland.
This is where Stormie spends lots of hours making sure the billboards you see all over the country are quite attractive and high-quality in color!
Stormie made a mobile from scraps using a snowflake as the topper. And has a big paper star over her desk.
There’s Amber-i’s fancy snowflakes! And her room-view.
They are so sweet, Stormie and Amber. They keep mini-candy canes and lots of chocoltae candy around for visitors who drop by. They are sweet hostesses. Right there in the windowless cubicle.
The tree is festooned with finger-knitted string garland (which is what Stephanie Kelley, my other uber-creative daughter put all over her large tree at home: finger knitting! It is all the rage!)
But the pièce-de-résistance? The merriest part of it all? Oh yeah, baby~
Edward, ready for Christmas! Q: Edward looking at you from his spot between the keyboard and the monitor? Or Edward on a bed of tinsel garland??
Dave’s book did not make the top three for the final leg of the Marcher Lord Press competition.* {sad, sad, sad}
But,
Thank-YOU
for voting and cheering him on
and getting the word out
about it.
The funny thing is that a lot of the “hits” he got on the message boards were criticisms of things the publisher had made him do to make the book more “sellable” when in fact, his original work was probably more powerful, at least according to the dozen or so of us who’d read it. He’ll probably change some things back now and look for another route.
Spoiler alert.
I don’t want to spoil it for you, but it is an action-packed story with loveable characters, engaging dialogue and some major demon-butt-kicking that culminates in a very tender and personal-to-Dave theme of familial affection. Someday, soon, we hope, you will get to read it: Dave’s first novel, Altar (formerly known as Between the Altar and the Darkness, which the publisher also suggested he change).
*Dave’s and another book tied for the next place, just about 10 votes shy of making the top 3…
We scaled way back this year. We have been scaling back yearly, it seems. But we still mananged to get some of our favorites made and even a new thing or two, keeping that oven hot and hopping for hours. There are the wildly popular “Thin Mints,” a shameless and absolutely amazing rip-off of the Girl Scout cookies. The sugar cookies for decorating are made and await a coating of royal icing in delightful Christmas colors. Jovan used her new Pampered Chef cookie press to make the lightest most buttery press-cookies, dusted in colored sugars.
Stephanie has perfected peanut brittle. There are Mexican Wedding Cakes and Gingerbread Men, along with Peanut-Butter Kisses-Cookies and Chocolate-Covered Peanut Butter Balls heaped next to our chocolate-dipped pretzels and “Strawberry” cookies (which have no relation whatsoever to strawberries, other than how they look, but really are made from dates and pecans and coconut and Rice Krispies and fashioned to look like a strawberry – a Rhoades family fav from the 1950s and 60s). And more, yes, there is more.
Things change.
One interesting thing this year was computers. Looking around the kitchen and seeing 3 laptops (2 Macs and a PC) open to recipe sites – that was funny. So much for cute recipe cards, huh? It was also quieter and we missed Elise-the-Niece…Well, it was quieter, that is, until the boys and daddies joined us and a chaotic-Christmas-cheer ruckus ensued, fueled, undoubtedly by the pure sweetness of the ‘cane hitting the bloodstream.
The girls swarmed poor Santa
The guys show up for dinner at 6:30
The boys played cards with Aunt Dessa while the girls took our “food orders” for chicken nuggets and muffins, coffee and salad (their imaginary menus were limited and they are sort of pushy as waitresses, these granddaughters of mine). The ‘bebes chased each other, snuck sweets from piled-high trays of goodies and pushed Rudolph’s paw, making him sing the Rudolph song veeeeeery loudly, at least172times (that Rudolph nose was flashing like a traffic light, non-stop for hours!). I seriously wished for some one to decapitate Rudolph. But the grandbebes? Find him delightful.
Gemma was particularly artistic in her interpretive dancing, inspired by her viewing of “Frosty the Snowman.” Averi’s great joys were bringing handfuls of cookies to everyone, or unrolling toilet paper into the, shall we say, “bath bowl”, and I just hope there was no criss-crossing of these activities.
And at one point, so warmed by both this season of good will and by the way they’d been running like banchees, all five grandbebes ripped off their shirts and flung them like confetti into the air, thrilled to be set free from the confines of clothing so they could fully enjoy the twinkling lights and the Christmas music. “We’re nakey! We’re nakey!” Averi exclaimed with glee and they laughed as if it were the funniest thing they’d ever experienced.
