This hardly does her justice, but here’s a piece I did about my mother this morning for the local NPR station in Phoenix.

Now you’ll understand, I hope, why in our house we currently attend The Church of Dance — even if it means I’m at a loss when it comes time to explain Hanukkah.

In this world, one must pick her battles and her belief systems.

I’m surprised it didn’t happen before the sixth night.

After we’d lit the candles, said the prayer and opened the gifts last night, Sophie split, but Annabelle stood in the kitchen watching the candles (in a rather motley display, I have to confess, with the menorah decoratively placed on the Formica, just out of reach of the toaster oven) and asked the question I’d been waiting for but still had no answer to.

“Mommy, do the words of the prayer mean something in English?”

Both girls love to get really serious and cover their eyes when we say the prayer (something I’ve only seen our 11 year old friend Anna and the cast of “Fiddler on the Roof” do, but it’s cute) and Annabelle’s been working to memorize the Hebrew words. Of course she was going to ask what they mean.

I’m pretty sure we don’t do Hanukkah exactly right. I always say the prayer over the Sabbath candles, but switch out Shabbat for Hanukkah. You can get fancier. Do the words mean anything? Damned if I know, but I do know the translation, which I shared with Annabelle: 

Blessed art thou, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, who has commanded us to light the the Hanukkah candles.

I said it all in a rush, then I stopped and looked at Annabelle, who had announced she did not believe in God when she was, oh, I think 3.

(And command? The closest anyone’s come in our house to commanding anyone to do anything recently was the other day when I told Annabelle to pick up the innards of the dog toy the puppy had ripped out, in exchange for a dollar. “I already have lots of dollars,” my typically sweet girl scoffed, walking away.  For better or worse, hierarchies aren’t a big thing in our house.)

Annabelle looked at me. Before she could say anything, I said, “You know, lots of people believe there’s a God, a guy with white hair sitting up there making all the decisions and telling people what to do. I know we don’t. There’s a lot of stuff about being Jewish we don’t believe.”

“But there are some things about being Jewish that we do believe, right?” Annabelle asked.

“Yes,” I answered, wracking my brain.

Luckily, and oddly, she didn’t ask for specifics. She went back to staring at the lights, then it was time to eat dinner.

There are two more nights of Hanukkah left; I don’t think I’m getting out of Hanukkah this year without more questions.

We are over the Hanukkah hump — it’s already the sixth night. The season’s slipping by way too quickly, despite my complaints about all the work it creates.

And so, a small break to appreciate Sophie’s new holiday shirt (above) and Annabelle’s gingerbread house.

From the “now I’ve heard everything” category, a while ago there was a piece on Marketplace about the Slow Media Movement.

Like Slow Food, but with real mail and landlines. Of course, as the story admitted, the movement’s being promoted on Facebook. Ridiculous. 

But I will say that while I’ve become a texting/googling/emailing/multi-tasking fool, I do still enjoy the pleasures of snail mail.

Particularly at this time of year. Last week, someone who shall remain nameless (okay, it was my mother) sent me an e-card (to be fair, she’s also working on her real holiday cards) that I have to admit I still haven’t opened. I’m not down with evites, either, though I don’t mind if you are.

I lose my mind a little, around the holidays, and that includes sending out a lot of mail. I just finished up at the post office this morning, a very satisying feeling.

I’ll share a spoiler of sorts. Here’s the front of our holiday card. I broke the homemade rule and hired someone on etsy to design my holiday cards, after a fiasco involving the invitations to our annual cookie party.

I won’t recommend Vista Printing, though the price is right. (Quality not so high.) But I can’t say enough good things about Erica, the kind proprietor of the etsy shop sweetprints. I love what she did and her price was also very reasonable. Unfortunately, I just checked, and she’s closed her shop for the rest of the year, to spend time with her family.

But how about some real Valentines? Order soon and perhaps you can have them delivered by horse. Now, that would be slow media.

