I would like to announce that for what may be the first time ever, I didn’t read the Kids’ gift books before wrapping them this year. Can I say? I’m excited for Sunday. And the following week. A steady diet of cold cereal meals and new books. Sounds perfect.

Decided to spend writing time this morning as a little devotional. I wrote my testimony. Committed it to paper. I don’t do that very often. Or maybe ever. But it felt good to do. And right, for the season and such. It’s a gift to have one, and a gift to share it.

Should I stop telling you how much I like kids? Mine, in particular? Because I maybe tell you a whole lot. But they are a whole lot awesome. All of them. Kid 1 is awesome. And Kid 2 is awesome. And Kid 3 is awesome. Also Kid 4 is awesome. See what I’m getting at? A whole lot of awesome.

And last night I read them David Sedaris’s “Six to Eight Black Men” as a little bit of Christmas cheer. I have managed difficult things in the past, like unmedicated childbirth and stuff, but I have to say, reading that out loud without laughing is a feat I am seriously proud of.

Speaking of feats. And feet.

(Look. I want. Don’t they make your feet happy? Or make you want some orange sherbet? Or something? I don’t know. But I want.)

In an effort to make the Christmas cheer last and last (and not to have a psychotic episode) I have limited my Christmas Music Intake to what happens when I’m in a store playing canned Johnny Mathis and Brenda Lee. And this is good. Because as you may recall, I have a limit to the Cheesy Songs of the Season. But we need to listen to SOMETHING in the house when we’re doing many dishes and making bread and apple pie bars and whatever. So we’ve discovered Pandora’s “PG Comedy Radio.” And it has saved me. In particular, I can put a load or three of dry, clean laundry in front of my kids as they sit on the floor laughing at Jim Gaffigan, Jeff Foxworthy, Brian Regan and BILL COSBY (“Noah, how long can you tread water?”) and they will fold it all, almost without noticing. Oh, thank you, Pandora. (Also, no commercials yet. Hours of comedy. Not a single commercial. Yet.) I know there are cool Pandora Christmas stations, but very few of the songs do it for me. (Except Barenaked Ladies and Sarah MacLaughlin’s “God Rest Ye…” and Katie Melua’s “Have Yourself A Merry…” and any of the awesome Christmas hymns that we sing around pianos or on porches.)

In the spirit of full disclosure, I should tell you this: Don’t hate me, please, if I am the only woman in the world who isn’t in love with Michael Buble. I can stand up and say it. I’m a Sinatra girl. Always have been. And I don’t know if I always will be, but I’d bet on it. I know it’s unfashionable to Not Adore MB, but I just don’t. I can do a song at a time. Then I need some hours of something else. But Kid 1, knowing this about me, made me listen to MB’s “Santa Baby” and she laughed  with me until our guts ached. Um, really? Mike, we should talk. Someone should have staged an intervention with that guy before the album was complete. Doesn’t he have an agent? Or an editor?

Attention future agent and/or editor: Please. Let me not take such a step. Thank you.

Hey, friends, I hope you have a Christmas full of cheer. I hope the food is good. I hope the family is near. If you’re still in That Stage, I hope batteries are included. I hope peace and fulfillment fill up all the corners. Merry Christmas.

XO,
B

—

[1] I don’t believe in credit cards. So I transfer all our savings. Somehow that should make some financial sense. Or something.

I feel like I’m falling behind a little right now.

I’ve been doing a lot of subbing. I think it becomes 8 or 9 days in a row by the time I’m done. All for the same teacher, who is a good friend and an absolute CYCLONE. She is remarkable in her ability to retain seven thousand pieces of information in her head at any one time. (I do not, in any way, share this ability.) She is also amazing in her manner of coaching young actors. (Likewise, I share very, very little of this ability. I’m pretty good at compliments, though.) Also she just might assume that I’m good at / proficient / capable of comprehending a whole lot of stuff that is, in fact, a mystery to me. But I’m teaching Tale of Two Cities to the cutest AP English class, and when I come right out and ask them, “Who hates this book after the introductory first 6 chapters?” they actually tell me, and I tell them to hold on, because although Mr. Dickens isn’t going to get any less wordy, he is going to get a whole lot more character-driven in the very near future. And then, when I ask, “Who hasn’t been bothered to read this yet?” and they actually admit it, I tell them to get on it, because there’s something coming up that they really DO NOT want to miss. And then we read about Sydney and I sniffle a little in preparation for that which is to come. Oh, Sydney.

*sniffle*

Also, I play. As in, Drama. Teaching drama is a riot of Biblical proportions. Dogs and cats living together, I’m telling you. Oh, so fun. So, so fun. There are some clever and lovely kids I’m getting a chance to know, and I really do like this gig.

And I’m seriously grateful to have it.

Meanwhile, laundry? No. Reading any of the several library books on the nightstand? No. Making delicious, well-thought-out meals? Sorry. Planning / prepping / wrapping gifts (Christmas ones or Kid 4 birthday ones)? Oh. Not so much. Critiquing manuscripts? Don’t make me laugh. And just trust me on this: You do not want to take a close look at my kitchen floor.

Here’s how much I’m not doing: I have a manuscript (possibly finished [for this round]) and a finished query letter. How many agents have I sent it to? Zero. I decided that I need to give this my whole brain, and that means it will happen sometime after the NYC Publishing Industry Month-Long Shutdown.

WHAT? Becca, you ask. What are you thinking?

Well, I answer, I want it to be just right.

How much time do you really think it takes to fire off a bunch of emails? you want to know.

