Ray made me promise I wouldn’t blog about it — and I held out for a while — but I love my homemade Christmas gift from him so much, I can’t resist.

In case you can’t tell, the photos are of the girls on Christmases past, and the whole thing is covered in fake snow. There’s even a multicultural element.

Love love love it.

I can’t shake the bit of melancholy that’s been hanging around the edges of my world, this whole holiday season. Usually it doesn’t come til it’s time to take down the decorations and get ready to go back to school, but this year I have to admit that it’s been with me all along.

Maybe, like my dear friend Trish, I’m simply no longer a fan of Christmas. But I’m not ready to admit that, not yet.

I think I just need some reminders of what a nice holiday it was.

And really, it was. We missed my mother in law, for sure, and clearly that was the source of some of the malaise, but we had a good Christmas Day in her honor — and just about every other day between Thanskgiving and New Year’s held moments of pure joy, those instants I crave like the pink star sugar cookies I baked by the hundreds this year, in honor of my self-imposed but hardly followed “homemade Christmas”. (Yeah, that idea’s so gone next year!)

Anyhow, on to the (crappily photographed) reminders.

Annabelle was a beautiful gingerbread person, marching with her fellow Brownies in our local holiday parade.

And while I loved watching her onstage in the Snow Queen, one of the truly breathtaking moments came when Annabelle and a friend hid backstage and watched the adult cast rehearse — taking us by surprise when they burst into a rock-fueled warm-up better than any scene in A Chorus Line or the real Fame.

I hate to focus on material possessions — and this is one I resisted for a long time — but I’m glad I finally gave in and let Ray convince me to let my mom give Sophie an iTouch for Hanukkah. The look on her face when Sophie realized it was just for her was priceless, and Ray’s right — it’s just the thing for her, she’s a pro on it and I bet it’s the first step toward adapting to her writing challenges.

Annabelle’s holiday piano recital (the teacher promises Sophie can take lessons when she’s 7!) was beautiful, as a couple dozen kids at all levels struggled one by one through a wide selection of Christmas songs. I thought Annabelle’s “Angels We Have Heard on High” was flawless (I would, I’m the mom! and I have no musical aptitude myself) and had to admit that church (the recital happens to be held in one) isn’t so bad, particularly when you have this stained glass to stare at.

We celebrated Hanukkah a day late at our dear friend Estelle’s home — and Annabelle absolutely glowed under her balloon-hat when our friend gave her a Mexican doll just like the one her grandma gave her years ago (the one the dog had eaten earlier that day).

I was lucky enough to grab a holiday dinner with a group of writerly friends (all five of us in glasses, happily nerdy) at a Mexican dive and a holiday lunch (complete with pink champagne) with a gang of fancier girlfriends at Modern Steak, the super-cool new restaurant next to the super-cool new Barney’s, where the Brillo-pad festooned Christmas tree deserved its own security guard to watch out for it.

We ate latkes with my extended family, and gobbled Ray’s mom’s stuffing (I think we’ve perfected the recipe) with his dad and sister. Then we spent several days with my own sister and her family, who came here from Denver looking for some sun. Luckily, Phoenix obliged.

After hanging with my favorite crowd of adults and kids, I got to ring in the New Year in our living room with my best friend from second grade, Amy Se., snoring softly (okay, breathing a little heavily) on the couch. Annabelle and I were the only ones who made it to midnight; she insisted we stay up. I’m glad we did.

Yesterday wrapped the holiday season with our 12th wedding anniversary. Ray and I put off our grown-up date and took the girls to breakfast at Royal Palms, where we were married. It’s still one of my favorite spots in the world.

Later, I put Christmas and Hanukkah back in the Rubbermaid bins, folded several baskets of laundry and fell into bed too tired for one last Bailey’s nightcap.

That’s okay. It’s back to reality — and the continued pursuit of joyful moments.

School’s back tomorrow and, frankly, not a moment too soon.

For me, at least. And for Sophie, I think. The need for structure is a pretty sophisticated thing to articulate, so she’s not saying so, but I know she has it — she shows it, every time she puts up a fight (as in, every five minutes) over the silliest things. Yesterday in Target she wanted EVERYTHING, and put up a fight for it. I had to admit the round yellow placemat made a good seat, she looked adorable in that nude pushup bra, and yes, we probably need a new vacuum cleaner but this was not so cute by the 100th item, nor was it adorable when she rounded a corner and disappeared momentarily. Even my trick of role playing Ms. X isn’t working. I’m just not an adequate structure-keeper.

Poor Annabelle. She, most decidedly, is not in favor of going back to school. Third grade has marked the difference between play and work at school for her. She’s capable of doing the work and she does it, but it stresses her out.

I know exactly how she feels. I tried to tell her that last night, when the four of us were driving home from my mom’s, after saying goodbye to my sister and her family. She didn’t seem to believe me. I didn’t realize Sophie was really paying attention, til she chimed in with some soothing words for her sister.

“Annabelle, you come to my class, it will be easy for you.”

I made Annabelle repeat what Sophie had said, to be sure I had it right. What a sweetheart. When she’s not driving me nuts.

