Christmas Letter 2007

Greetings Friends & Family—God rest ye merry!
They say, ‘When happiness shows up, give it a comfortable seat.’ So we’ve filled our living room with throw pillows, rockers, and bean bag chairs. We are very grateful for the happiness that has found us this year.

As parents stumbling along, we’d like to express our gratitude for our parents for making it all possible. We are attempting to conduct ourselves in an honorable manner as well. My wife, Mishelle, certainly is the good parent. Now that the kids are all in school it frees my wife up to spend more time…at school.
She’s a class helper at Isen’s preschool and at the grade school and at the dance school. She continues to immerse herself in the lives of our children—and they are fortunate for it. This summer she was bulking up at the local Fitness Club. A trying time for me—all she wanted to do is arm wrestle…”Come on!...What, are ya chicken?” Or having to try and convince my friends that all those free weights lying around our house were mine. And what could be more humbling than trying to lift something and having your wife say, “Here, let me help you with that…” When she’s not pumping iron she finds time for canning and, of late, candy-making—Grandma Hanna’s Glass Candy, Divinity, and Knox Dainties.

 Arianna (10) continues to be a champion for animals. Her dream is to be a veterinarian. She has her father’s love and knack for organized sports. An avid reader and writer. I wish I could showcase some of her work here, but spatial considerations and ego limit what I can…oh wait, here she is now— “Hi everyone! I’d just like to say how great my Dad is….” Well, thank you Arianna for that unsolicited bit of writing. She loves school— history, technology, music, and plays the piano. She is becoming quite a little lady. Thankfully she’s begun to narrow her field of activities—dropping cheer, tumbling, Brownies, and focusing much of her time to dance— Ballet, Acro, Company, Trio, Stardust, Tap, MSAF(it might be easier to list off what she’s not taking…) She’s also started sitting for us. Hooah! The sitters we’ve had in the past have all either moved with no forwarding address, or are in some protection program. 

Shaelin (8) has her Uncle Craig’s love and knack for sports. Soccer, basketball, softball, and TaeKwon-Do. She’s dabbled in the dance arts—jazz & ballet which, as you can imagine, has helped immeasurably with the martial arts. Shaelin’s a very sweet person and still believes (in spite of her father’s indoctrinations) that life is fair (or at least should be). I recently read an article about if we get our feelings hurt, not letting that or other anger fester inside us and create a ‘hidden wedge’ within us that will eventually split us asunder. That’s not exactly the advice Grandma used to give me. She said to take that anger and hurt and put it in a little box inside my heart. And when that box started to feel full and I didn’t think it could take any more, to just keep cramming it in there…Tick, tick, tick…. So maybe there was something to this article. Anyway, I asked our kids if they knew what a wedge was. (Is your forehead beginning to sweat too?) Dear Shaelin began describing something she’d witnessed at school which sounded quite unwelcome and uncomfortable. So much for a teaching moment.

For quite some time, Shaelin has been inquiring as to Jesus’ ETA. She’s quite serious about it—so much so that she’s considering asking Santa to ask Jesus to return to the earth. How do you respond to that? “Sweety, I know Santa has a lot of clout, but I seem to remember the scriptures hinting that Christ will return in a like manner to the way he left—and I don’t remember Him leaving in a sleigh.” On the other hand, faith can move mountains, and if faith doesn’t do it then my daughter’s dogged questioning just might, so if there’s anything you haven’t squared away yet or something you’ve been putting off—I’m just sayin’…Christmas could be a bit more eventful this year than usual—just a little notification/disclaimer here. 

Speaking of disclaimers, Isen’s grandparents gave him a pair of Heelys for his birthday. These are those shoes with the wheels hidden in the bottom and you see kids effortlessly gliding through the isles of stores while the rest of us stare and start to loose our balance. Anyway, there’s a sticker on the bottom of the shoe that states: ‘By removing this sticker, you forfeit your right to sue the Heeley Corp.’—Nice. Just to be clear, Mishelle’s parents constitute the responsible party proffering said item. My involvement is limited through some arcane marriage vow. Just to be safe, Mishelle ran the shoe with the sticker through her laminator*, so technically the sticker hasn’t been removed.  In other Isen (5) news, he loves school (finally), and at home continues honing his riding skills—bikes, scooters, cats, and now litigious footwear. His social shyness continues to fade as he readily ventures forth, out from within arms reach of his mother. Bonus: he now willingly stays with a sitter—did I mention Arianna sits for us now? Hooah! These are glorious times. * For other laminating feats, see Christmas Letter 2002.