See, I reply, there’s more to it. I need to personalize each letter to each agent. I need to double check submission guidelines and statuses. (Also, I should find out if Statuses is a plural, or if there’s some sort of Latin -i ending. But not right now.) I need to send each agent what he or she wants, like the correct number of pages pasted into my cleverly written and totally not misspelled email. Also, I need to build in time to sweat and grow a few ulcers. Because, well, you know.

And I don’t have to be in a hurry right now. Lots of people do. It’s one of the downsides of having an actual contract. Deadlines. All my lines are currently alive, and I like them that way.

Carrying on. And trying to not forget to be awesome now and then. You, too, I hope.

(*Deep breath. Repeat.*)

I was supposed to be singing, too — just in the choir, but I woke up grumpy this morning. So I bailed. Okay, not really. I mean, I did wake up kind of grumpy. And I did bail, but I also have a cold and didn’t fancy coughing and nose-blowing in front of dozens of people. Also I am singing in church tomorrow with Kids 1&2, so I can justify resting the voice. And try not to feel guilt about the six lonely altos up there on the stage.

Kids 1&2 both sing in high school choirs directed by the same little guy (remember Steve from Blues Clues? I’m pretty sure it’s the same person) and he had all the “women” in his choirs learn a three-part arrangement of The First Noel. So I got to learn the second soprano part to sing with the girls, which second soprano part I’m pretty sure is payment for sins past and future. And we will sing it tomorrow.

I’ll be sure to let you know if we were adorable.

… Started reading the first Stephen King book (fiction, that is – I read ON WRITING and was thrilled) in more than twenty years this weekend. It’s creepy, I tell you what. (It’s the 11/22/63 one about the Kennedy assassination. And I’m scared. The man can tell a story.)

… Kids 3 (10.5) and 4 (very nearly eight) played Catchphrase yesterday afternoon while I was making Lemon Pound Cake. They were so funny. I wish you could have been a fly on the wall, because not much of it translates to blog. They speak their own language, frequently referencing platypus love, obscure MONK tv episodes, and pineapple. They’re cute. You can trust me on that.

… Amazon, get ready. I’m coming back today, armed with a credit card.

… Shopping is almost done. See above.

… Got the lights and decorations on the tree, and candles in the windows. I should take a picture. It looks precious. And I mean that with all the sincerity I can possibly muster. Truly.

… I love the little kids I work with at church. All 80 of them. They are adorable and hilarious.

… Scotch Tape, where have you gone? I mean it. Where are you?

… We sang Christmas songs in church yesterday, and it flipped a switch in me. Suddenly and without warning, I committed to singing in the Messiah Sing-In choir next weekend. The rehearsal last night brought some “who-do-you-think-you-are” eyebrows at our late join-up, but the music makes me crazy happy. To be alive. To worship Jesus. To sing alto. To repeat “we like sheep” until I have to actually put my hand over my mouth to suppress the “baaaaaa” noise. To want to dig deep into Isaiah and understand the Mysteries. Happy, happy.

… Hope is a thing with feathers, Emily Dickinson said. I love to see some feathers fluttering around here.

Reading (chaim potok. oh,chaim. i lurrrrve you so.)

Walking (kids to bus stops, around blocks, around lakes, around neighborhoods, around farms.)

Eating (mostly plants up till dinner time. need to find me a butter plant. coconut oil may replace butter. or not.)

Setting Aside (the zero-draft manuscript [fifth gift] for a week before i start the actual revision process)

Opening (files of other set-aside manuscripts. anything ready to try submitting again? maybe.)

Laundering (natch.)

Shopping (for christmas. just a little. first box arrived last week. tee hee.)

Craving (a part in a musical. we saw “joseph” this weekend and it makes me want to audition for “thoroughly modern millie” next week.)

Weeding (oh, wow — i found my rock wall. *that’s* where it’s been hiding all summer.)

**What’s going on with you?**

And so, I say Happy to you.

Happy anticipation. Happy celebration. Happy gathering. Happy family time. Happy food. Happy reminiscing. Happy lights. Happy travels. Happy kids. Happy presents. Happy thoughts. Happy worship. Happy gratitude. Happy pondering. Happy testifying. Happy contemplating. Happy Joy.

Enjoy your Happy.

It’s just that I heard a song on the radio this morning, and I had to share.

Aerosmith’s “Love in an Elevator.”

I wish I were kidding. But see, there’s backstory. I have this little problem. I love Christmas. I love all of it, the commercial, the spiritual, the edible, the familyness. And I love Christmas music. Much of it. But I sort of get twitchy when I hear the same songs, sung by the same artists, over and over and over starting in the fall. So I did an on-purpose hiding of the La-La-Songs-of-the-Season radio stations. In fact, when I’m in the car longer than kid pick-up, I have my phone singing to me (“Legally Blonde the Musical” and “The Drowsy Chaperone” lately) and ignore the radio completely. I have heard more talk radio in the past 7 weeks than ever before.

So my radio is tuned to a strange station that plays just pretty much whatever song it finds. It is seriously random. Hence this morning, on the way back from the school drop-off, I hear Mr. Steven Tyler screeching about love in an elevator.

The weirdest part? I knew all the words. That’s one naughty song. And did I mention? I knew all the words.

Also, someone took time to write harmonies to the entire song. Not complex ones, you understand, but the sort we’ve come to expect from 80s metal bands.

Harmonies.

To a song about hooking up in AN ELEVATOR.

And the darn thing won’t leave my head. “Living it up when I’m going down.” Mmm-hmm.

And now I give it to you.

You’re welcome.

Merry Christmas.