We ended the year the best way I can imagine — with a playdate.

Not just any playdate, but Sophie’s very first bonafide Mom-drops-you-off-and-you-stay-by-yourself-at-your-friend’s-house playdate.

I approached it with my typical trepidation. Sarah had come to our house several times, and we’d been to her house — together — for the first time just the day before. Sarah’s mom has three older children, so I’m sure she thinks I’m nuts, but kindly didn’t say so. When the girls didn’t want to part on Wednesday afternoon, she suggested another playdate the next day. Solo.

Sophie was so excited. She wouldn’t let me walk her to the door, so I parked, got her out of her car seat, then stood in the lawn and watched her march to the front door, knock loudly (for her) and wait, alternately grinning hugely and striking a casual, I-do-this-every-day pose. Sarah and her mom came to the door, we spoke from my lawn perch, and the three disappeared into the house.

When I returned a couple hours later, Sarah and Sophie were in the front yard with Sarah’s dad. They’d had a treasure hunt (resulting in the gift of a stuffed dog for each girl!), gone for a ride in the wagon and probably ripped Sarah’s room apart in fine playdate fashion. Sophie was even wearing one of Sarah’s jackets.

I have lots of good (and some sad) memories from 2009, but one of my favorites will always be of Sophie and her best friend Sarah, blowing New Year horns in Sarah’s front yard.

May 2010 hold lots of fun playdates for you and  yours!

Yeah, so, as previously stated, the homemade Christmas thing was pretty much a bust. I made two dozen bracelets and a million cookies, but still had to fill in with books (sans the homemade fortune cookies to go with “The Fortune Cookie Chronicles”) and other storebought stuff. Only a few gift cards.

I did finish Sophie’s handmade gift on Christmas Eve. I haven’t framed it yet, so you get the treat of seeing the back. (In case you can’t tell, it’s two purple birds with red beaks.) I’m still not brave enough to share a front — maybe on the next go ’round, which I have to say I’m pretty psyched about. I’ve got teh vision in my head, at least.

There’s been a lot of creating going on in the house, thanks to a pile of holiday gifts, including an old iron dressmaker’s doll I found for Annabelle at a thrift store. More pictures to come, I promise.

My husband discovered WalMart this year, which means that now, post-Christmas, there’s a lot of cheap plastic in the house (all given with great love; he was excited to shower the girls with gifts) but Santa brought a few notable items, as well.

Annabelle received ZhuZhu pets (again, procured by Ray, who was smart enough to spot a trend months early — he hid them for a long time) and she’s thrilled, though I’ve already seen one of those f-ers eat a hunk of my niece’s hair and they’re a little too rat-like for my taste.

Sophie’s most pleased with the whoopie cushion Santa stuffed in the bottom of her stocking, but I’m fond of Gwen, the American Girl doll he left. Sophie requested a doll that looked just like her, and coincidentally, Gwen does (except for her brown eyes, which Sophie hasn’t noticed).

Gwen also happens to be homeless. Yes, you read that right. I’ve known about Gwen for a few months, ever since Sophie received Chrissa, American Girl of the Year, 2009. That means Chrissa comes with her own movie and storyline — she gets bullied — and friends you can buy, like Gwen, who has a side story of her own: Her family is homeless, a secret kept til the end of the movie.

When I saw the movie, I thought it was nice, if a bit contrived, that AG would do the homeless thing. Not a big deal to me. (And to be honest, Sophie’s pretty sophisticated, but she’s not going to get that one.)

But it turns out Gwen’s caused some trouble, explored in this NPR piece from earlier this year. 

Rest assured, Gwen now has a home. In fact, I wanted to photograph Sophie and her look-alike this morning, but I was informed that Gwen was asleep in Sophie’s bed and unavailable for a photo session. So I’ve posted a photo of her from the AG site.  

They haven’t announced the American Girl of the year for 2010 yet, but hints have arrived — apparently she’s “outdoorsy”. To be honest, I wouldn’t mind seeing an American Girl with Down syndrome. Now that would be controversial.

In honor of the day, here is a song we’ve been composing all season — “OUR SONG,” Annabelle calls it. Sing it (if you dare) to the tune of “Chestnuts Roasting….” It’s darn close to what Annabelle came up with, particularly at the end, where I got more magnanimous (and tired).

And have a wonderful Christmas, however you celebrate it. (Sophie will be celebrating her new whoopie cushion, a much bigger hit than her new American Girl doll.)

Limoncello festering in a big glass jar,

Jack the dog nipping at your toes.

Yuletide carols being sung in the car

And folks dressed like it’ll never snow.

Everybody knows a Sophie and some mistletoe, gets you kisses all night long.

Annabelle, with her eyes all aglow, hopes you all will sing along.

We know that Santa’s on his way.

He’s bringing lots of toys and goodies on his sleigh.

And every little girl is gonna spy,

To see if Lulu (the cat) really knows how to fly.

And so we’re offering this simple phrase, from kids from 6 to almost 9,

Although it’s been said many times, many ways, Happy Hanukkah!

And Merry Christmas, too.

I think I’ll be visiting my parents’ home a lot more from now on.

