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Chapter 6: The Sparkle on a Snowflake – Day 4

After enjoying our ride down several Christmas-themed trails last night, everyone slept in late today.  We are now enjoying a rare breakfast of freshly baked cinnamon rolls.  Sprinkled with red and green sugar.  

I grin at Abner.  His upper lip is bathed in creamy white frosting.  Dotted with a couple of colorful sprinkles.  His tongue peeks out suddenly to swipe that sweet cream off his mouth, and he flashes his adorable smile at me.

“Are you enjoying your cinnamon roll, Abs?”

“It’s dee-licious!” he announces gleefully.  “You’re the best cinnamon roll maker in the whole world!”

I smile at him.  I am the best everything in the whole world to my youngest.  

“Oh, great.  My butt is gonna be caked in glitter now,” mutters Everett as he plops his derriere down on the couch after moving some big, beautiful Christmas boxes I bought to wrap my friends’ presents in.  Those boxes are shrouded in sparkling bits of golden tinsel.  Which I, of course, love.  But my husband?  Not such a fan.  And, apparently, neither is Everett.

“Look on the bright side.  You’re quite festive now.  Twinkling like the lights on our Christmas tree,” I remark jovially.  

But Everett doesn’t share my joy.  He’s still grumbling.  And furiously brushing glitter off the couch.  Which, of course, simply makes the carpet more festive.  It now appears that scores of tiny lights have buried themselves amongst its fibers.  I find myself grinning from ear to ear.

“This is a horror movie,” my husband comments as he glances up to watch the glitter cascading from the couch onto the floor.

I giggle.  Thoroughly enjoying his absurd sense of humor.

“Mommy, what’s today’s clue?” the older of my bitty twins suddenly pops up behind me.  Quizzing me.

“Hmm.  Do you really think you’re ready for it?” I tease him.

He nods his head vigorously.

“Did you finish your cinnamon roll?” I ask him.

Again, his cute little chin bobs up and down.

“I don’t know,” I remark.  “Kookie’s eaten only two.  He still needs to consume another half dozen before he’ll have the energy to open his eyes this morning.”

“I need to finish my gallon of milk too,” adds my eldest son with a dazzling grin.

I snort.  I can always count on him to play along.

“Come on, Kookie!  Hurry up!” exclaims Alastair.  “I wanna go on a scavenger hunt.”

“Fine,” the oldest of his brothers responds.  “I’ll save the rest for later.  Bring on the clue, Mom.”

“Well,” I reply, “it just so happens that you’re sitting on the clue, Kookie.”

“Huh?”  An expression of utter confusion descends upon his countenance.

Janna glances down at the couch beneath him.  “It’s under you.”  She begins to gesture wildly at him.  “Pick up the cushion!”

He leaps off the couch and yanks its pillow off to discover a flat piece of paper awaiting his perusal.  But before he can grab it, Janna plucks it off the couch and waves it over her head.  Kookie lunges for her.  Freeing the clue from her clutches.  Then he begins to recite today’s poem.

“The big day approaches quickly.

Is wet snow yet falling thickly?

Not so much this late in the year.

Still, I want to see snowflakes near.

“Hey!” gasps Kookie as Janna grabs the scroll containing today’s clue from his hand. 

She ignores his outburst and picks up where he left off.

“Come with me to the kitchen table.

Grab some glue if you are able.

Some sequins and some glitter too.

We still have so much work to do.

“Coating snowflakes with their sparkle.

Hoping Santa won’t leave charcoal.

Creating glistening beauty,

Decorating trees, our duty.”

“We’re making ornaments!” Alastair exclaims.

“Are they snowflakes?” Abs guesses.

“Yep.  This year they are.”  I reach down to pull a snowflake ornament kit out from behind my recliner.

I head to the kitchen table and toss the whole package into the center of it.  My kids all grab a chair and begin to liberate their own snowflakes from the pile.  Soon, there’s glitter all over the table.  I love it, but I know my husband will be less than ecstatic if he finds those shimmering bits of tinsel littered around the house.  He has no love for glitter, though I can’t seem to understand why.  Who doesn’t want a little sparkle in their lives?

It’s quite apparent that my children do.  They’ve obviously inherited my affinity for the glistening dust.  My bitty twins are liberally sprinkling it on the glue lining their snowflakes.  Alastair chose a white snowflake; Abner, a blue one.  Fairly soon, both are covered in silvery rainbow sprinkles.  Only the backside of those snowflakes will reveal their original color now.