Rocky and Tredessa interact with Santa as well.
Ah. It is the little things.
It took awhile to find every shoe and sock and coat amd mitten (and shirt) when it came time to go home with their large trays of cookies and candies. {Sigh}. But we did it…almost. I still have to make the marvelous butter-cookie dough from which will emerge Raspberry Ribbons and melt-in-your mouth Candy Cane Cookies, among other delights, and the Peppermint Bark awaits me this morning. But most of the holiday baking is complete for another year and it is way too much and more than enough and truly not as sweet as the time I got with my girls. And the whole bunch.
Oh, yikes…there is shopping and baking and out-of-town company coming and parties and the grandbebe photo-shoot for cards that will be sent at the last possible minute and-and-and….{deep sigh}, it will all come together, right? I do love Christmas, my happiest holiday (holy day): singing it, lighting it, adoring Him, celebrating Him and keeping it. Keep Christmas! I have spent 3 years now telling you why…
~
The TWELVE embarrassing pictures of Christmas~past!
Aw~the ones that made the cut. From Ross the boss, Mrs. Moss and all the little Landers. 1968
The ones that didn’t make it. For obvious reasons.
Nativity.
Left: I was an angel (both as a child and for this photo shoot) but my mom cut my wings out of the shot! What the heck? I see I must have been making THE pronouncement over Baby Jesus (aka little brother, Danny), as I seem to have everyone’s rapt attention. The set was created using bathrobes and towels, a bassinet and my aunt’s old prom dress.
Right: Why on earth would my own mother cut me, the angel, out?!? Joe is not playing air guitar, but rather looking “Josephly,”…I think. Or perhaps, “shepherdly?”
Just 5 sweet children getting ready for bed the night before Christmas.
Left: Well, the boys are taking a break, I see. These were done on a Saturday night after our baths to prepare for Sunday morning. Everyone was in good spirits, feeling fresh. How much does Danny look like the little brother on “The Christmas Story??”
Right: We got the pooch in on this one, which, I guess, is why I got placed in the background. Hmph.
We were Christmas Carolers.
Scenario: My mom used crayons to draw an outdoor backdrop on a white sheet. She dragged an old storm window frame in from the garage and attached some drapes to it. Then she used the red towel to cover a dresser and set a Biblical vingette as though some one was looking outside (from inside their cozy, warm and very spiritual home) at these little children sing. This is WHY Photoshop was invented: to help creative photographers like my sweet mama.
BTW~these were AFTER church on a Sunday night, which followed church on Sunday morning, that had followed Sunday School before that. I recall being veeeeeeery tired, at half past 10 p.m., it was sooooo flipping hot in our coats and hats inside the house and my mom just would not quit.
Left: Though nearly ruined by water damage in some humid state or another, I feel this was “the one!” I mean, I am obviously truly singing, Tami is smiling cute! Tim is singing his head off, even though he had the little Carol book turned inside out, you can practically read the Bible (turned appropriately, I am certain, to Luke’s Gospel. chapter 2). It was a good one.
Right: Danny is crying and Tim is thinking about it. Tammy and Joe can’t keep their eyes open, and I am in a preacher’s kid-after-Sunday daze. Let us go to bed, already, mom!
And then there is this atrocity:
Me, at 16, playing an 80-year old grandma in my mother’s church production, “The Littlest Package.” Baby powder in my hair, a crocheted shawl about my shoulders. Can’t understand at all why this didn’t make the family Christmas card?!? (Is the girl in the left picture flipping me off? Because she was my best friend at the time!)
Goody!! Jovan says we get to nominate names for baby-to-be (due in March). We each get to submit one girl’s name and one boy’s name as a back-up.
Boy name.
Even though Rocky & Jovan have already nixed it, my boy-name nomination remains: David Allen Rhoades III. When we named Rocky after Dave (not “junior,” but “David Allen Rhoades II”), we did it with an eye toward the future. Dave (the first) didn’t actually want to name a son after himself, but he was adopted and it just seemed, after Rocky was born, that it would be a nice way to leave legacy, a way for Dave to pass on something of himself into the future since he didn’t have a lot of past to give. And we did it with the thought that there would someday be a David Allen Rhoades III – never even considering that it wouldn’t be our choice to make! Haha!
