Christmas Letters (aka We're better at Life Than You)

All Christmas letters follow the same basic principle: our family is awesome and our life is better than your life. Most Christmas letters look like this:

To our family and friends:

Happy Holidays! We've had quite the year here at the McFabulous house. Every year I wonder if the next year will be as good as the last. This year was no exception, knock on brand new granite counter tops! I'm sure you're wondering what our precious angel darlings are up to, so without further ado:

Allister (18)  - It's been a whirlwind year for him, what with winning the Nobel Prize for Physics and the National Spelling Bee. I had to give up my Louis Vuitton purse room so sweet little Allister-kins could study. The sacrifices we make for our children are never-ending, are they? Allister decided to accept Harvard's offer of a full scholarship, even though the offers from Stanford and Princeton were quite appealing as well. But we couldn't pass up having a library named after our little boy! The solid gold plaque dedicating the library to Allister is a little tacky if you ask me (see attached photo). I told them that platinum would be perfectly acceptable; we're not showy people. But you know how Harvard can be!

Buffy (14) - Hard to believe our sweet little princess is in high school already! Of course, it won't take her long to graduate, not with all the advanced placement classes she's taking. She handles her classes pretty well and has found time to audition for Julliard as well. I keep telling her not to take on so much but I admit it was a proud moment when our beautiful Buffy won this year's Miss Teen America (see attached photo). She has to decide whether she wants to wear the diamond tiara or the sapphire tiara at her various Miss Teen America functions. Sometimes she's downright stressed, wondering which tiara to choose. It's tough as parents, isn't it, to see our precious babies going through hard times. But I keep telling her "That's life, sweet little heart of my own heart, that's life." 

Victoriana (12) - Our other little princess really enjoyed being an ambassador to the UN this year. We weren't sure if she was ready or not but the UN pleaded their case, as Victoriana is fluent in ten languages. We acquiesced and her gifted teacher told us she would be able to make up her work. It was a little tough for our youngest after Buffy won Miss Teen America even though we assured her that qualifying for the US Olympic Croquet team was no small feat for a 12 year old. But you know how siblings are!

As for me and Preston, we're still madly in love after all these years! Of course, our monthly vacations to Fiji (see attached photo) certainly help to set a romantic mood. Don't think life is all roses for us though. We had a scary situation in August when we got into a little fender-bender in Paris. How frightening! Luckily, our Porsche had just a teensy tiny little dent in it but we certainly have a new appreciation for life after that. 

We finished up our busy year dancing our cares away at the Governor's Ball (thanks Mitzy darling for inviting us!). I have to say it was quite an honor meeting the President and First Lady (see attached photo) and they could hardly tear themselves away from a little slide show we put together of the children. Thank goodness we had a back up iphone - Preston's battery died after only 4 hours! How embarrassing! It was a lovely evening and a wonderful way to ring in the New Year.

Hope you all have a joyous holiday!

Love, the McFabulous Family (see attached photo)

Once, just once, wouldn't you like to read a letter like this:

Happy Holidays! We've had quite the year here at the Smith house. Things aren't exactly wonderful but they could be a lot worse and we're thankful for that. 

Barney Jr (18) - Our oldest was accepted at Billy Joe Bob's Community College. Whew! What a relief! We did have to write a letter to the admissions office explaining the 7-11 incident but all is clear now. Of course, it will be a little tougher in college for Barney Jr after that unfortunate hunting accident left him with only two fingers on his right hand. I didn't even realize it was possible to shoot yourself with a rifle! We're also pretty sure we have a grandchild on the way although the paternity test hasn't come back yet. It was quite exciting to be on the Maury Povich show. What a thrill! All in all, we're proud of Barney Jr, provided he doesn't keep spending most his days at the dog track. But he has a head for investments, so who can blame him?

Maybelle (14) - She is quite the reader (she's finished all of the Captain Underpants Series) and this looks like her year to finally make it through fifth grade. Bless her heart, she tries her best. Some crayons just aren't meant to be the sharpest in the box, though. She has been busy though, collecting all of our beer can tabs and making things with them. To me it just looks like she glued a bunch of them to a piece of paper but it's good to have a hobby I suppose.

Larry (12) - Well, it wasn't the best year for our Larry. After getting suspended from school 4 times this fall, he set fire to our garage. It wouldn't have been so bad except for all the vodka and deer meat. Boy, that's a smell you'll never forget!

