Anniversary

Last week we were shoveling snow. This week the shovels are a lot smaller and we're shovelling sand with them. Eight hour beach days make you forget the date, so Scott and I had two days of anniversary. Happy 13th, Scott! I decided we might as well just keep thinking it's our anniversary. It's more fun than a regular day! Although no day is a regular day with this guy. He makes all of my days shine like beach days.

Happy Birthday

For almost as long as I've been celebrating my own birthday, I've been celebrating Sarah's. Ice skating parties, tree trimming parties, Festival of Trees parties...I have to hand it to Sarah's mom for putting on such wonderful events in December! Happy birthday, Sarah! I hope you're in for some snowy fun today. Thanks for giving me a definition of friendship that few ever get to experience. You are amazing! Love ya!

Elmeda's Magic

All my childhood memories of Christmas are lit by soft, hazy, multi-colored lights, Bing Crosby's silky voice and ice cubes clinking in glasses of spirited cheer. At some dinners and parties, we kids could be under the table for hours, asleep or awake, it didn't matter. With the Christmas classics playing and our parents' voices floating around, we were having fun. We were safe, Santa was coming soon, and the grown-ups were oblivious to the fact that we had our own festivities going on under the table. I remember the same feeling on Christmas Eve at my grandparents' house. I'm sure I got some great gifts, but the thing I remember is that we burned all the wrapping paper in the old, iron fireplace. I can still see the bright paper and the ribbons going up in flame and disintigrating to ash floating up the chimney.

When all the celebrating was done, we always went home and read the story out of Luke from my family's antique Bible. No matter what the year, whether I was a small child, an emotional teen or a conflicted college student, the story was always the same, read in my dad's deep voice. Some years, we had guests who read the story in their own language: Dutch or Spanish or Japanese. Or Portuguese, when my brothers returned from their missions. There was still the same comforting cadence to the story, and it seemed to put just the right light into Christmas Eve.

For years and years, there was one Christmas party that was just as important as Christmas itself. We called it the Elmeda Party, because it was Aunt Elmeda's house in Provo. Elmeda was Nana Ruby's sister, so the party included all five of my grandmother's siblings and their descendents. It was a big party, and nobody would dream of missing it. Ever. One year there was a raging blizzard the day of the party. It looked like we wouldn't be able to get to Provo, so my parents bought a four wheel drive, and we made it through the storm on time. You didn't miss Elmeda's party.

The invitation arrived in the mail well in advance, revealing the theme of the party. Elmeda always went completely overboard on the theme, and it was incredibly exciting to find out what it would be. One memorable year, it was A Dickens Christmas, where we all got pretend money to shop for gifts at a Victorian Christmas Shoppe. Elmeda made all the gifts by hand, and there was a clothespin doll for each girl. Each one had an exquisite handmade dress and yarn ringlets. I looked and looked at each doll and finally chose the very best one, a brown-haired doll with a pink satin dress trimmed in colored lace.

And I haven't even told you the best part. Downstairs, a whole room was decorated as a child-size dollhouse that you could walk into. There was a parlor, a kitchen and a living room, as well as a front yard where you could have tea. Another room housed a train track that went all around the room and had mountains and a ski tram. And the room where we had dinner had a velvet swing suspended from the ceiling. After eating a meal that Elmeda prepared (corn she had picked and bottled in August, chocolates made from scratch, Elmeda's Chicken Roll-Ups...), we had a musical program and waited for Santa Claus to arrive. Everyone could hear him walking on the roof - he really did! - and then he'd be there in the living room, right next to the baby-blue piano. (Are you getting a feel for Elmeda's Baroque style!?) He brought presents for everybody, then he vanished.

Elmeda died several years ago of a heart attack she suffered while preparing Thanksgiving dinner. It was fitting, yet far too soon. There was never anybody like Elmeda, and I was fortunate to be a small guest at those parties where wonder and fantasy never ceased. Christmas Eve and Christmas Morning have a magic all their own, and Elmeda somehow took that magic and extended it to a family party that became legend.

Share the Love

Everyone knows how much I adore my Lovebox collection. Last year, I started a tradition of giving each of my kids a Lovebox for Christmas. Scott and Santa Claus do all the other shopping around here, so this is my thing. It's so much fun to peruse the Lovebox shop and choose just the right box for each kid. This year, Tiffany made a new box with a Chinese girl on it, wearing Chinese pajammas, so I knew right away which box Xanthe would love. For Ruby, I had to get the owl box because of the cherry blossoms on it. I fell in love with the red Matroyshka box and chose it for Golda. Our collection couldn't be complete without the black cat box, in honor of our own black cat, so I chose that one for Araceli. Freestone got a deep red box with a beautiful green Christmas tree on the lid, which he hid in a special place before I could take a picture of it. It's probably full of rocks or snow by now. The dove box is the one that Tiffany gave me for Christmas. Each one is my favorite, just like each of my kids is my favorite!