As I watched her yesterday, it occurred to me that Annabelle is either a candidate for an Oscar nomination — or she really believes. Sophie’s letter could have said anything (and she was thrilled with hers, wanted to take it out with us last night when we went to see the luminarias at the Desert Botanical Garden) but Annabelle’s was a challenge. Maybe it was just for her audience, but Annabelle seemed truly tickled. A great gift for Ray and me, in any case. Here’s the letter:

Dear Annabelle,

I got your letter in the mail the other day. I’m sorry it took me a while to answer; I have been very busy getting ready for Christmas!

I really enjoyed all of your questions. Yes indeed, I do know who Tabitha is. I saw her the other day and she asked about you; she is wondering when on earth you’re going to lose another tooth, so she can pay you a visit!

You asked good questions about the santas at the mall. You know, I just don’t have time to get down to Arizona and see all the kids, but I know they want to see me, so long ago, I said it was okay for some nice old grandpas to pretend to be me, so that kids like your sister Sophie would feel like they are getting to see Santa. Once in a while, I DO get down there, so next time you sit on Santa’s lap, you just might be sitting on MINE – you never know!

The movies about me? Well, no, they’re not real; some parts are, but mostly they are just ways people try to explain about me. I’m magic, you know, so there really isn’t a good way to explain it, but I like to see people try. “Elf” is one of my favorites. As for Rudolph, yes, he’s real, lucky for me. He’s a big help to me, just like you are a big help to your mom and dad. I am really enjoying seeing your artwork – I loved the pictures you drew for me on your letter. And OF COURSE I saw you in Snow Queen. You were a beautiful Rosebud! I can’t wait to see you dance again soon.

I have your list in hand and will do my best to get you at least one thing that’s on it. You certainly do deserve something nice this year. You have been such a good girl! And it means a lot to see that you believe in me. I know I believe in YOU!

I will peek in on you on Christmas Eve, when I come down your chimney. Please be sure Sophie leaves cookies and carrots out for the reindeer and me, and be sure you’re tucked in bed. Oh, and don’t light a fire! Ouch! OK, I better go now. Rudolph has offered to fly your letters down to your mailbox for me, so I can save on stamps, and he’s ready to go.

Love always,

Santa Claus

It’s sort of amazing that Annabelle’s still even pretending, given my thoughts three Christmases ago. I can’t believe it’s been that long. Here is a radio essay I did for the local NPR affiliate in 2006 on the whole believing thing.

It’s actually jacket weather around here. OK, so it’s in the 40s — nothing compared to my sister’s 4 and 14 degree reports from Denver. Still, it’s darn cold.

Which is why I said no when Sophie asked if she could wear a pink spaghetti strap dress with a tutu skirt to school today. She settled on a long-sleeved, black velvet number with a wide pink satin bow, pink tights and tennies.

I’m not sure where this came from. Usually, Sophie’s much sportier. But when she felt the velvet dress, she melted and cooed and made me wonder if I shouldn’t be investing in some velour warm-up suits. If velvet can replace paintbrushes as the latest sensory obsession I’ll be thrilled. No one ever put their eye out with a piece of velvet.

I think I’ll resist the urge to shop for more clothes for Sophie, since her drawers are literally exploding with hand-me-downs. I’m sure this black velvet dress saw its share of good times in Denver, where my niece Kate wore it (quite a bit, from appearances). Only fitting that it go to school once or twice.

On Facebook this morning, I concluded that life is short, so you should wear a party dress to school if you want. The ever-wise Deborah dubbed that “The Tao of Sophie”.

I love it.

Dear Santa,

Today I wrote letters to Annabelle and Sophie and signed your name. I hope that’s okay. I hope I got the letters right. I haven’t done them before; that’s always been my mother in law’s turf, but as you know, she’s not around to do them this year.

I bought some cute paper at Target, similar to the paper she always used, and had to get someone at work help me print them out. They look good. I used a font I think you’d approve of.

