CHRISTMAS TREE DESERVES BETTER

“Why are you undressing our Christmas tree?” my small son Matthew asked as I unwound a shiny garland from our dried-out evergreen.

“I’m not undressing it, little guy; I’m taking it down.”

“Down?”

“Downstairs and out the door.”

“To plant it in our front yard?”  His eyes grew large with hope.

“No--it hasn’t any roots.”

“But you could put it in some water ‘til it grew some.  Like your fill-again-drum.”

“Philodendron, Matt Matt.  But, no, that wouldn’t work.  A Christmas tree is just a one-time thing.  You bring it in the house and enjoy it for a while.  Then Christmas gets over, and the tree dies.  Come help me drag it out now, so the city crew can pick it up.”

“Oh, Mom,” he wailed, “they’ll put it in the garbage truck and take it to the dump! Couldn’t we just bury it beside our puppy's grave?”

 “Well, we’d have to dig a mighty hefty hole.”

“That’s okay.”  The little boy reached out to touch a withered branch.  “It was such a friendly tree.”

Undressing the Christmas tree.

TOT'S FAVORITE TOY BEST GIFT

“Find something to put in the Sub-for-Santa box,” we told our children one December day.

“But I don’t want to give my stuff away,” Julie cried, keeping a tight grip on Baby, her favorite rubber doll.

“Not even a toy you never play with anymore?” I tried to change her mind.  “Somewhere in this world there’s a little girl who might not get anything for Christmas, unless we help.”

Julie sucked her lower lip. Chin down, she looked up through long eyelashes.  “If we don’t help, that little girl won't get anything?

“She might not.”

My daughter seemed to understand.  Laying Baby down, she made a beeline for her room, where she rummaged through her toy box so long I was surprised to see her return with nothing in her hands.

“I decided to give Baby away,” she finally said.

“Baby?”  My voice seemed much too loud. “Why, she’s your best dolly—you can’t give her away!

“Here,” I said, guiding her back to the toy box, “let’s put Strawberry Shortcake in the Sub-for-Santa box.  You haven’t had her out since you were two years old.”

 “Mommy,” Julie wondered later, as I tucked her into bed, do you really think that little girl will want Strawberry Shortcake?”

“Of course, she will.”

“Even if there’s ink in her ears, where I drawed on her?”

“That little girl probably won’t even notice, Sweetheart,” I said, kissing Julie's forehead and turning out the light.

What a restless night! I couldn’t have slept worse if my waterbed had sprung a leak.  For hours I tossed and turned because I knew what needed to be done.

The next morning, I went to stand with Julie by the Sub-for-Santa box. Bravely, so tenderly, she hugged Baby one last time and nestled her among the other toys.

“You can’t help feeling sad,”  I touched a teardrop trickling down my daughter’s cheek.  “You’ve loved  Baby very, very much.”

“It’s okay,” the child looked up.  “That little girl, will love her even more.”
 

If we don't help, that little girl won't get anything?

SMALL SQUALLS AND DEEP ROOTS

               I remember sitting in Daddy’s recliner next to our big picture window looking outside. In the center of the lawn, a great spruce tree stood, beautiful and tall. 

            On spring days, rain glistened on the tree’s needles. “Such a shade of blue!” my dad exclaimed.

            Birds hid deep inside that tree all summer.  A robin sometimes chattered when Mama spread our picnic blanket in the big tree's shade.  In autumn, we picked up empty seed cones scattered on the grass. When winter came, snow dolloped the resilient spruce branches like fresh whipped cream.  “The perfect outdoor Christmas tree,” my mother said.

             I couldn't begin to imagine how our home might look without that massive, friendly spruce.  It had been there as long as I could remember--fragrant in sunlight and glowing when the moon was full.

            But one blustery Monday, a single burst of strong wind toppled our spruce.  All morning, persistent winds had bent the trunks of nearby quaking aspens, but the old spruce hadn't even seemed to move. Then, suddenly, a powerful gust rocked the tree back.  And that was it.  Blue-green branches littered the lawn beside a small crater where the tree had stood.