I wrapped each little box in a big, fluffy bag and let all the kids open them one at a time. They are proud to have their own little box collections, and I'm happy to share something so fun with them. Thanks for your art, Tiffany!

'Tis the Season

This time of year is why we have January. We're going to need it to recover from all the Christmas festivities! This morning, we all traipsed through the snow to Coco and Bill's house to see what they brought the kids from Paris. They shopped all over and came home with an adorable outfit for each kid. What fun to have something special from so far away! Thanks, Coco and Bill!

This afternoon we descended on Roland and Sarah's beautiful new house for dinner and the King kids' gift exchange. Since 5 of the 9 kids are ours, we included Tricia in the exchange to even out the Dopp/Non-Dopp ratio. She and Golda gave to each other while the rest of the adults sat out the gift marathon this year. I appreciated being able to concentrate my attention on the kids, who are much easier to buy for than adults! After gifts, we bundled up and braved the crowds at Temple Square to admire the lights. It is beautiful and there is a peaceful spirit there. Great idea for a new family tradition, Sarah. We forgot the hot cocoa, though! We had gifts waiting on our doorstep when we got home and more fun to look forward to tomorrow. 'Tis the season!

Visit from St. Nick

We thought we heard a sleigh landing on the roof...and we did! Santa Claus came early this year, to see if all the little DeBry kids were being naughty or nice. He reported that they were all mostly nice and gave each of them a present. It was one of my favorite traditions of the year: my Mom's side of the family gathering to celebrate Christmas. I have so many cousins, I don't see most of them often enough, and I don't get enough time to visit with them the few times we do get together. This party, we hired my niece, Lexie, and two of her friends to run a kids' camp in the basement. My mom amd I transformed the unfinished dungeon into a winter wonderland with trees, lights, craft centers and red tablecloths covering the walls. The kids loved hanging out down there, and I loved having them busy and supervised while the adults visited. The star of the show, as usual, was Santa. Xanthe has been working up to his visit all year, talking about how she's not going to head-butt him and collapse to the ground screaming this year. When Santa called her name, she bravely ran to him all by herself and sat happily on his lap. Now it's Golda and Ruby who resist the Santa visit! I'm so thankful for Nana and Opa, my grandparents who grounded this family in love that continues to unite us through distance and time. Cousins, aunts, uncles, I love ya! The "DeBry Party" can't come around often enough!

Are You My Mother?

In a car full of rowdy kids on our way to a swimming party last night, Araceli asked me, "Mom, why didn't Xanthe's mom in China want to keep her?"

Xanthe knows Scott and I loved her so much that we went all the way to China to pick her up. She knows that before we got there, a nanny took care of her in the orphanage, and her nanny loved her very much. We have never taken little Xanthe in our arms and told her that somebody left her at the gate of the orphanage in a t-shirt and a hat with a bottle of sugar water when she was four days old. That information, let alone the reason why, is way beyond a three-year-old's comprehension. None of the other kids in our family got left outside on an April morning, all alone. Xanthe's brother and sisters have been safe and warm and fed every day since the very beginning. They never had their legs tied to their crib, and they never had to drink a bottle while it was scalding hot, for fear of it being taken away too soon. And you know what? It's not fair.

And then there is the fact that somebody left her. We will never know why. We can blame the government, or poverty or ignorance, and we can feel tremendous compassion for Xanthe's birth mother. But I wonder if there will ever be an explanation that will make it OK that Xanthe's mother didn't keep her. And does it make her wonder if my love will ever change? One has to wonder when one has been abandoned.

I never wanted to hide the truth from Xanthe. At the same time, I never pictured myself answering these questions in a car full of kids in parkas and swimsuits, crazy to get to the pool. There are all kinds of platitudes and soothing words, but is there a good, solid explanation for a question that we just don't know the answer to? The hardest part right now, at this age, is Xanthe imagining that she has a mom in China who didn't want her. My belief is that Xanthe's mother did want her, and desperately. Her father, too. In the space of time between now and when Xanthe is old enough to understand that, how do we explain such a primal loss while still engendering love for China and her past in Xanthe's psyche? You never want to see your kids suffer, and the thought that Xanthe will have to open and reexamine this wound throughout her life is painful to me. I think that only through the spirit can we express to Xanthe that we felt her presence in our family long before she got here, that Heavenly Father's plans seem convoluted at times, and that everything she has been through brought her to her forever family. Is is enough?

Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

Thanks for all the years of generosity and perfection. The whole time I was a kid, you never disappointed me. I always knew you would bring me something special, and you always did. I peeked one time, you know. I looked down into the living room and saw the baby doll stroller I had asked for. I was so excited! But I learned that it takes away the magic to peek, so I never did it again.