Frodo lives! (Frodo is our dog.) Pookey (our cat), unfortunately, does not. Old age or perhaps the incessant arrivals of more children, a dog, hamsters, guinea pig, and fish, cleverly protected, just out of reach, behind 5/8” thick glass, was all too much for her. So my mom helped us pick out a new kitten. But why get one, when you can get two for twice the cost? And why buy domestic when you can ‘rescue’ feral? So our kittens— Sadie and Bagheera—having been raised in the jungles of the pacific northwest, quickly grew into small horse-like creatures galloping through the house after one another.

Our zoological paradise was recently disturbed when one of the feline-equines came up missing for a few days—not a good sign. Bagheera had always managed to escape from his collar in a matter of seconds (and yes, we even tried staples), so even if he was found, he would be unreturnable. We were sad. His third day gone, my wife was leaving our neighborhood to go pick up Isen after school and pulled up behind someone who had just hit a cat. My wife got out and saw all the distinct markings of our cat—it was Bagheera. No signs of life. My wife was distraught, the man in the other car was distraught. She wrapped him (the cat) in a blanket and put him in the back. She then called me. “Should I drop him at the vet on my way to the school?” (Of course, I’m thinking $$$ for “Yep, he’s dead.”) “Well, is he dead?” I ask. “I think so…” the reply. (“I think so?!”—here’s my concern—my wife and son are driving along and our mangled cat pops up in the back and begins clawing its way over the seats toward my shrieking family and my SUV ends up parked in someone’s living room.) “I think it would best for the vet to take a look,” I say. $$$. Diagnosis: Dead. $$$ Autopsy — Cause of Death: massive trauma—‘most likely’ due to impact from car. Uh…thanks Doc…you saved the CSI unit a trip. $$$ Disposal fee. $$$—not having to remodel someone’s living room: priceless. So it was a very traumatic day for all. Later that afternoon, Mishelle is sitting at home, staring out the window, sorting out the day, when, what to her watering eyes should appear, but Bagheera, sitting on the porch, nary a scratch on him. Now, does my sweet wife run out and scoop him up in her loving arms? Noooo…we all saw Pet Sematary. She’s dialing me on one phone, 911 on the other, whilst rummaging through the closet for the shotgun. In the end, it was a Bagheera look-alike that got run over, some poor man will go to his grave thinking he killed the hysterical woman’s cat, and, as it turns out, 911 doesn’t respond to undead pet situations. 

For those of you who were expecting more than just this letter, we’ve gone green this year and in lieu of gifts, you can take some consolation, nay pride, in the fact that a number of carbon credits have been purchased in your name, freeing up our betters to jet around the world chastising us about wasting energy and do it with a clear conscience. Oh, we live in interesting times, don’t we?—Men of cunning device and many flattering words seeking to destroy the foundation of liberty which God has granted unto them. They would do well to remember that this land is ‘choice above all other lands’ and this struggle for liberty and freedom is one of the greatest battles of our time. I’d like to share with you some comfort and solace I’ve found from good books: “Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”

 “You also shall hear of wars, and rumors of wars; see that ye be not troubled, for all I have told you must come to pass; but the end is not yet.”

 "Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him." I understand it’s on us to actually open the door; it is also on us to turn down the volume of all the racket in our lives so we might hear His inquiry, but sometimes I wish He might knock a little harder…or use the doorbell…or, in our case, maybe a door ram. We’d like to join with Old Navy in wishing everyone a pleasant ‘Holiday Morning’ while you’re all circled around your Holiday Trees. And for you normal people—a hearty Merry Christmas!

The Padburys (north) — Burke, Mishelle, Arianna, Shaelin, Isen & other assorted wildlife