“Look, Mommy!” Abner joyfully grabs my attention.  “Isn’t it pretty?”

“It’s stunning,” I remark as I beam at my youngest. 

“Mine’s stunning too, isn’t it?” Alastair shoves his under my nose.

“Undoubtedly, darling.”  I smile at him.

“Mommy, is this all we’re doing today?  Or do we get another clue?” Everett asks.

“Hmm.  Do you need another clue?”

He bobs his head.  “Undoubtedly,” he echoes me.

And I chuckle. 

Chapter 7: Let There Be Light – Day 4

“Well, I suppose I could give you another one.  But it’s a little premature,” I begin.

“Premature?” Janna chimes in.  “What do you mean?”

“It’s a little early in the day.”

“Early in the day?” Kookie echoes.

At least, I know that two of my children can hear me.  During Christmas vacation anyway.

“Come on, Mommy.  Puh-lease!” gasps Alastair, at his most dramatic.

“Yeah.  Puh-lease!” Abs joins the chorus.

“All right,” I sigh, stirring up my own little drama.  There might be another clue in the dining room.”

Two little boys race out of the kitchen and nearly trip over one another in their haste to find their next clue. 

“Where at?” inquires Alastair.

“I can’t tell you that.  What would be the fun in that?” I respond.

Everett wanders into the dining room.  Scanning it for a clue.

Janna jumps up next, but Kookie is too busy eating his fifth cinnamon roll.  I watch him chew half of it before gulping down an entire glass of milk.  He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth before venturing forth to find a clue.

I follow him to the doorway then lounge against the doorjamb as I watched all my children evincing consternation.

Stumped, Janna turns towards me.  “A clue might be nice,” she mutters.

“You want me to give you a clue to help you find your clue?”

“Precisely.” 

“Hmm.  Isn’t that against the rules?”

“But, Mommy,” Abner’s tiny voice pipes up, “you’re the one who makes the rules.”

“Yeah, Mommy.  You can give us a clue,” Alastair opines.

However, I watch as Everett suddenly grins and makes a beeline for the light switch.  He’s noticed my little hint.  He peels the lightbulb sticker off the rectangular plate and holds it up to me.  “Is this a clue?”

“Hmm.  It might be.”

“What are we supposed to do with it?” Janna queries, still flummoxed.  She glances from me to her brothers. 

“I know!” Abner exclaims.  “I saw one of those stickers in the hallway!”  He races towards it and peels a second sticker off another light switch.

“Hmm…I see a theme developing,” Janna remarks as she follows her brother towards his bedroom.

Abner arrives first and finds another lightbulb sticker on his own light switch cover. 

Janna peeks into his room and scans it for clues.  “Hey, is that it?” I hear her call.

My three older boys race into the room, shoving past their sister as Abner bounces onto the bed and rescues the red-ribbon-ringed scroll from his pillow.  “Found it!” he declares victory as his hand shoots up into the air in exultation.

Everett grabs it, and Abner lets out an ear-piercing screech.

“Everett, give your brother the scroll.  He found it.”

My second oldest son pouts, “But I found the first clue.”

“That’s true,” I agree as I glance at Abner.  “What do you think, Abs?  Can you and Everett read it together?”

They look at each other and shrug.

“How about you let Abner read, and when he hits a word he doesn’t know, you can fill in the blank, Everett?” I suggest.

The big brother’s shoulders bob up and down again.  “Okay.”

I beam at him as Abner rips the scroll from his fingers and tugs on its red ribbon.  Soon, he’s reading to us.

“Let there be light, let there be light,

Shining so brightly in this night.

String them so high, string them so low,

We’re praying a fuh…”

“…fuse,” supplies Everett.

“…we won’t blow.”  Abner grins at me before continuing.

“Let us lend a colorful glow,

Let the b-be—”

“…beauty,” Everett comes to his rescue once more.

“…and the light flow.”

Abner wrinkles up his nose as he tries to decipher the next word, “Pie—”

“Piercing…” Everett hollers.

Abner slugs him in the shoulder before continuing.

“…the darkness around us,

Let love and l—”

“…laughter surround us.”

“Hey!” ejaculates Abner.  “I could have read the rest!”