As for us, Barney and I are still married. Separate bedrooms certainly help. Despite my record breaking gallstones (see attached photo), we're still planning on heading off for a little vacation in January. I heard the Motel 6 now has top sheets so that's something to look forward to. Also, Barney is off on parole for the holidays this year so it will be quite festive. My mother-in-law is also staying with us but after the Thanksgiving gravy episode (she swears she wasn't deliberately trying to poison us, although I do wonder how she mistook antifreeze for broth), I'll be cooking Christmas dinner.  I saw a recipe to mold Spam into the shape of a turkey so I think this will be the best holiday feast ever!

Thank goodness for boxed wine, am I right?

Love, the Smith Family

Conversations with Matt

Matt and I are pretty similar in a lot of ways but like most married people, we have our differences. Opportunities for growth, if you will. One of these things is our view of money. Matt is a financial advisor so I suppose it comes with the job.  Matt wants to save for retirement, I want to buy flip-flops. Matt wants to contribute to a 401k, I don't even know what that is.

Here is a sampling of such conversations:

M:  You get holiday pay for working Thanksgiving, right?
J:  Yes, and a free meal.
M:  Who cares about the meal?
J:  I do.
M:  What's the holiday pay rate?
J: I think I'll get turkey. Possibly ham. Definitely mashed potatoes.

He gets very passionate when he speaks about finances. He has to stand up and possibly pace a bit while telling me about pensions and retirement and mutual bonds (or is it mutual stocks? I can never remember). Eyes ablaze, hands gesticulating. It's quite a show. Recently Matt was going on about something but all I could concentrate on was his adorable little dimple in his right cheek. After he was finished I said "You're so cute when you talk about finances. It makes me want to rip that sweater vest right off."  He stared at me for a moment and then said in a disgusted tone "Oh my gosh " and walked out of the room.

Matt can probably tell you, down to the cents, how much we have in our checking account on any given day. It takes me a minute just to remember which bank we use.

We also differ on our views of books. I love them. I love the smell of them - wood and ink. New pages that are crisp and full of promise. Old pages worn with love and soaked with the scent of time. If I loan a book out, even one I don't even like, I miss it. Like I've given away a part of me. Matt basically considers books, with few exceptions, to be a waste of space. We have about 6 bookcases and I can count on one hand the number of books that belong to him. In fact when we were moving to our current house, Matt started grousing that most of the boxes were filled with books. He just started labeling them 'Crap.'

While watching the election, at one point Matt exclaimed "Look at that! Only 193 votes separate the candidates in Florida!" He looked over to get my reaction and said, again with disgust, "Are you reading a book about dragons right now?"

You betcha.

The Question of Suffering

When we first talked about adoption, it was simply a good thing to do. Selfless, generous, and all that. When Matt and I really started to get serious about it, it was because God was impressing upon us his heart for orphans. The most surprising part about this journey is how it is changing us. Changing our marriage, our relationships with our kids, our view of a hurting world. We have just started this process and yet it is clear that this is no easy task. Sometimes it painfully stretches our relationships. We have to confront just how selfish we are with our time and our money and our comfortable little lives. Adoption is forcing us to come to terms with our need for control, racial stereotypes and tensions, and our all consuming focus on ourselves.

One of the greatest questions in all of human history is why does a supposedly loving God allow suffering? It keeps both believers and agnostics awake at night, tossing and turning on pillows damp with tears.

I have been to Honduras and the Dominican Republic and Matt has been to those countries and Mexico and Haiti. We have been to New York City and Chicago on mission trips. We have seen toddlers whose bellies are distended with hunger, liquid brown eyes round with suffering. Homeless men and women bundled in their belongings, faces etched with a lifetime of poor decisions and unfortunate circumstances. Women whose only thought is keeping their children alive one more day.

We have read accounts of the horrific conditions in Russian orphanages, teenagers who weigh as much as toddlers and spend their whole lives in cribs. Babies in Ethiopia and Haiti who are fed mud mixtures to keep bellies full because there is no food. Rooms filled with cribs in China, babies peering out with dull eyes. The hopelessness, the suffering, the complete and utter injustice.

The question is not why does God allow suffering. The question is - Why do we allow suffering? Why do I?

The desire I have to be comfortable and content is strong. I want to keep my money in tight fist-fulls and spend it on shoes and clothes, products to make my hair shinier and my teeth whiter.

This past election I heard a lot about rights. Specifically my rights as a woman. Defend them! Vote for them! Protect them!

