We Stank You

Christmas is tied for first place as my favorite holiday. 

None can match the celebration of my Lord and Savior manifesting here on earth as a tiny baby, except of course, said Lord and Savior dying for my sins and defeating death three days later.

But Christmas.  I love it.  I just love everything about it.  The scent of fir trees (or fir candles if your weenie wonderful husband manufactures a convenient allergy to Christmas trees-- whatever), the carols, the snacks, the Christmas flavors at Starbucks, and the mail.  Oh, the mail!  I get such a rush seeing our mailman chug around the corner, pull up to our house, and deposit stacks of glittery, multicolored Christmas cards in my mailbox, knowing what soon awaits me:  the ability to sit at my kitchen table in silent, arrogant judgment about which one of my high school friends or college sorority sisters has the cutest picture of their kids, or in some cases, which one has made the most unfortunate of fashion choices.

I hope that doesn't get me kicked off anyone's Christmas card list for next year. 

But come on?  Do I lie?  We all do it when the mail arrives.

This year, as a family, we've been trying to focus less on the commercialization of the holiday and more on the tradition and the ultimate reason for our celebration.  Part, nay, most of that could be that we deeply miss a beloved and vital member of our family.  And the rest is due to the ire that engulfs my husband when we spend money unnecessarily on junk, simply because some people (ME) like to have a full stocking on Christmas morning.  So what if it's full of junk?  At least it's full.

So we've been really trying to focus on our blessings this year.  Of which, there are many.  Too many to count.  A list which would make my head explode were I to try and name each and every one, but I'm going to try anyway because it's Christmas, and I'm all caught up in the spirit now.  And possibly a little wired on Starbuck's holiday flavors.

At the very top of my list of blessings are these three things in no particular order:  1)  Jesus Christ, and the freedom and liberty to worship Him;  2)  An incredibly loving, close, supportive, beautiful, healthy immediate and extended family;  and 3)  A roof over my family's head, food in my children's mouths, Bibles by their beds, kissing the noses of my babies every morning, waking up next to a man I love, going to a job I love, being surrounded by friends I love, and the wet kisses of dogs I love. 

Was that more than three things?

Speaking of blessings, Aria has apparently learned a new one at school.  This was news to me because until about a week ago, we were saying the same one I've said in the Wood family my whole life.  Which, according to my dad is a Moravian blessing, but sadly, this means nothing to me.  I don't even know where Moravia is.  If I had to guess, I'd say it's that imaginary country in the Princess Diaries that Anne Hathaway gets to be ruler of, but I'm guessing since I've been saying this Moravian blessing my whole life and I'm one or two years older than Ms. Hathaway when she made that movie, I'd probably be wrong.  Google wants me to think Moravia is in the Czech Republic somewhere. 

Here is what I do know:  the Moravian people make really tasty flat ginger cookies, and they passed down a blessing to my parents' parents that still gets said around the dinnertable every night in Plano, Texas. 

Until last week.  Now, Aria insists on saying this new blessing she's learned, which is apparently a hybrid half-poem and half-song diddy, at least to my three-year-old, because she starts out reciting it, and finishes up singing the last two lines to a catchy little tune.  I haven't quite figured out the words yet to write them down for you, as they seem to change daily, but the last part is the refrain, "We thank You.  We thank You." 

But my little princess is tongue-tied.  Literally, she really is.  She has a tight frenulum and her tongue is heart-shaped, which causes her to say words that have "TH-" in them as an "ST-"-sound instead.  Therefore, the "We thank you" part of her blessing comes out as,

WE STANK YOU.

Ohmagawsh, it's the cutest thing you've ever heard.  Chris and I melt into peals of laughter every time she says it.  And she's so earnest, too, with her little head bowed and hands folded in prayer.  So, so, so cute!

And of course, it's caught on with Mommy and Daddy, so now we say, "What is stat?", or "I'm Stirsty", or "Stank You so much".

I'm stinking stis will go down in Thomas family lore.

Oh, and speaking of STANK? 

Allow me to segue:  I've noticed there is a funny smell coming from my daughters' play kitchen.  It's not a bad smell, just not what one would expect emanating from a plastic toy.  Odiferousness (yep, just made up that really cool word)  isn't a totally odd finding in and of itself in our house lately, as pretty much everything my daughters get their hands on ultimately results in some sort of aroma. 

They have the olfactory Midas touch, if you will.

Come to find out, though, when I investigate the kitchen smell a bit further, I discover that my resourceful three-year-old has been using REAL SPICES to "cook" in her "kitchen".  Spices that have clearly been pilfered from Mommy's kitchen.  Yes, celery salt, garlic powder, and pepper are all commingling in the pink Barbie plate simmering on her stove.  When I ask her about it, she happily proclaims, "I'm making you some yummy pancakes, Mommy!"

Aye-yai-yai.

However, in the spirit of the season, I even give stanks for the imaginary delicious celery-garlic-pepper-pancakes in the pink Barbie plate, and most especially for the brilliant little chef who made them for me.

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