Everett ignores him.  “We’re going to string lights?” The second of my sons beams at me, his brilliant smile a beacon all its own.

“Where?  Where?” Abs jumps up and down on his bed.

Alastair joins him in demanding, “My room?”

“I was thinking,” I begin, “we could decorate the tree outside.”

“The one in our front courtyard?” Everett’s eyes brighten.

“You mean Daddy’s gonna let us decorate something besides our bush?” Janna asks, referring to the net of lights we usually toss over the hedge in our front yard.

I nod at her.  “Yep.”

“Can I do it?” Everett asks. 

But I notice my bitty twins looking sad now.

“I have an idea,” I remark.  “How about Kookie and Everett string some lights on the tree outside, and Nana can help you two to hang some up here?  In your room.”

“Yay!” an explosive cry of joy leaves two tiny mouths as Everett grins at his brother.

Janna simply nods her head.  “I’ll go find the lights.”

It’s my turn to beam.  At my daughter.  “Thanks, darling,” I drawl.  “While you’re doing that, I’ll make everyone some hot chocolate.”

Janna slips across the threshold and disappears down the hallway.  I glance around at the happy faces of my four boys.  Who knew stringing a few colorful lights could make my crew so happy?

Chapter 8: Snap, Crackle, Pop – Day 5

The next morning, I’m the first one out of bed.  I drag a huge pot off of my shelf in the kitchen and plop it down onto the stovetop before pulling a stick of butter from the fridge.  But the main ingredients in today’s dish are still missing.  And they shall remain so until my children decipher their clue.  However, I am prepared.  So when Alastair comes bouncing into the kitchen at half past seven, I simply smile at him.

“Mommy!” he crows.  “Is it time for our next clue?”

I beam at him.  It’s so much fun to see him so excited.  But I’m going to have to disappoint him.  For a little while anyway.  No one else has dragged themselves from bed yet.  None but my husband who seems every day to race the roosters in rising.

“You’ll have to hold your horses for a little while longer,” I tell Alastair.

“Hold…my horses?”  His little face contorts into an expression of utter confusion.

“Cool your heels?” I reply.

He glances down at his feet.  “Why would I want cold feet?”

I giggle.  “No, cold feet means something completely different from cooling your heels.”

“What?”  He studies his toes again.  “But…why?”  He points at his foot.  “This is my heel, right?  It’s part of my foot.  And cool and cold mean the same thing, don’t they?”

I chuckle again.  “You’re right.  It makes absolutely no sense.  Cooling your heels means to wait patiently.  And having cold feet means you’re nervous about doing something.”

“Why would I have cold feet about finding my clue?” he asks, perplexed.

“You wouldn’t.  But you do need to be patient.  You’re the first one up.  Isn’t Abs still sleeping?”

“Oh.”  His shoulders fall.  “Yeah.”  His eyes brighten.  “Can’t I find the clue before they wake up?”

“Hmm.  You could, but this is supposed to be a family project, and don’t you think Nana and Abs will be disappointed if you don’t wait for them?”

He nods.  “Everett and Kookie would be too.”  He heaves a dramatic sigh.  “All right.  I’ll wait for them to wake up.”  Then he lifts his head to grin up at me eagerly.  “Can I go wake them up right now?”

“I have a better idea.  Why don’t you help me make some gingerbread cookies, instead?  You can sample the dough,” I bribe him.

“And eat a cookie fresh from the oven?”

“You got it.”

We grin at each other as I head for the fridge.

A while later, a sleepy Abner comes wandering out into the living room.  Shirtless.  He grabs a blanket and wraps it around himself as he curls up on the couch.  “It’s so cold in here!” he gasps.

“Put a shirt on,” I echo my husband’s favorite phrase these days.  My youngest two boys barely ever wear a shirt.  Unless they’re forced to.  Which is pretty much only when we leave the house.  And today, we have no plans to leave the house. 

Shivering under the fleece blanket I made for his father, Abs lies on the couch.  Until Alastair walks out of the kitchen munching on a gingerbread man.

“Hey.  What’s that?” Abs peeks out of the hole in his blanket tent.

“A gingerbread man,” mumbles Alastair around a mouthful of cookie.

Abner catapults himself off the couch, dragging his blanket behind him.  “Can I have one, Mommy?”

“I don’t know,” I respond.  “That depends.”