            “Spruce trees feed shallow--their roots don’t grow deep,” Daddy explained when we trudged outside to inspect the damage.  Mama’s cheeks were wet.  She tied a few broken boughs with satin ribbon, and I helped her hang them on our front door. A hard lump ached in my throat.

            Later that night my father talked quietly during Family Home Evening.  He said trees were like people.  No matter how beautiful and friendly--no matter how strong they seemed, a small squall could uproot them if their testimony wasn't firmly grounded.  He told us a small squall could be a little problem or a sudden major trial.

            “We put down deep roots when we keep the commandments,” Dad continued.  To make sure I understood, he asked me what I could do to make sure I had deep roots.

            I thought for a minute and then told him simple things like saying my prayers, telling the truth, and being kind to my friends would help me grow strong, deep roots.  Mama smiled when she heard me tell those things.

           A week later, after our toppled spruce had been sawed into logs and stacked against the shed, my parents and I went outside and planted a new tree.  This time we planted an oak, because we knew its roots would grow down deep.

 

.

*****

If you have a beautiful tree in your yard, click on the link below to find directions for several suet bird feeders that even small children can make: 

How to Make a Suet Bird Feeder - Today's Homeowner

https://todayshomeowner.com

http://kindergartenbasics.blogspot.com/2012/11/bird-feeders-kids-can-make-and-suet.html

CANDY FOR HER SHOES

           “Do you think he’s gonna come tonight?” my small daughter asked me late one December evening many years ago.

            “Do I think who’s going to come?”  I tucked her into bed and smoothed the quilt across her chest.

            “Santa!”  The little girl’s blue eyes began to shine.

            “Santa Claus?  Look, Christie, we’re only a few days into December.  That jolly old elf doesn’t usually come around until the twenty-fifth.”

            “Oh, yes, he does.  My friend Sarah says if you put your shoes outside on the porch tonight with a carrot and some hay for Santa’s reindeer, St. Nicholas will come and leave you candy treats.”

            “Well, Honey,” I fumbled for the words, “don’t get your hopes up.  St. Nick might make it as far as the Van Komen’s house tonight, but I don’t think he’ll get to our place until, let’s say, tomorrow night.”

            “Are you sure?”  The child’s face grew long.

            “Almost certain,” I said, glancing at my watch with its hour hand already edging past the closing time of any local store.  “Isn’t there a song about this?”  I asked myself.  "All the shops were barred and shuttered...."

            “Well, I think I’ll leave my shoes sitting out there anyway,” Christie decided, clamping her lips together in a way that made her chin look square.

            “You mean your shoes are already on the porch?”

            “Uh huh!  With a carrot and some hamster food inside.  I hope Rudolf understands we didn’t have no hay.”

            “Any hay.  We didn’t have any hay.  But listen, Sweetheart, I hope you won’t be disappointed in the morning if all you get is frozen shoes.”

            “I won’t be disappointed,” Christie yawned and closed her eyes.  “I know St.  Nick will come.”

            The next morning I watched with some anxiety as that little girl retrieved her icy shoes.

            “He came! He came!” she squealed holding up two rolls of Certs breath mints and a pack of Wrigley's gum.

            “Imagine that!”  I heard myself exclaim, patting my emptied purse.

In my great-grandma Nauta's zeal to raise American children after immigrating to the United States from Friesland, many of the family's Dutch traditions were replaced by those of their new, adopted country.  It wasn't until my little daughter's friend told her about Saint Nicholas Day that we began to yearn for more ways to celebrate our ethnic heritage, even if it meant purchasing pairs of wooden shoes on eBay.    

****

I don't know if my kids remember this delicious warm, ice cream-based drink I used to make for them on cold days after school.  I lost the original recipe that I originally got from my friend Sandra Shelley but found this version at Taste of Home.

