We had the kind of Christmas that resulted in me being able to ask Dane to get me a chocolate truffle, and him having to ask WHICH KIND.

HIM: One of these white chocolate ones?
ME: No, the other ones.
HIM: The Harry & David?
ME: No, the—
HIM: The Trader Joe’s?
ME: No, no, not REALLY a truffle—one of those other—
HIM: A non pareil? Mint stick? Candy cane Joe-Joe? Peppermint bark? WHAT DO YOU WANT, WOMAN?

In other words, it’s been a delightfully chocolate-filled week around here. It’s also been a week of strep throat. (What’s that you say? You think the two are related? Infectious bacteria thrives on the sugar? What? What’s that? I can’t quite hear you… My fingers seem to be stuck in my ears… La la la la la… Ooh, look, another truffle! Dark chocolate. Mmmm.)

Audrey is working on song lyrics this week. Sadly, she has mastered the actual words to “Jesus Loves Me, This I Know;” I preferred last week’s version:

Jesus loves me, loves my nose [earnest tapping of nose]
Bible-Bible-Bible toes [and pointing to toes].

She’s gone the other way with Away in a Manger, though; she started out trying to memorize the words just as the older kids sang:

Away in a manger, no crib for a bed
and here she would stop to explain: “He sleeped in a hammock, like Sadie Jane.”

Now she uses expressive hand motions and ad libs. Her song is different every time, but follows some variation on:

Away in a manger [signs sleeping, with head on hands]
The stars are too bright [waves arms wildly]
And Baby Jesus wakes up. [signs baby, with the rocking arms]

We’ll see what she comes up with during the singing at church tonight.

Normal bloggers give you links to virtual gingerbread house decorating or virtual paper snowflake making, but not I. No, I give you the virtual version of that holiday delight usually reserved for those who order everything online: bubble wrap. Enjoy.

Ha! I placed one order, from ONE store, and managed to get something for each and every remaining person on our list. And just like that, hope is restored—though now I feel rather cliché for whining about how stressful Christmas shopping is. So sorry!

And now I’m on to more important things, like helping the kids practice lighting candles. And holding the lit candles. And lifting the candles up over their heads without setting anyone (or their hair) on fire. Because this is an integral part of our Christmas celebrating. (No, really, it is; we have a candlelighting service on Christmas Eve. The sanctuary lights are dim, and everyone gets a candle to light and hold up while singing Silent Night. It’s my favorite thing. Especially when no one suffers wax burns.)

Okay, all of you who keep posting about how you’re holiday-stress-free and done with your shopping and mailing and baking? That’s just mean.* Because while I am trying really really hard here, I have finished neither my shopping nor my baking, and I am not stress-free. I am the opposite of stress-free. And this is not good.

We’re down to the usual suspects in the Still to Shop For category, including Dane’s brother, who is single and doesn’t need anything, and my brother, who is not single but still doesn’t need anything. Last year we gave the former gift cards for fast food and the latter a scone pan. I’m pretty sure the gift cards got used, at least.

This year I keep asking why we can’t just give everyone a trio of Heifer rabbits. Or a water buffalo. (Dane keeps answering either, “I don’t think Heifer will send them a trio of rabbits,” or “They don’t really have room for a water buffalo.”)

And to make the gift giving even more exciting, Dane is having second thoughts about two of the gifts he already bought—which is no big deal, we’ll just get something else, except WHAT THE HECK ARE WE GOING TO GET? Ahem.

And no, I can’t entirely abandon the baking (though let me assure you, I’d like to, given that I have a baby or two in my arms at all times), because one of our Christmas traditions is a Christmas cookie baking day with some of our kids’ aunts. We call it Baking With Ants, which is funny because, you know, ants? And aunts…? Come on, homophones are kind of funny. Especially if you’re four or seven. Which apparently I am.

So you just go on with your carefree, caroling selves. I’ll drown my anxiety in on-again-off-again sleep for the next six hours or so (it’s already after 11pm here) and wake up refreshed and ready to sort all this out… tomorrow.

*Yes, yes, I’m joking. I’m happy for you, really. Now go on and spread some more Christmas cheer, since I’m clearly not doing my part. (I feel like I ought to put in a little smiley here to show that I’m really not bitter, but I’d rather convey that without emoticons. So you’ll just have to take my word for it.)

My current supply of crafty items is a little pathetic.

I wanted to do a couple of Christmas crafts with the kids last week, but I didn’t have all the supplies I needed. So I made a list. And today I went to Michael’s, where half the people in the known universe were also shopping.

I shoved my way through to the ribbon, where they didn’t have what I wanted; I pushed through to the yarn, where I couldn’t find any in a Christmassy green; and then I couldn’t remember what I planned to do with some of the other stuff on my list, so I gave up and we left.

Why? Why did I not buy each and every thing on my list? What was I thinking—maybe I just wrote down red and white craft felt because I like practicing my handwriting skills?