I’m just a Jewish girl with a thing for Christmas, so forgive me if I screwed up at all. I stuck a line in Annabelle’s about giving the letters to Rudolph to fly down to Arizona, because I’m not sure how you’re supposed to get the North Pole postmark stamp on there. I’m sure there’s someone who will do that, but I’m a little busy this week so I haven’t had time to research it.

I’m pretty sure my mother in law just mailed them from Phoenix, but this year Annabelle’s getting pretty darn savvy. The other night I caught the tail end of a conversation she was having with her dad; when I walked in the room, he announced, “I told Annabelle that I am not the one who fills her stocking!”

Well, that’s true. I’m Stocking Girl. I know Annabelle knows the whole thing’s bogus, but she’s wise enough to not say anything. And she’s my daughter — I know how she feels. I know you’re not real, Santa, but in a deep corner of my heart, I do sort of wonder, just like I wonder about the tooth fairy, even though I make all of her deliveries, too.

And even though I don’t believe in heaven, a little part of me still wants to think that Annabelle’s Grandma saw her dance this weekend in Snow Queen, and knows how well Sophie’s talking these days.

Hey, why not? Sophie believes in you. And she’s one of the smartest people I know.

While I’m at it, Santa, I’d really love an electric tea kettle. I know they’re sort of dumb — when I asked Ray for one, he refused, and reminded me of the old Mr. Tea skit from Saturday Night Live. He’s right, there’s no real need for an electric tea kettle. Not when you have a stove. (And a microwave.) But still, that’s what I want. And it looks like you’re my only hope.

Please give Mrs. Claus my best and take care of yourself.

Love,

Amy

The favorite Christmas movie in our house this year is “Elf”. (I’m also partial to “Love Actually”, but that one’s obviously not for family consumption.)

Maybe it’s just because I’ve seen it so many times, or because I was still feeling flu-ish upon the first viewing of this holiday season, but I’m struck suddenly this year with a comparison I can’t shake — un-P.C. though it might be.

Sophie is “Elf”. My own little elf. She embodies the spirit of Buddy in so many ways, mostly good and yes, a few bad, at least in terms of navigating this mad, mad world of ours. She’s loving, caring, industrious in her way. And yes, infuriating sometimes, when the world doesn’t fit her often quirky agenda. (No, not a good idea to bring a digital camera, stuffed piglet and several very long paintbushes to school! At least I made her leave the camera behind.)

I am tempted to do some Googling — I wonder if Buddy (consider the name) was created, in part, with someone with Down syndrome in mind. Probably not, just like I was never able to prove that Dopey the dwarf has DS. Maybe I’ll just leave well enough alone, and be glad Sophie’s not good enough with the scissors (yet) to cover the house in paper snowflakes.

But that might be nice, too.

Things were dramatic this morning.

Annabelle sighed a huge sigh as she was getting ready for school, and announced, “It’s just so strange to be getting up and not going to the Herberger!”

The Herberger Theater in downtown Phoenix is the scene of her latest stage appearance, as a rosebud in The Snow Queen — sort of a Nutcracker alternative performed every year at the holidays.

Never mind that she traveled to the Herberger a total of two times this weekend (not counting rehearsals) and spent a good 3 minutes at a time (if that) on stage. It’s in her blood.

Sophie’s, too. Sophie was not in The Snow Queen. She did come to see Annabelle perform yesterday, and I worried that she would be upset that she wasn’t going to be performing herself. But she took it in stride, til this morning, when I tried to unwrap her legs from around my waist, after we’d hugged goodbye.

“Sophie, why are you sad?” I asked.

She wouldn’t look at me, and said, in the tiniest voice, “Because I wasn’t on the stage at The Snow Queen.”

“Someday,” I told her, as I tried to place her gently on the ground. I hope it’s true.

Oh, the drama. And the glitter. The house is covered in glitter.