We learned quickly, in 1984 (after only 10 or 11 days, I think), that having a second David in the house was going to be confusing, so new-baby-son became “Rocky” and has been known that way since. (Rocky after our favorite movie boxer, not the cereal, ice cream or TV show)
Rocky and Jovan won’t use my boy name nomination, but I submit it humbly, nonetheless. Not only is there the family-heritage piece, but there is David in the Bible and he was awesome!! So I will even suggest these possible nicknames for possible-baby-boy-Rhoades to be known by, since the family already has its’ share of Daves and Davids. He could be known as “Dusty” (an old family name), or even “Roman Rhoades.” “Country” would be interesting, or how about “Scholar?” All viable choices, I think.
My boy-name submission: David Allen Rhoades III + a nickname
Girl’s names.
Now, on the girl front, I have several I’d like to submit, but I am only allowed one. ONE! So I need help with which one! Which should I do from these three?
1.
Jericho, “Coco” for short.IF I had had one more child back in the 80’s, which statistically speaking would almost certainly have been a girl (right?), I’d have named her Jericho. That’s right: Jericho Rhoades. I decided I’d done enough to populate the earth with Godly seed, though, so I dropped out of baby-making and left that perfectly wonderful name choice just sitting there – for some one else to use.
As for a middle name on this? It could be anything, really. Maybe “Belle” because that was my Grandma’s middle name and my dad always says if he had it to do over, he’d have named me “Jeanie Belle.” Then, if we called Jericho “Coco,” she’d be “Coco Belle,” which sounds a little like “Coco Chanel,” the famous French fashion designer who so impacted the last century.
But then would little ornery boys on the playground be “Cukoo for Coco Puffs?” Hmmm…probably….but is that necessarily a bad thing?
So, that is it. My first possible nomination in the girl’s category is Jericho Belle. Or just Jericho, leaving the middle name to her parents, TBD, because I am thoughtful like that.
2.
Maisy Grace (Maisy like Daisy, or it could be spelled “Maizy). I think it is a fairly obvious reference to the song, “Amazing Grace,” and you cannot go wrong pinning a name like “Grace” on a little girl. Look what it did for Grace Kelly. I believe I even wanted Tristan and Stephanie to name Gemma “Gracie,” because their last name IS Kelley! Come on!
I have already told Jovan I am liking this name for a granddaughter of mine. So whaddya think? Maisy Grace Rhoades?
3.
Abigail, Abby for short. Can’t you just see it? Abby Rhoades.
Now Bryan will tell you he came up with this first – way back before Averi was born. And judging by blogs written, he is right. He did. I thought it just came to me like a heavenly vision one day. I was thinking of cute names that began with “A” because Jovan wanted “A” names and suddenly there it was: like Abby Road, THE faahaaa-mous record by the Beatles, based on a the faahaaa-mous Abby Road pedestrian crossing in London, England (which you can watch live on the internet). I mean, how cute is that?
For a middle name, though? Abigail Belle…hmmmmm….nooooo. That doesn’t work. So, I respectfully submit Jovan’s mom’s shortened name, Jo (from JoAnn). Abigail Jo, or Abby Jo Rhoades.
Everyone knows I was a little ga-ga over Gokey during the last season of American Idol. He ended up in 3rd place, but should have been #1! Danny was the big voice, sweet kid with 187 pairs of eye glasses – so kind of a nerd with panache. And he was a worship-leader-widower. The more I learned about him, his values and heart, the more I loved him!
I began to devise: Yes – what a great idea! Tredessa is so right for him. Let’s book him for Heaven Fest. Because naturally, if we got Danny and I could get them both backstage and they met, they’d see what a perfect match they’d be, right? I mean-you know Tredessa – how lucky would Danny be?
Then Tredessa sent me this quote in an an email with the subject being “Why I can’t marry Danny Gokey”:
“Never get involved with a man whose wife’s been murdered. For one, he’s not a real barrel of laughs. Two, you can’t compete with her. It’s not like the marriage started going downhill when she was boozing or sleeping around. I mean, she was taken from him at the peak of their love. She’s gone out on a high. She’s like Marilyn Monroe or Jimmy Dean. Can’t compete with her. Never get involved with a man whose wife’s been murdered.” -Ricky Gervais on Extras
And apparently even though Danny’s wife (who, by the way actually was a beautiful woman of conviction, who devoted her energies to ministering to families and children who had been touched by “poverty, sickness, or disease”) wasn’t murdered, Tredessa believes this still applies.