“On what?” he demands as he stands in front of the table and gazes longingly down at the hot cookies I just pulled from the oven.

“On whether you’re going to help me make some more.”

He looks up at me with his puppy dog eyes.  “I’ll help you.  What can I do?”

“I just rolled out some dough.  You can use the cutters to cut out the cookies.  I have a gingerbread house, a boy, a girl, and—”

“The ninjas!”  Abner beams at me.  “I wanna use the ninjas!”

I grin at him as I remember the year one of my friends from church gave my boys ninja gingerbread cookie cutters in four different poses.  They’ve become a perennial favorite in my household.

“Karate chop away,” I murmur as I drift towards the oven to place another pan in to bake. 

Abner happily cuts out little ginger ninjas while I munch on a cookie.  Gingerbread cookies are my favorite.  The challenge is to control myself.  And not eat the whole stealth army.  So far today, I’m not exercising much temperance.  Perhaps our next activity will slow me down a bit.

Twenty minutes and two pans of gingerbread later – baked not eaten! – Abner appeals to me for his third cookie.

“Pace yourself, my son,” I intone in my best Yoda voice.

“But, Mommy—”

“We might have another edible activity to do this morning,” I hint.

He perks up.  “The scavenger hunt?”

“Did I hear someone mention the scavenger hunt?” Janna queries as she steps into the kitchen.

I glance up at her.  “Yes, but we still have to wait for Kookie and Everett.”

She groans.  “Do we really?  They were up till two in the morning playing that video game Kookie got for his birthday.”

“They…what?” I burst out.  Slightly disgruntled with my two eldest sons.  “On the eve of a day they know will begin with the bitty twins plaguing me for another clue!?”

“Mommy,” Abner’s sweet voice pops up, “what does plaguing mean?”

Janna giggles.  “I say we do it without them.  It’ll serve them right.”

“Do you?”

She nods.

“I think we should just wake them up,” I suggest.

Her eyebrows fly joyfully skyward.  “May I do the honors?” she queries.

“Absolutely,” I respond with relish.

Of course, when she reads this story, she’ll ask me why I didn’t respond with ketchup or mustard instead.  Janna doesn’t care for relish.  In case you missed it…that was a terrible mom joke.  But Janna tells the very best ones.  And a few minutes later, she drags her two sleepy brothers into the kitchen.  They perk up at the sight – and smell – of gingerbread.

“Can I have a ninja, Mommy?” Everett asks.

“Hmm.  You didn’t help make them,” I murmur.  “You were too busy sleeping.”

Kookie snags a cookie and pops it into his mouth before I even have a chance to chastise him.  I glare at him instead.  But he’s so adorable when he grins at me around that mouthful of gingerbread that I simply shake my head. 

“Go ahead, Everett.  You can eat one too,” I respond as Kookie grabs another cookie.  “But you two are doing the work to find the clue.”

“Hey!” hollers Alastair.  “That’s not fair.  I’ve been waiting hours to find the clue!”

I blink at that little bit of exaggeration.  “Fine.  You can all work together.  We’ll just agree that Kookie and Everett are reaping the rewards of your hard work.”  I glance at my bitty twins.

“Me too,” mumbles Janna as she reaches for a gingerbread girl.  “Where’s her cape, Mom?”

“Her cape?”

“She’s a superhero too.  I mean, she’s surrounded by all these warriors.  She must be their princess.”

“Indeed,” I grin.  “But she doesn’t require a cape.”

“Why not?” she asks as she bites the girl’s head off.

“Because you just ate her,” I laugh.

“Mommy?  Where is our clue?”

I seem to ignore Alastair as I glance around the kitchen at my kids.  “Isn’t anyone going to eat cereal for breakfast today?  Or are you all simply going to subsist on gingerbread alone?”

“Gingerbread works for me,” mutters Kookie around – what else? – yet another cookie.

“Me too,” responds Everett as he bites the foot off one of his ninjas.  The other is in his left hand.

Janna just shrugs.

Alastair admits, “I’d rather eat more cookies.”

“Me too!” pipes up Abner.

“That’s too bad,” I sigh.  “I guess no one’s ready for today’s scavenger hunt.  We’ll just leave it until tomorrow.”

“No!” cry several of my children at once.