The holidays have sucked the logic right out of my brain. Or maybe the crowd did that. Or maybe it was the fact that we have a new baby, and I haven’t slept in seven weeks. Whatever. The take-home message is this: my brain is mush. Also, we will have to make all green felt Christmas ornaments, because I am not going back to Michael’s for the red and white stuff.

While I’ve been busy wrestling with a Christmas tree (okay, okay, watching Dane wrestle with the tree while I eat ice cream), my friend Heather has been busy writing—she’s got an essay in the new issue of Brain, Child. It’s all about her baby being diaper-free, and you can read it here.

Brain, Child has a new interactive feature, too, so leave Heather a comment if you have a minute, won’t you? Especially if you happen to practice elimination communication with your own baby. Or if you’ve never heard of EC. Or if you just think Heather’s really really pretty and you want to mention that. That’s cool too—I’m pretty sure she’ll take complimentary comments.

Okay, the tree is up. Crooked, but up. Maybe even getting a wee bit crookeder every time I look over there. But still up.

No, technically it doesn’t yet have lights or decorations or ornamentation of any kind, but it is in the house and standing in a little vat of water. How much more do you really expect of us in one week?

And how does one little tree manage to shed pine needles on every bit of floor in a twelve foot radius? How? (Okay, I suspect the children may be involved in the widespread distribution of the pine needles. But still: trees that have been cut down and put indoors are messy things. No wonder we only get one once a year.)

I’m not actually liveblogging the Christmas tree setup. I mean, I thought about it, but you know what I would do? I’d tell you the first couple of things that happened and then forget I was supposed to be blogging and you’d be left staring at my blog thinking, “Okay, so they got the tree in the stand but couldn’t find the lights—then what? THEN WHAT?” as you feverishly clicked “refresh.”

What, isn’t that how you usually spend your Sunday afternoons? Checking my blog? Repeatedly?

So I suppose it’s better that I didn’t bother with the liveblogging, all the way around. Especially because the tree, it is not set up yet. But here’s how the tree management has gone thus far:

2:20pm – Drive past Christmas tree lot #1. Decide not to buy a tree from a guy who is also selling giant cactus. Not Christmassy enough, says Dane. Okay then. You’re driving, says I.

2:30pm – Arrive at Christmas tree lot #2. Or shall we call it Cactus-Free Christmas Tree Lot #1? Ah, well, no matter. We arrive.

2:32pm – Sadie announces that she will be needing a serious diaper change. Like, now.

2:33pm – Children are dancing in and out of rows of trees; Dane is expounding upon the merits of Noble vs. Douglas; I point out that we need to choose or go, because I am not changing this diaper out of the back of the minivan in the gravel parking lot while people drag trees alongside of me.

2:34pm – Dane says, how about this one? I say, too big. Two trees further down the row, though, we’ve got a winner. Can I hold it up for you? the tree worker guy asks, and we all agree—it’s a beautiful tree.

2:35pm – Mr. Tree Man is offering to cut the tree, to bag it in a net thing, to haul it over his shoulder to our car, to tie it up on top. Dane is trying to insist he can do all that himself (minus the chainsaw part and the net bag deal), because he has exactly zero cash with which to tip the guy. The tree man is calling him “boss,” and asking me which car is ours when Dane steps away to pay.

2:40pm – They compromise, sort of, with the guy doing all that stuff even though Dane says not to. I buckle and buckle and buckle and buckle car seats, and I think we’re ready to go—though Audrey howls all the way home out of exhaustion and Sadie makes a little mewling noise because of the diaper.

2:50pm – Dane gets the tree off the car while I change Sadie, nurse Audrey, and encourage Abigail and Owen to tidy the living room. I am a serious multitasker. (Or I did those things not all at once. You decide what you want to believe.)

3:00pm – Still trying to tidy the living room before we bring in the tree.

3:30pm – Who knew we could own this much laundry? And why is it all in the living room? And why are we trying to put it away before bringing in the tree?

4:00pm – We really should have tidied up before we bought the tree.

4:30pm – Sweeping living room floor to make way for the tree.

4:45pm – Realize we’re supposed to be across town for a Christmas Bedtime Storytime Event in 45 minutes. Abandon tree maneuvers in favor of dinner. Throw pajamas on kids. (That’s what makes it a Bedtime Event. Well, that and the darkened sky, I guess.) Leave house.

7:30 – Come home. Toss kids into beds.

And so it is that we have a Christmas tree on our patio. Wrapped in a lovely net bag thingy. The end.

Nevermind the fact that the only Christmas decorations at my actual house are paper snowflakes on one window and a nativity on a shelf; the blog is decked out, and that’s clearly more important, right? Or clearly less messy and/or difficult. Doesn’t involve hauling a pine tree in the rain. (And I promise to get to the house this weekend. Really.)