And yet...I have given up my rights. Though I fail often, I give up the rights to myself everyday. My right to spend my money however I want, my right to be comfortable, my right to treat my unborn children however I choose, based on convenience. I choose to exchange my temporary and fleeting rights for something much greater.

To adopt is to value someone else's comfort and contentment more than your own. It is a dent in the great ocean of suffering and injustice that covers this world.

I can't change the suffering of this world. I cannot stop the horrors that happen every minute of every day. But I can teach my sons that their strength is measured in helping the helpless, their honor in loving the unlovable. I will whisper to my daughters that to be a life-giver is an unspeakable joy. I will tell them that it is a struggle to be you-first in a me-first world. That laying one's life down for another is the greatest of all things. It is hard and it is painful but it is a battle worth fighting.

Adventures in Walmart

I thought about trying to come up with an incognito name for this infamous store but didn't for several reasons. First, it was just too long of a nickname to call it 'The store I go to simply because there is no Target or Publix in my town.' And second, everyone knows what store I'm taking about anyway.

The first incident happened a couple weeks ago. We needed to get the tires changed on the van and Matt works so much that it just doesn't make sense for him to go. I happily (and stupidly) offered to take the van in while the older two were in homeschool PE at the Y. It's an hour class, surely I will have enough time.

Sometimes my optimism gets in the way of real life.

So I dropped the van off, fending off ridiculous questions such as "Would you like to add the $8 lifetime rotation service fee?" and "Do your tires have (some weird name) screws?" I don't know the answer to any of that. Always happens when I take the cars in to get fixed. If Matt can't take them in, I'm stuck with it. I just rattle off the phrase that Matt told me to say, such as "We need to have the tires aligned and can you please check the inside of the left tire?" I dread follow up questions like "When was the last time they were rotated?" or  "Does this car happen to have a winglehopper?" or some such nonsense. Let's be honest here. Do I look like I would know the answer to any of these questions? I haven't seen my hairbrush for months and my toddler son has a pretty pink pacifier. Don't come to me looking for answers.

Anyway, right after I handed the attendant the keys, I noticed something about Noah. There was a cloud of stink surrounding him. Normally this would not be a problem, I'd head on home and change his diaper (I stopped carrying the diaper bag on quick grocery trips years ago).

Once again, my optimism failed me.

There I was, stuck in Walmart, dirty diapered baby in my arms. I bought a small bag of diapers, closing my eyes for a moment to imagine the huge box of diapers I had just bought that were sitting in Noah's room. I didn't buy wipes. At the time, I reasoned that it was just one diaper and I could just use wet paper towels in the bathroom. I now realize that the reason I didn't buy wipes is that I am an idiot.

I put him on the changing table and began the process. The paper towels were the cheap ones (obviously) and practically disintegrated upon contact with water. He was fussing and wailing the whole time. After the change, I put him in the cart and took a good look at him. Shirt all gross from lunch, nose snotty, big bruise on his forehead from trip down the stairs, dirty bare feet. It was like a screen shot of "Babies of Walmart."

The cashier that day told me I should keep a spare diaper in my car. Yes, thank you. How helpful.

And gosh darn it if I didn't find a diaper in the trunk of the van later that day.

The second incident happened a couple days ago. It was election day and I stocked up on some things for the long night ahead.  I got in line behind a lady who seemed quite normal. She had a separate little bundle of items after the main bulk of her items had been paid for. She told the cashier that she was price-matching that section with the Winn-Dixie ad. They were all buy one, get one deals. The cashier explained that they have to match it with WD's price, not Walmart's. Made sense to me but apparently it befuddled the nachos out of this lady. She began to get all huffy and a manager was called over to try and placate the customer. I quietly loaded my items back into the cart and got in the next line. That cashier and I exchanged knowing glances as the lady next to us began to get more and more vocal. My cashier rang up my items and I stated "Nothing says election night like moscoto and Cheetos. This is why I love America." Every time alcohol is rung up at Walmart, the phrase "Does customer look over 40?" pops up on the screen. Sometimes they will slide their eyes over to my face and push a button. You did not just say yes. That's right, you'd better card me.

Anyway, toward the end of my shopping experience, the irate customer said "I have no words for how angry I am. I am just so angry I'm shaking. I can't tell you how angry I am. Something will be done about this. There are just no words."

I leaned over to my cashier and whispered "Sure seems like she has words, doesn't it?"