But Janna gets my drift.  She wanders across the room and opens the pantry door.  Then she drags a box of cereal out.  She glances at it and puts it back before grabbing the next box.  She grins as she sees the scroll I pasted over the front of that box.  “I found it, guys,” she admits, and four boys flock to her side as she begins to read.

“Snap, Crackle, Pop—”

“Oh!  I know what it is!” gasps Kookie, interrupting her.  “A bonfire?”

Janna looks at him like he’s nuts.  “A Christmas bonfire?  When have we ever had a Christmas bonfire?”

He shrugs.  “I don’t know.  Maybe Mom’s making a new family tradition.”

“We’re not the druids,” she responds dryly, “and we’re not celebrating the winter solstice.  We’re celebrating the birth of Jesus, our Savior.  We don’t build bonfires.  We string lights.”

“And light candles!” adds Alastair, recalling the year we went to church for the midnight candlelight service.  It was beautiful.

“Because Jesus is the Light of the world,” elucidates Abner.

“And so are we,” Everett chimes in.

“Everyone, focus,” I admonish them all.  “Janna, begin again.  This clue hearkens back to my childhood.  Or, at least, to an old advertisement.”

“Advertisement?” Janna queries, utterly confused.

I simply nod my head.  And she begins to read.

“Snap, Crackle, Pop are missed today.

We don’t need any milk to play.

We simply add some marshmallows,

Each snuggled next to his fellows,

“To golden butter – let them melt.

We must play the hand we were dealt.

Then stir them in – some red, some green,

A bunch still bland – watch for the sheen.

“Then spread your glop on waxed paper.

Use cookie cutters to shape her.

What new creations will we make

When next we manage not to bake?”

Everett giggles.  And I glance around the room at them.

“Wait a minute,” Janna remarks.  She turns the box in her hand around and notices what she’s holding.  “Christmas Rice Crispies?”

Abner gasps, “They’re red and green!”

“Some of them are,” Alastair comments.  “But the rest look like the normal ones.”

“Christmas Crispy treats,” Kookie supplies our answer.  “We’re making rice crispy treats, aren’t we?”

I shrug.  “Only if you want.”

“I want,” Kookie replies.  “I changed my mind.  I do want cereal for breakfast.  As long as it’s drowning in butter and marshmallows.”

“Where are the marshmallows?” Everett asks.

“Downstairs.  In the pantry,” I respond.

But all my boys glance at one another in alarm.  And I look at Janna.  She spears them with a disgruntled stare.  “Are you telling me that you guys ate all the marshmallows?”

No one volunteers the information she is seeking.

I sigh.  “It’s a good thing I saved another bag for today then, isn’t it?”  I reach down under the counter and open a cabinet door.  Then I grab my spare bag of marshmallows and toss it on the counter next to the stove.  “Kookie’s not old enough to drive to the store by himself yet,” I point out, “so I bought an extra bag.  Just in case a small army decided to eat a whole platoon of marshmallows.”

They grin at each other.

“Who wants to help me make rice crispy treats?” I ask.

I have several volunteers. 

“I need someone to find the Christmas cookie cutters.”  We all glance at the table.  So I clarify, “The clean cutters.  Trees, bells, candy canes, stockings.  You know the drill.  Once we make the rice crispy treats, you can cut out your favorite Christmas shape.”

I watch as two of my boys race for the stairs.  “Take your time!” I holler after them as I hand the stick of butter to Kookie.  “The recipe’s there.  Why don’t you and Everett get started since you didn’t help make the gingerbread.  And, Janna?”

“Hmm?”

“Can you spread some waxed paper on the counter?  So we have somewhere to dump our rice crispy treats when they’re ready?”

Pretty soon, we have a very nice pile of red, green, and tan rice crispy treat goo.  We smash it flat before allowing it to cool slightly.  In just a little while, it’ll be time to cut out our favorite designs.  Then comes the fun part….

Eating all the scraps! 

Chapter 9: Adorning Evergreens – Day 5

“What’s next, Mommy?” queries Alastair an hour later.

“Next?  Well, I have about a billion presents to wrap.”

“Can I help?” he kindly offers.

“Hmm.  Perhaps.  With some of it anyway.”

“Why can’t I help with all of it?”  His brow clears before I can answer.  “Are some of those presents for me?”

“Perhaps.”

He grins at me.  “Can I get the wrapping paper?”

I nod.  “Most definitely.  It’s downstairs in my junk room.”

