Merry Christmas 2014

Dear Friends and Family,

Normally, I begin my Christmas letter at the beginning of December and then chew on it for a few weeks. This year I’m beginning it, um, today. For a brief moment I considered skipping it altogether, but in keeping with my mantra for the day, month, year, life, I am going for “Something imperfect is better than nothing at all.” Which is why most of us stick around in this world anyway, right?

Our year has been…a year. How can a year seem so long and short all at once? I look back on January and think that it seems so long ago I can barely remember it. And then I look at my children and think, “Why are they old? Weren’t they just babies?” And then I look at myself and can see the years tracked along my face (and neck and stomach and thighs), but it’s still my face—familiar and usually something I like.

As I was writing this, Kip looked pensively out the window and said, “It goes so fast.”

I looked up and said, “I was just writing about that in my Christmas letter.”

And he said, “My fudge?”

Um, no. So, apparently, we were each having a different sort of moment. But, yes, fudge goes fast too, especially around here.

Kip has made two batches in the last two weeks. He also turned 40. He’s got his main job, a part-time job, and a truck job on the side just for fun. He also runs, chops wood, maintains the yard and does a hundred million things that need doing and that I could never do without him. He also claims to still like my face.

I like his too. I think that Kip’s looks have only improved with age.

In addition to thinking pensive thoughts about the passage of time, I have been busy reading, writing, and running the house. Or being run over by it. Or something like that. But I like my kids and they usually like me, and we have good times together. They (and Kip) get most of me, and I love it that way. In my free time (which I do guard fairly fiercely), I completed my YA novel. Recently an agent asked to see the full manuscript, which I’m over the moon about. But also scared because what if he doesn’t want it or he does, but then he can’t sell it, or…blah blah blah…this is why artistic people are nutso. I’ve also been trying to run with Kip some and try some more intense exercise, which I’ve loved.

Mark has been the best tween in the universe. Don’t get me wrong—we have our moments, but mostly he’s funny (also—he laughs at my jokes—double stars) and fun-loving and is becoming more caring and conscientious. Recently, when his sister was sick, he was getting her sheets and pillows and a puking can and I thought I might collapse from shock, but—yeah—awesomeness. He turned 12 and got the priesthood and has been maturing. Don’t worry, he still doesn’t comb his hair unless forced. I’ve taken to calling it “Hedgie.”

Elizabeth is super kind and good. She’s at an interesting place between child and teen where one minute she’s crawling around playing cats with her sisters (actually they can do this for hours and have been doing it for years) and then the next minute, she’s putting on make-up and asking for shoes with heels and creating artwork on her bed in her room. I guess a girl can’t stay a cat forever, but I’m glad she hasn’t shed her feline side entirely yet.

Savannah is either super enthusiastic and determined, or the most epic Debbie Downer ever. When Savannah says or decides she’ll do something, she does—usually quickly. She’s been learning to read and having me help her make a cookbook. Unfortunately, when she thinks something is stupid, she loudly proclaims it. And did I mention, loudly? She laughs like a jolly elf when she laughs, and can still tattle like a boss.

Emma, my “baby,” isn’t so much anymore. Although I still look at her and think, “Oh, she’s so small; what will I do when she’s not anymore.” She’s the only one not in school, and it’s so easy with her that I feel mildly guilty about it. We can do errands or go on playdates or whatever and no one blows out poop in the van, no one has an intense meltdown on aisle three, no one runs away in a crowd. At home, she sometimes gets a little bored with me because I am a) lame and b) more lame. We did a mom-run preschool this year, which I was dreading, but it has been the best thing ever. She loves it. I love it. The other kids are great. The other moms are great. Emma is like a fairy. She flits, she floats, she sings, she doesn’t wear pants. No wonder our life is so magical with her in it.

And I guess that’s it—or the bones of it. I love living a life that is shared, stampeded, and elevated by these people.

Merry Christmas,

The Paces