Hot Almond Ice Cream Drink

Ingredients:

• 1 cup butter, cubed
• 1 cup granulated sugar
• 1 cup packed brown sugar
• 2 cups vanilla ice cream, softened
• 2 teaspoon almond extract
• Ground nutmeg

Directions:

In a small saucepan over low heat, cook and stir butter and sugars for 12-15 minutes or until butter is melted and sugars are dissolved. Pour into a large bowl; add ice cream and almond extract. Beat on medium speed for 1-2 minutes or until smooth, scraping the bowl often. Freeze.  To make one serving: Spoon 1/4 C (4 T) mix into a mug; add 3/4 C boiling water and stir well. If desired, sprinkle with nutmeg. 

I used to freeze a double batch of this mix in a Tupperware container so my kids could scoop out 1/4 cup portions and mix their own on a cold day. 

CHRISTMAS LIST STRIKES FEAR IN MOTHER’S HEART

“Mom, I’ve got my Cwistmas list weady,” 4-year-old Michael announced, handing me a tattered napkin inscribed with crayoned markings that could have been sacred hieroglyphics for all the importance he attached to them.

“Let’s see,” I said hopefully, “it says here that since Mikey has been mostly pretty good this year, he thinks he’s entitled to one sack of marbles and a new yoyo.”

Fat chance!  Michael, who religiously watches Saturday morning cartoons, between all the kid-targeted commercials, had higher expectations.

“No, Mommy, that’s not what I wote,” he protested, transforming every r into a w.  “What I weally want is a 10-speed. “

“But, Son, you’re not even 5-years-old.  Your legs are too short for a big bike like that.”

“That’s okay,” he had it figured out.  “I don’t want to have to wait awound for one when I finally gwo.”

Next on the list—my hands began to shake as I calculated the financial impact of such requests multiplied by the dreams of six children—was a television.

“Little Guy,” I hedged, “what would you do with TV? We already have two!”

“I’d put it in my bedwoom so I could play with my Atari there.”

“Honey, you don’t even have an Atari!”

“I was just getting to that,” he cut me off.

That’s when I wiped cold sweat from my forehead with the napkin list and handed it back to him.

“Young Man,” I said, “it’s probably time for you to get a job!" 

Stacee and Mikey in the days before big-ticket items became a part of their holiday expectations.

*****

Chore Jars

Chore jars are a simple way to encourage kids' participation in household tasks, especially when they are trying to earn a little extra money. Enlist their help in making the jars and deciding which chores to include.

Materials:

• 1 jar to hold possible chores
• 1 jar for for each child
• colored Popsicle sticks  
• black Sharpie pen
• sticky labels
• paper 

1. With your children's help, create a list of chores they are capable of completing.
2. Agree on an amount of money for each completed task.
3. Label the first jar, "Chores" and each remaining jar with a child's name. If desired, allow each child to decorate his name label.
4. Write each task and the worth of  that chore on a Popsicle stick. Color code the Popsicle sticks to make selecting a chore easier. For example, chores listed on green Popsicle sticks might be worth 50 cents. Jobs listed on red sticks might be worth a dollar. 
5. Put all the sticks in the "Chores" jar.  Each child must do a minimum of one chore (or any number you decide upon as a family) each day. They can do more, but one is the minimum. Once they have performed that chore, they put the stick with that chore written on it in their jar.
6. At the end of the week, add up the money each child has earned and give her/him the amount earned.

Note:  Some parents like to encourage children to do certain tasks without pay.  For example, every child might be responsible for clearing his/her own plate from the kitchen table after meals.  Placing coats and shoes in the mud room as a child enters the home might also be an unpaid expectation.

SANTA IS THE ONE WITH PEPPERMINT BREATH

“Santa came to the first grade today,” 6-year-old Stacee told her younger brother, Matthew, as she unbuttoned her coat and shook the clinging snow onto the floor.

“Santa Cwaus?”  With two fingers the little boy scooped a piece of melting frost into his mouth.

“The real deal!” His sister said with studied awe.  “He called me a cute little boy, and I said,  I’m a girl.”