He races away.  And another little voice pops up.  “Can I help too?”

“Yes.  Grab the tape and some scissors.  We’ll work on the dining room table.”

My bitty twins wear out much sooner than I can.  I still have piles of presents to wrap.  But my boys are in need of another activity.

“Can we have our next clue, Mommy?”

“We have only three left.  Do you really want to finish them all today?”

“I think we should do two more today.  We can save one for tomorrow,” Everett opines as he crosses the room towards me.

“Hmm.  Let’s start with one and see how far you get,” I respond. 

“Where’s the clue, Mommy?”

“Here’s your first clue.  The one that will take you to the scroll.”

“Wait!  I need to find Janna and Kookie,” Abner points out.

“Oh, yeah.  They disappeared a little while ago, didn’t they?”  I glance around the room.

“As soon as you put the gingerbread away,” Everett informs me.

“I think you mean as soon as Kookie was done eating half a box of rice crispies,” I mutter dryly.  That boy eats more food than the armies of several countries!

Alastair runs down the hall to Janna’s room while Abner wanders off to find Kookie.

“Mommy,” my youngest comes whining to me after a minute, “Kookie’s asleep.”

“What?” I sigh, feeling disgruntled.  That’s what you get for staying up until two in the morning, kid.  “Well, wake him up.”

“I tried.  He’s not budging.”

“Hmm.  I suppose it’s time for a Christmas movie marathon then.  We can make lots of popcorn.”

“And extra tall hot chocolates?” Everett suggests.  He, too, seems to eat everything in sight these days.

“Between you and Kookie, I am singlehandedly supporting both Swiss Miss and Orville Redenbacher,” I mutter wryly.

“Can we make big mountains of whipped cream?” Abner asks as he perks up at the mention of his favorite meal.  Popcorn.  Add a little chocolate to it and a pile of whipped cream, and the boy’s in heaven.

“Sure.  And while you guys watch TV, I can finish wrapping all these.”  I wave my hands towards the stack of presents still awaiting their adorning.

Three hours later, Kookie stumbles into the living room as everyone else begins to watch their third Ice Age movie.  I never realized that a movie about a woolly mammoth could be considered a Christmas movie.

Abner glances up at his biggest brother.  “Finally!” he ejaculates.  “We’ve been waiting forever for you to wake up!”  Then he tosses his attention in my direction.  “Mommy!  Can we have our next clue now?”

“Hmm.  I suppose so.  If everyone agrees.”  My eyes travel around the room, encountering five bobbing heads. 

I purse my lips as I stare at our Christmas tree.  It’s lit up with tiny colored twinkling lights and is situated in the perfect position.  About ten feet directly in front of my recliner.  I have the perfect Christmas-tree-viewing spot.  And I’ve been relishing relaxing for the past half hour.  I’m loath to move now.

“Can you locate the resting place

Of an ornament made of lace?

Tiny strands knit together now

Would too many require a plow?”

“The resting place of an ornament made of lace?” Kookie echoes.

“Why would ornaments require a plow?” Everett mutters.

“What’s a plow?” Abner queries.

“A snowplow?” Alastair clarifies.

I nod.

“Snowflakes!” gasps Janna.  “Those pretty little ornaments Karen always makes for Mom.”  She glances at our Christmas tree.  “You always hang them on the tree.”

She jumps up and wanders towards the Christmas tree.  Her brothers follow her.  They all begin to study the snowflakes on the tree.

“I don’t see anything unusual about them,” murmurs Kookie.

But Janna has a keener eye than he does.  She bends way over and examines a snowflake on the bottom of the tree.  “Gotcha!” she gasps as she carefully retrieves the folded piece of paper that’s stuck to the back of that snowflake.  Then she begins to read her clue.

“It’s time to decorate some greens.

Grab some colored lights, by all means.

Pick up the snowflakes that we made.

Let’s make memories that don’t fade.

“Find the loneliest trees we can.

Perhaps next to last year’s snowman.

String them with lots of gleeful cheer.

Maybe enough for the whole year.”

“We get to decorate the tree!” Everett celebrates. 

“The one we strung lights on yesterday?” Kookie quizzes me.

I nod.  “Yep.  You’ve already strung the lights on that tree.  But we’ve got lots of snowflakes to hang.”