As if.
Here the kicker, though. Stormie and I were a little worried about me posting this in case Danny Gokey googles his name and reads this and I have now ruined any and all chances my daughter ever had with him. When I told Tre, she laughed her head off and said, “Post away. I don’t think this blog will be what ruins my chances.”
“The lights on my tree, I wish you could see, I wish it everyday.”
I grew up with very traditional Christmas music. The 1960’s were when you could purchase an LP for $1.98 at the supermarket full of all the classic songs like “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…” and “A Few of My Favorite Things” by various artists including Johnny Mathis or The Ray Conniff Singers. Occasionally you’d buy an album by a stand-out like Bing Crosby. I still treasure the 2 Christmas records I have by him.
“Merry Christmas, Darling,” by the Carpenters was my first sort of non-traditional Christmas pop-song. I’d hold my dad’s little transistor radio (which I’d snuck from his second dresser drawer) to my ear, and, at barely 11, sing along with Karen, trying with all my heart to understand her longing.
Through the years more and more Christmas music has been added to the songs I love. Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers have produced some great stuff. Lee Greenwood sings a couple that always pierce my heart. The Partridge Family album still makes me laugh and I even enjoy a Motown Christmas. Harry Connick Jr. is great for seasonal cheery tunes as well as some sacred and I do love the 90’s Mariah Carey album. And let’s not forget that Amy Grant, is a Christmas-music genius.
Looking Back
But this year, I am feeling very traditional again. I am reaching back to music I grew up with, the songs my mom played on the Hi-Fi during my early days. I am less about the pop side of Christmas and anything that has been produced since 1970 and on, and sort of loving melodies that have been recorded so many times no one even remembers who did them first (like “Winter Wonderland”) and some that have been recorded a lot but the first recording is all that matters (like “White Christmas” by Bing Crosby).
The cool thing now is, of course, that “Merry Christmas, Darling” is a classic. It IS one of the old tried and true songs of the season. And now I understand the deep sentimentality. For I wish, if I might “have the wish that I wish for tonight,” to gather everyone I love from near and far together during these long, dark winter nights to laugh and remember, to sing and make merry, to be close and bask in the 6-7000 lights on my tree. And we could play Karen and sing…
That I wish you a Merry Christmas
Happy New Year, too
I’ve just one wish on this Christmas Eve
I wish I were with you, I wish I were with you.
Bed space is limited here. So if you are going to come and see me and make my wishes come true, please call in advance.
pictured: The Moslander family Christmas card, 1968. Jeanie, Joey, Timmy, Tammy and Danny (Love love love to my siblings! Please note: I was reading from The Children’s Book of Knowledge – which is why you are all so successful and smart. You may thank me with a very nice Christmas gift.)
Today is trash day and I threw away enough leftovers this morning to have fed the whole group again! Tsk. I mean that gravy? Was a.m.a.z.i.n.g. Really. Amazing! If I do say so myself. Lots of other wonderful food, too, by all the great cooks who came to the table. Stef & Wrex’s famous Red Hot Jello, and Tristan’s homemade bread (o the toast I have enjoyed this week) and Dessa’s corn casserole and Tara’s o-so-creamy mashed potatoes and Leah’s Mexican Pasta (the woman cooked like it was all in her court) and Stormie’s fabulous, fabulous pumpkin pies and so much more. It was 6 or 7 meals in one!
We sang karaoke like maniacs.
Wrex reeeeeeeallly loves to sing those country-boy-tractor-woman-lovin’ songs! Us girls all did a rousing rendition of “You make me feel like a natural woman!” And songs by the Monkees were popular!
The people who got the “wear black” memo.
Left: Dessa. Leah, Stef, Ali, Stephanie, Dave, Stormie. Right: three cooks in their aprons.
Those Thanksgiving boots were made for walking.
Ali, Stormie, Jovan, Stef, Tara, Tredessa
Boots were definitely the fashion footwear of the day.
We played the arguing game* and Wii.