“Did you sit on his knees?”

“On his lap.  And told him what I want.”

“Then what?” Matt was caught up in the tale.

“Everyone else sat on his lap and told him trains and dolls.”  Stacee paused for maximum effect.  “He gave us  candy canes.”

“Candy canes?”

“Red and white and very sweet.”   She giggled as her brother licked his lips.

“Then what?”

“We ate ‘em.  Teacher said, Don’t throw your wrappers on the floor. But everybody did.”

Matthew’s face grew solemn as he absorbed the flagrant rashness of these envied, older kids.  “The real Santa Cwaus, for sure?”

“For sure!”

“Did you pull his beard to see?”  Matt could not disguise the mischief in his voice.

“No, but I smelled his breath!”

“Peppermint?” The younger child asked.

“Peppermint!” His sister affirmed.

Stacee and Matt used to have the most intense discussions.

****

Leaving a plate of peppermint bark out for Santa this Christmas will keep impostors at bay:



Find this recipe at:
http://www.food.com/recipe/peppermint-bark-345124

REINDEER FOOD IS HOLIDAY FARE IN MIND OF CHILD

REINDEER FOOD IS HOLIDAY FARE IN MIND OF CHILD

“What are you doing with all that lettuce?” I asked my small son Kevin one Christmas Eve.

“Mixing it with carrot sticks, celery, and little bits of turnip peel.”  He couldn't have been more straightforward if he’d been asked to state his name, address, and phone number.

“Obviously!” I exclaimed.  The child had already heaped eight cereal bowls with stuff from our vegetable bin, and now he was filling up my cold-pack canner, as well.

“Because, Rudolf has to have a dish, too,” he explained.

“Rudolf?  Dish?”

“This big pot is for Rudolf.  I’m making a midnight snack for Santa and his eight tiny reindeer and Rudolf!”

“Oh, no you’re not!” I must have sounded like Ebenezer Scrooge.  “Hot cocoa for Santa is one thing—I’ll even help you make him a sandwich.  But there’s no way under this rooftop we’re gonna  provide fodder for eight black-nosed caribou and their red-nosed leader just because they happen to be pulling a toy-filled sleigh.”

“Why not?” my husband interjected.  He had popped his head out from behind the evening newspaper just in time to see our little boy bolt from the room to hide his tears.  “If he wants to feed the reindeer, then let him feed the reindeer. Who can it possibly hurt?”

Now I was rushing from the room.

“Heading out?” he wanted to know.

“Yes,” I said in a voice cold as the North Pole.”  I’m heading out to Wal-Mart.  If those reindeer are going to eat all that lettuce, you’re going to need an awful lot of vinegar and oil!”

Kevin (right) and his little buddy Jake mugging in front of the Christmas Tree

***

Even the smallest child can help create these cute reindeer.

         My friend Phyllis and her grand kids make these cute little mice every Christmas.
For directions, visit http://www.partytipz.com/recipes/view/44

‘TIS THE SEASON FOR EXTRAVAGANCE

“You bought yourself a what?”   My husband’s eyes grew rounder than Christmas baubles when I unpacked one festive parcel from my latest shopping trip.

“A doll,” I said evenly.  “I bought myself a doll.”  Crinkling back a corner of rose-colored cellophane, I stroked a shiny lock of rooted hair and touched a dimpled, rubber cheek.

“I suppose Santa Claus is going to leave it in your stocking Christmas Eve?”  Dave couldn't quite disguise the dryness in his voice.

“In my stocking,” I quietly affirmed.

He changed his tactics and his tone when I began to giggle like a child.  “It was crowded at the mall?”

“Not bad,” I laughed, ignoring his attempt to attach meaning to his wife’s absurd behavior.

“Well,” if you had to buy yourself a present,” he tried to understand, “why didn't you get something practical like an iron or a mixer or a mop?”

“That’s just it,” I tried hard to make him see.  “I didn't even need this doll.”

He opened his mouth again as if to speak, then changed his mind and sighed.