Sure, it’ll be nice to see them, but I’ll also be stopping by to see the girls — in the form of my mom’s holiday gift, a painting by Amanda Blake, creator of the girl in the party hat and one of my all-time favorite artists. The painting doesn’t look EXACTLY like Annabelle and Sophie — that’s not Amanda’s style — but it captures their spirit beautifully. I love it.

I held my breath, hoping my mom would, too. She did.

Amanda titled the painting, “Sophie and Annabelle in a field of wildflowers and a flutter of butterflies.”

I hope your holiday is just as cheerful.

Here is a piece I wrote and never had the chutzpah to submit anywhere. If you are a regular Girl in a Party Hat reader, you might know some of the details already, so apologies in advance. Also, there are no pictures from last Christmas; I looked. But here is a photo taken the day we had tea with Grandma.

I’ve always found it amusing that so many Jewish singers – Neil Diamond, Barry Manilow, Barbra Streisand – make Christmas albums. But I get it. Because I am a Jew who loves Christmas.

I have loved Christmas for as long as I can remember. When I was a kid, my  mom bought my sister and me blue and white stockings, which she stuffed with treats like sugar free gum. It just wasn’t the same. As an adult, I baked Christmas cookies, sang carols and gave gifts, but it wasn’t until I met my future husband Ray that I stopped going to the movies and out for Chinese on Christmas Day. Finally, I was allowed into the inner circle.

Ray’s family and I don’t have much in common, but we all love Christmas. Over the years I settled in, reveling in foreign treats like Irish soda bread and angel food cake soaked in red Jell-o. My mother in law made me my own stocking, and hung it above the fireplace next to her own kids’ stockings from childhood. When my father in law’s velvet smoking jacket – worn just once a year, on Christmas Day – fell apart from old age, I scoured eBay for a replacement. And when Ray and I had kids, I ordered stockings embroidered with “Grandma” and “Grandpa”.

My mother in law created lots of family traditions. The Sunday after Thanksgiving is reserved for tree decorating. There’s a driving tour of neighborhood holiday lights. And on Christmas Day, we’re expected over early in the day, for presents and soda bread, and must stay til long after dark, digesting turkey and all the fixings.

Last year, my mother in law tried to cancel Christmas. She’d been diagnosed with lung cancer earlier in the year, and the week after Thanksgiving, we learned it had spread to her brain. She was hopeful about the future, but saving her strength. She’d been shopping for gifts for months, but she didn’t have the energy, she announced, for Christmas Day the way we’d always had it.

We all insisted that the show must go on – if only for the kids, though I know that I, for one, wanted it just as much – and Ray stayed up til 3 on Christmas morning, making his mother’s stuffing. His father downsized to a turkey breast. I made an extra big batch of her favorite iced sugar cookies. It was a good Christmas. I shopped with extra care for gifts; for her big present, the girls and I took my mother in law for tea at the Ritz, a few days before Valentine’s Day.

That’s the last time the girls saw their grandma, beautiful in her carefully styled wig, her face puffy with steroids, dancing with them (albeit slowly) to show tunes on the grand piano in the fancy hotel lobby. 

We’re all a little lost without her, and now, suddenly, it’s Christmas. I’m a mess, trying to keep up her traditions. It took me a long time to figure out that you don’t actually need to mail the letters to Santa. You just need to hide them, and write letters back. But how do I get them postmarked “North Pole”? I don’t know where to find the shiny black coal that my mother in law always gave the girls to put in their grandpa’s stocking.

And what about my father in law? I knew we were in trouble when I overheard him at a family party this summer, trying to offer his Christmas tree to my mother, who had to remind him that she’s Jewish.

A couple weeks before Thanksgiving, I emailed him.

Hey, I really hate to bring up a sensitive topic, I wrote, but I’m wondering what you want to do about Christmas? How about Ray and the girls and I come over the Sunday after Thanksgiving and we all put up your tree? I’ll bring egg nog.

After a lot of consideration, my father in law had a different idea. OK, he replied, he’ll put up the tree. But how about on Christmas Eve, instead? And yes, he wants us to come over on Christmas, but not til 5, and he wants to have Kentucky Fried Chicken.

I think that sounds perfect, I told him. Maybe we can start a new tradition.

I know Ray was not looking forward to Sophie’s cardiologist appointment today.

About two and a half years ago, he brought her in for her six month appointment. The doctor pronounced her healthy, and put us down for annual visits — a big milestone. Then the doctor read the results of the eccocardiogram they’d done at that appointment.

Whoops.

Sophie’s heart had sprung a leak. She had her second open heart surgery a couple months later.

At her last appointment six months ago it was deja vu all over again, as the cardiologist promised that after the next appointment, we’d go to annual visits. Again.

That was today’s appointment. Ray snapped a photo of the EKG process and  we held our breath as a family (except Sophie, who was clearly care free) til the doctor announced that yes, Sophie’s doing well. Some minor leakage, but that’s okay. Her heart is okay.

He’ll see her back in a year. And the doctor said this after reading her ecco results. I made Ray repeat that fact several times.

This is all good to know, since Sophie’s heart will be beating awfully fast on Christmas morning.