And a certain rather large contingency disappeared into the basement for XBox 360…or something? Dave even brought out his childhood electronic football game so the kiddos could see an antique toy. : )
*The “arguing game” is actually Cranium Party Play-Off, available at Starbucks.
Sweet children ran and tumbled and jumped and spinned round and round.
Gavin and Guini, Hunter and Gemma, Averi and Samuel and Moses. They got along so well and were so sweet!
Family, by blood, by the Spirit, by choice.
Tredessa and Tara; Andy and Leah
Leah and Tara; Tara and DP; Stefanie and Wrex (aka “Sexy Wrexy”)
He walked in Monday, dropped his bags, adjusted his red super-hero cape and asked me, “So Nonna, are you really happy to see me here for 2 days?” Naturally! I am.
I took Hunter to pre-school Tuesday afternoon. It is in an older home in a slightly rural setting and all the mommies gather to visit on the front porch before the teacher unlocks the door.
On Santa Claus.
I am visiting with the young mommies and rather flattered that I was mistaken for one of them briefly, though as I expressed to them quite candidly, “If I had a 5 year old at my age, I’d shoot myself,” (though the morning cuddling is divine). When suddenly I become aware that the very black-and-white-no-gray-area, pragmatic grandson, Hunter, is causing terror in the heart of a darling little long-haired girl with this announcement: “There is no Santa Claus. He is not real, he is a fake. My mommy and daddy told me the truth.”
“He is real. There is a Santa Claus – he comes to my house,” she countered, then to her mommy, “He is saying Santa Claus isn’t real.”
I tried to get him to stop…several times. Several. Times. But he just would not. He terrorized the little girl and any other child who would listen with his no-Santa declaration.
When I tried explaining to him later that it is not up to him to tell other children what he knows about Santa, but that he should allow their own parents to explain that, he countered incredulously with, “Well, her mom was the one who told her there is a real Santa Claus.”
My own kids were also the dashers of Santa dreams during their public school years, with Stormie being the greatest offender. You know the joy many families get from perpetuating the Santa Claus story during Christmas? Well, apparently our family finds that joy through shooting it down. YIKES! Mea culpa…I really did feel bad. Touchy subject.
Other Hunterisms:
He and I were watching cute internet animal videos and I was oohing and aahing over the mini-pigs that are only the size of newborn babies full-grown. When it showed a woman cuddling with one while she was watching TV I asked him, “Don’t you want a little mini-pig, Hunter? You could cuddle with it. How cute?” He gave me the what-is-wrong-with-your-logic look, took a deep breath and informed me, “Nonna. My house is not a farm.”
Hunter, after seeing Stormie’s jar of pennies: “Why do you have all this money? You need to be giving it and not keeping it all to yourself.”
On the way to the airport the other day, DP and Tara in the front seat, Hunter and Tredessa in the back, they were singing “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” joyfully anticipating the Christmas season ahead and Hunter got pretty agitated when his dad sang silly or changed the words or tune. He wanted a straight-up version apparently. Because on the next run-through, when Dessa started shouting out those little phrases that many people like to add: “Like a lightbulb,” and “Like Monopoly” to fill in the Rudolph story, Hunter stopped them cold. “We have to sing this right! Tredessa back here is being all funny.” But Hunter was not amused. Hunter does not want humor added to something as serious as Christmas!
Hunter loves to wrestle and engaged his Auntie Stormie in a battle.
Hunter: In the name of Jesus! (runs over and karate chops the Aunt. The Aunt grabs his wrists, immobilizing him) Hunter: I said ‘IN THE NAME OF JESUS!’
(Stormie giggling, still holding his wrists, Hunter gets quiet) Hunter: (whispering VERY quietly): God, help me.
(Stormie begins laughing so hard she lets go of his wrists) Hunter: See? God told you to let go!
Stormie and Hunter were looking at pictures from his birthday party. Stormie: Do you remember you were sick at your party? (Hunter nods) That was pretty stinky huh? {30 second pause} Hunter: You could smell my illness?
You might imagine that an an actual argument about the proper use of the word “stink” ensued. He is literal. That keeps us laughing. Ho! Ho! Ho!
images: Hunter around the time he turned 5 in October…does anyone doubt that he was actually piloting that plane? I don’t!