Gently, ever so gently, I drew the controversial doll out of its box and sniffed the vinyl newness of its skin.

This is actually a treasured, porcelain doll my mother made for me
 long before Alzheimer's robbed her of her many creative gifts.

Household Tip--This Christmas give yourself the gift of organization:

I like the inexpensive, double-sided caddy on the left below better than my large, wooden jewelry armoire. It keeps necklaces, earrings, and bracelets together in a convenient, highly visible place right by my bathroom vanity.  Since most of my jewelry is inexpensive, I'd don't need to worry about locking it up. 

On the right is an ordinary over-the-door shoe organizer I purchased for under $10.  Hanging inside my pantry door, it keeps pouches of cooking mixes, chocolate chips, and other small items where I can find them without rummaging through the cupboard or a drawer.  I also have one hanging on the inside of my toy closet door--filled with containers of bubbles, crayons, matchbox cars, etc.  My grand kids and I can easily find small items without tearing the whole closet apart.  In the toy closet, games, puzzles, and large boxed items are stored on edge like books rather than stacked on the shelves.  That way you can remove one item without lifting others off the top of it.

Jewelry and Shoe Caddies

                                                              

TURKEY TROUBLES BREW AT HOME

“What’s for supper?” My husband sniffed the air.  “Wait a minute. Don’t tell me—for openers you've prepared mock seafood salad, a la leftover Thanksgiving turkey?  And the main course is turkey stroganoff?”

“Come on, Dave,” I protested.  “Just because I clipped that newspaper article on how to get 90 servings from one turkey doesn't mean I’d give them all to you in one day.”

“What about the turkey pancakes we had for breakfast?” My spouse tapped his foot.  “And the turkey lasagna at lunch?  Then there was that pureed protein drink you gave the kids when they came in from playing.  It was so full of turkey you could almost hear it gobble.”

“The kids didn't though…”

“Didn't what?”

“Gobble it right up.”

“Can you blame them? If you gave our children the word turkey on a word association test they’d probably say ears, as in coming out of ours!”

“Can I help it that my mother always said waste not want not?”

“My mom said the same thing,” Dave retorted, “And right now, want not describes to the T in Turkey exactly how I feel about having anymore Thanksgiving leftovers this year!”

“Well, maybe I did go a little overboard,” I managed to concede.  “But since I've already got today’s dinner prepared, do you think you could possibly force down one more turkey recipe?"

“Not turkey stroganoff,” Dave pleaded.

“Hardly.  We're having turkey chili.  With brownies for dessert.”

“Do the brownies have turkey in them?”

“No,” I laughed, “I finally ran out.”

***

If you haven't used all your Thanksgiving leftovers, this recipe (adapted from Simply Recipes) for Turkey Stroganoff, really is good:

Turkey Stroganoff

Ingredients

Turkey StroganoffIngredients:8 oz. washed, fresh mushrooms, sliced3 T butter

• 1 finely chopped onion
• 3/4 lb leftover cooked turkey meat, dark or light meat, roughly chopped into bite sized pieces
• 1/2 C leftover turkey gravy (or chicken or turkey stock)
• 1/8 t nutmeg
• 1 T of chopped fresh thyme or 1 teaspoon dry thyme (important, do not omit)
• 1 C fat free sour cream at room temperature (can substitute plain, full-fat yogurt)
• Salt to taste
• Black pepper to taste
• 1/2 lb egg noodles, cooked

Method:

1.  Heat a large sauté pan on medium-high heat for 1 minute and dry sauté mushrooms (without oil or water), shaking the pan frequently so they don't stick, for 3 to 5 minutes, until the mushrooms release their water and begin to brown.
2.  Add the butter and onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until the onions begin to brown. Sprinkle with salt. Add the turkey meat and gravy and stir, cooking for a minute or two, and sprinkle on the thyme, black pepper and nutmeg.
3.  Remove from heat and stir in the sour cream.   Adjust seasonings to taste.

Serve immediately over rice or egg noodles.  Serves 4-6