Yes it was. A very lovely Christmas. Ryan had a little mini depression as I was taking it all down, as he should have. I really love decorating our home for Christmas...maybe one year we will actually be in our own house on Christmas! But in the meantime, we have thoroughly enjoyed spending every Christmas with either my Mom or Ryan's parents. We spent 2 nights in Tooele and it really was enjoyable. I think the only regret I had this Christmas was perhaps that we bought too much for the boys. I didn't think we had, because I starting shopping early and tucked things away, but then I pulled it out to wrap and I was like "What the heck?" The thing is, by many others' standards, we didn't even get them all that much. But, I felt it. I felt the pit when I saw the ridiculous amount of gifts under the tree. I don't want my kids to put such value on "stuff". Stuff doesn't make you happy, in fact, it often consumes so much of your emotional and financial resources that it really makes you unhappy in the end.
There were 8 kids in my family and let's be honest...unless my Dad owned the gas company where he worked, Christmas was always going to be on the lean side. But oh, how we loved Christmas. And ironically, the years that were really lean somehow are the ones that I remember being the most happy. I don't remember the stuff so much...but I remember all the little things that Mom and Dad did to make the holiday special. The kissing ball, made from pine cones and mini-plastic cups, all of Mom's little figurines she had collected through the years, the 'real tree' years, hanging all that tinsel on the tree and then Mom redoing it after we all went to bed, the Christmas Eve outing with Dad, Mom making every package look so perfect, Dad hanging all the lights, perfectly straight, with a star a top the antenna on the house, the jar of hard tack candy (the raspberry ones were my favorite), the dish of mixed nuts with the silver nutcracker, Dad always handing out the gifts, the company party at the Rec Hall, ...I could go on and on.
Perhaps that's why I am obsessed with making pretty packages. I know that many of them will likely go unnoticed, and worse, what took 15 minutes to make pretty, will be on the floor in 15 seconds. Mom passed that onto me. I like pretty paper. I like pretty ribbon. I like pretty packages. I like the lights on the house, and I want them perfectly straight, just like Dad did. I vow to find the hard tack candy like they used to make and to buy the nuts still in the shell, even if I am the only one who eats them.
And this is why my children will be getting less stuff. Do they deserve the world? Yes. And they want it given to them in time and attention and love. Toys cannot replace memories. And memories, as I've pointed out, are what last.
We don't have any set traditions for ringing in the New Year. But we like to take advantage of Jolea and Ryan every once in a while, so we invaded their house on New Year's Eve. 
I was kind enough to bring dinner since we totally decided to stay the night. Tradition has it you are supposed to have black eyed peas (the kind you eat, not the kind you dance too...although that would have been good too), and I don't think our family eats black eyed peas, so I brought edamame as a replacement, figuring that would be acceptable.
We ate, watched reruns of Minute to Win it, ate some more, watched the kids play, kept eating, played Big Buck Hunter 2, ate a little more, and just entertained one another really. Discussions were had about the New Years kiss...you know how I couldn't wait to be married knowing that forevermore, I would always have someone to kiss on New Years...and how the lovely man I decided to marry could care less about the New Years kiss. Max made it to midnight this year. 
We watched the ball drop and all decided Really...is that the best our species could come up with? Then when it was perfectly clear that it was time to go to bed, we stayed up longer watching Pet Hoarders with Mom and Jolea. 
mark gets a new buckle
the hosts--grandma and grandpa
all the pretty girls