“The ones we made yesterday!”  Alastair dashes for the kitchen table where a pile of their creations still resides.

Pretty soon, they’re all outside looping long strings over the strong branches of our crab apple tree.  A few more minutes pass, and our tree is flooded by dozens of blue and white flurries.  I smile as I watch my little brood enjoying the Christmas season together.  I grab my phone and snap several pictures.  These will definitely be memories to last.

They’re all growing up so fast. 

Chapter 10: A Gingerbread Village – Days 5 – 6

“I think,” I opine later that evening after dinner, “that your next clue should wait until tomorrow.”

This announcement is met by boos and hisses. 

I just laugh.  “How about you all finish your Ice Age marathon?”

Several shrugs are followed by a question.  “Can we eat some ninjas?”

“One,” I insist.  “You may eat one ninja.”

Although, Mommy may eat one for each of her children.

Like I said, I love gingerbread.

—

The next morning, my kiddos talk me into feeding them gingerbread for breakfast.  I find it fitting, so I surrender to Abner’s suggestion. 

“Can we have our next clue now, Mommy?” Alastair quizzes me as he pops his first ninja’s head into his mouth.

I decide to simply read the clue to them myself since they’re all busy munching on cookies.

“Edible ones are delightful.

I’d rather create an eyeful.

So tall and marvelously grand.

The loveliest house in the land.

“Gather our best markers, pencils, and pens,

Glue guns, foam paper, stickers, and their friends.

Giant cardboard sheets form a special place.

Let’s get creative and make our own space.”

“Huh?”  Janna gazes at me in consternation.

“Edible ones?” Everett queries.  “You can eat them?”

“Not these ones,” Kookie asserts.  “Markers, pencils, pens, cardboard.”  His face clears.

So does Janna’s.

They both exclaim, “Gingerbread houses!”

Janna nods.  “You want us to make a play house out of cardboard?”

I can practically hear her groaning.

However, Alastair’s countenance is flooding with joyous light.  “We get to decorate it like a gingerbread house?”

“We’re gonna make a big gingerbread house to play in?” Abner queries.

“Is this why you had me put all those giant cardboard boxes downstairs in the playroom?” Kookie quizzes me.

“Precisely.”  I beam at him.  “Can you bring them up to the dining room table?”

He nods and heads for the basement.

Then I glance at my younger boys.  “Can you guys round up your markers and crayons?  And, Janna, maybe you could grab the iPad and find some model gingerbread houses for them to use for their designs.”

She looks a little more enthusiastic about doing research.  So I let the five of them take it from here.  Then I spend the next several hours watching as they create a veritable wonderland. 

Kookie and Janna decide to work on making one gingerbread house together.  She even unearths some red yarn from somewhere in my craft bins.  It’s a miracle she was able to find her way out again! 

I observe as she takes the two ginormous white staffs Kookie cut out of posterboard and glues them to the front of the house.  Then she tapes the red yarn around those curved staffs in a pattern that soon creates two huge candy canes to serve as the jambs of the front door.  They use a similar plan to create windows that resemble round peppermint candies.  Kookie works on making a scalloped roof by taping semicircles of red yarn on each slope.  By the time they’re finished with their house, it’s bedecked in white and red and looks almost good enough to eat.

Everett and the bitty twins are so excited that they each tackle their own house.  Alastair finds a few extra snowflake decorations to give his house a winter theme.  He even cuts out a couple of gingerbread people from a big sheet of cardboard.  He uses some white paint to give them a few embellishments before propping them up next to their home.

Abner unearths Marvel superhero stickers from somewhere and litters the walls of his house with them.  But in the most creative manner.  He uses them to outline each of the windows and the front door.  He insists they are little, tiny superhero cookies. 

Everett draws the most precise gumdrops and peppermint candies I’ve ever seen and then carefully traces and shades them in with red and green markers.  He dots the roof with the gumdrops and decorates the outside of the windows with the peppermints, using them to form the outline of each pane.  He decorates the front door like a gingerbread cookie and creates a border for it out of more red and green gumdrops.

By the time my little brood is done, they’ve created a whole village of gingerbread houses.  Ones large enough for the younger boys to play in.  Kookie helps them to drag them downstairs, and hours of fun ensue.

Chapter 11: A Christmas Concert – Day 6

This evening finds us at our final clue.  I’m hoping they won’t feel like it’s a bust as a grand finale.  Truth is, I was so pressed to accomplish all my holiday plans that I didn’t really organize the clues.  I just wrote them down as they came and presented them in order.