Do you remember when Trajan's new pajamas fell out of your sleigh and landed on our roof? It was so funny to watch my dad trying to get them down! It confirmed for us kids that you really had come down the chimney! Who else would have dropped something on the roof? It was a couple of years later that you surprised us all with a giant puppy. If I had any doubts about you, they were all erased when I saw that furry little thing. I knew my parents would never buy a puppy who would turn into a 150 pound dog who hated to be away from people! Only Santa could know how much we would all love that dog. I think that was before my mom got a picture of you creeping around with your big toy sack. You looked skinnier than I though you would be.

Now that I have my own kids, I appreciate you even more. It's nice to have someone else do all the shopping and keeping track of presents. Since you deliver to all the children in the world, keeping everything even for just 5 kids must be pretty easy for you. I could never do it, but you always seem to leave the perfect gifts. You always know what is in their hearts. The joy you inspire in my children is, by far and away, the most precious gift you have ever given me. Better than the much-wished-for ferret you left in 1983, better than the skis and the dolls and the Swatch watch and the oranges and nuts in our stockings.

Just the fact that after all these years, you still care enough to brave the cold December sky to grant us all our hearts' desires, shows how much you love us. That's all we need, really. That's what lights up the childrens' faces. It's because they know you love them. Thanks, Santa. I love you, too.

Chicken Roll-Ups

Who can't use an easy recipe for something everybody craves? Especially this time of year. Here's mine:

Put a couple pounds of chicken breast in the crock pot in the AM with a dash of oil and 3 or 4 tbsp of ranch dressing.

Later, when the chicken is cooked, shred it with a fork, add a block of cream cheese and maybe some diced mushrooms, cover and turn off the crock pot.

Later, (can you tell I have a short attention span?) stir the chicken mixture and spread about a teaspoon of it on each triangle of Pillsbury Crescent roll dough. It makes about 5 packages worth (40 rolls). Melt a cube of butter in a bowl and pour bread crumbs in another bowl. Do this part as quick and sloppy as you can, because it doesn't matter! You can even skip the bread crumbs and butter. Dip in butter, roll in crumbs, set on cookie sheet. Bake at 350 for 10 minutes, or until the rolls look golden.

When I make chicken roll-ups, my kids say, "Finally! A good meal!" I guess it is better than apples and cheese or cold cereal. Only chicken roll-ups and General Tso's chicken from the freezer at Sam's Club constitute good meals at our house. The rest of the time, they're just grateful for sustenance.

Industry

The Utah state motto is "Industry," no doubt inspired by the first Mormon pioneers to settle in the Salt Lake Valley. It certainly took some industry to get to the desert from the midwest, following the Oregon Trail through the snow and scorching sun. Once they got here, the pioneers created gardens and crops and houses and schools out of nothing. They learned the art of painting ordinary wood with grain to make it look like expensive fir. That's industry that few of us today would be able to replicate.

But the Latter-day Saints are still anxiously engaged, from what I can see, in making life beautiful and enriching it for those around them. Yesterday, I had to go to the church for a sound check. I'm playing in a quartet for the Stake Night of Music tonight. This production involves professional sound guys who just happen to live in the area, as well as dozens of musicians who have been practicing to meet the high standard of the Night of Music. All morning, choirs and instrumentalists were coming and going, lugging equipment and toting children. Simultaneously, a group was setting up tables for 200 in another room, preparing a meal in the church's kitchen.

After making gingerbread and lentil soup for our own ward party, I took my kids to the church two hours before the party, to set up Christmas trees and snowflakes and tables and chairs for a Scandinavian Christmas. Others on the party committee brought their teenagers who got right to work carrying heavy stuff. In the chapel, a steady stream of organists came and went, practicing their hymns for Sunday. Meanwhile, Scott was at his office putting together a roster for the church's basketball tournament. He still arrived in plenty of time to string snowflakes all across the cultural hall.

The party consisted of a dinner for 300, a program of music and storytelling and a craft room for the children. Father Christmas came and left a wrapped gift for each of the 100 kids who left a shoe out for him to fill. Afterwards, people with kids up past their bedtime stayed to help vacuum and put chairs away. This morning, the same people were up early at choir practice and meetings. Two of our neighbors are plowing our driveway and everyone else's right now, on Sunday morning. Scott is at the church. Golda and Ruby are getting ready to rehearse with their pianist for a song in sacrament meeting. It's not just us and our neighbors. (Scott and I have two of the easiest jobs in the church.) Latter-day Saints all over the world are preparing for three hours of church today. My parents went to church in Paris today, and it was the same as it is here; people teaching lessons, leading music, welcoming visitors. Mormons aren't perfect, for sure. And we don't have a monopoly on charity or hard work. But still, it's great to be part of a culture where everyone around us is anxiously engaged in service and industry, all predicated on one idea: that we do it all because we know the Gospel of Jesus Christ is true.