“Mommy, we can do the last one tonight?  Right?” Everett quizzes me softly before dinner.

“Okay, but first, we must eat dinner.”

“What’s for dinner?”

“I don’t know,” I mutter.  “I was so busy wrapping presents and watching you all create that I forgot to cook.”

“Can we go to McDonald’s?”  That was Kookie.  Of course.  The human garbage disposal. 

I groan.  Mickey D’s isn’t my favorite place to eat.  But it does offer one benefit tonight.  It’s quick. 

“Go ask Daddy.  If he says yes, then it’s a go.”

Of course, he says yes.  Mostly because I usually veto the idea.

I soon find myself under those golden arches, searching the menu for some semblance of healthy food.  I find it.  And it’s even somewhat promising.  A grilled chicken salad with bacon and ranch dressing.  My mouth begins to salivate.  And my bones leap at the notion of receiving some protein.  They’ve had about all the Christmas goodies they could desire.

We all place our orders and wait patiently for them to be fulfilled.  A bit of confusion must have occurred during the crazy process of seven people ordering off the menu.  For we find ourselves with eight drinks.  And I didn’t even order one.  The girl gave us an extra Coke and one too many Dr. Peppers.  After Everett inhales his fish sandwich, he begs Janna for a sip of her Dr. Pepper.  She’s not a fan of pop either – which she insists upon calling soda – but the drink came with her meal, and she’d rather drink pop than tea.

I glance at Everett and offer him the extra Dr. Pepper.  “Here.  You can have one of your own.  Would you like it?”

“I’d prefer another Filet-O-Fish,” he replies dryly.

Making me giggle as my husband and I simultaneously quip cheekily, “And Elmo prefers trains.”

Our eyes collide, and we both chuckle.  That’s an old joke between the two of us from one of Janna’s Elmo books.  For some reason Elmo’s simple statement struck my husband’s funny bone, and he’s never let it go.  He can’t help but remind us that Elmo prefers trains any time someone else gives their preference.  About anything.  And I know him so well that I say it with him now, I guess.

After dinner, we head home.  And my kids beg me for their last clue.

I clear my throat before giving them a hint. 

“I play six strings, though I wish I played twelve.

Santa’s not invited to this party

And neither are his favorite two elves.

Bring your musical appetite, hearty.”

“Six strings?” queries Kookie, ignoring the remainder of my absurd clue.  “My guitar?  Or yours?”

“Hmm…I guess you’ll just have to check and see….”

He grins at me and leaps up, heading for his room while Everett crosses the room to pick up my own guitar case.  He’s beaming as he reaches inside a moment later to retrieve the last scroll.  “Found it, Kookie!” he hollers.

Once my eldest son returns to the room, Everett begins to read the final poem.

“Let’s invite Bach and Beethoven.

Handel is the best I’ve chosen.

Please play his Messiah freely.

I’ll listen all day, full of glee.

“Play a tune on those ivories.

Pick out a glad song on those keys.

Let us raise our voices in joy,

Rich tones exultantly employ.

“Strum your six lovely strings, my son.

A fair duet is loads more fun

Than playing or singing alone.

Serenade me with your sweet tone.”

Kookie and Janna beam at each other.  Then they glance my way.

“You want us to play some Christmas carols, Mom?” she inquires.

I nod.  “You on the piano.”

“And me on my guitar,” Kookie adds.  “Will you join us, Mom?”

I shrug.  “You know you’re a much better guitar player than I am.”

“Eh.  I just know the basics.”

“That makes two of us,” I chuckle.

“Perfect.  We’re a match made in heaven then.”

“Aren’t we just?”  I beam at him.

“Can I play the piano with you, Nana?” Everett asks quietly.

“Sure.  We’ll find a song we can do together.”

“What about me and Alastair?” cries Abner, concerned they’ll be left out.

“I’m counting on you two to sing,” I utter easily as I cross the room to unearth my guitar. 

Kookie escapes to his room to find his.  And then we all meet in the basement.  Where the tinkling keys of our piano and the lovely strumming of our guitars’ strings are soon filling the air with joyous music.  A moment later, several happy voices join in. 

Oh, yes.  This will be a Christmas to remember.

It already is.