The First Annual Boring Mitchell Christmas Letter (2001)

If this one goes over well, I’ll start sending out monthly reports (perhaps in a superstitious forwarded chain e-mail) so you’ll all stay up-to-date with things like: any medical procedures we endure (like Katy’s ear tubes or my colonoscopy--big highlights of 2001); the cute things our kids say (like Luke’s response in the car when I said it was raining cats and dogs--“Good. Then maybe I’ll have a pet when we get home.”); and of course any motorcycle races survived by Mike and his FOG (Fat Old Guy) Racing Team (also known as FaRT).

So here’s what we’ve been up to. I dusted off my law license and started working from home doing veterans’ benefits appeals. It’s rewarding, but not financially. The only problem, besides dealing with a few unmedicated psychotics, is sounding like a professional on the phone while our two precious rugrats scream, whine, and torture each other with sharp or flammable objects. They just know when you’re on the phone. I squander the remainder of my free time with yoga and scrapbooking--but not simultaneously. I have also learned to quilt while neglecting my children.

In April, we went to Paris (France, that is) for my birthday. We left Luke and Katy with the grandparents (along with my extensive written instructions) and split 10 days between Paris and Bordeaux. It was cold and rainy, but we hardly noticed--seeing as how we were in Europe and free from diaper bag and stroller bondage. The best part was getting to speak my Tarzan/Frankenstein/Tonto-style of French while Mike stood in awe of my apparent fluency.

In May, I went to a local audition for Who Wants to be a Millionaire--and promptly flunked the test. Seems the ego wrote a check that the brain couldn’t cash. I guess my grade-tampering allegations are still under investigation. Meanwhile, Mike went TDY to Alaska for a multi-national exercise and witnessed several brainlessly brave fellow fighter pilots narrowly escape a grizzly bear mauling.

In July, I went to Iowa for a writing workshop where I got a taste of the quality of work that is out there “competing” with me. So I wrote a few stories. I hastily entered one in a contest held by a local women’s publication that I knew nothing about. Turns out I won third prize and was published (much to my surprise and chagrin) in a San Antonio militant feminist lesbian magazine. On the opposite end of the literary spectrum, I had a story chosen for a Christian children’s magazine. So we’ll see where my true fan base resides.

In September, on that horrible day, Luke caught me crying. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “Some airplanes crashed today, Sweetheart.” And just when I thought he was too young to be affected, he reminded me of the size of his world. With fear and imagination in his voice, he asked, “It wasn’t Daddy’s airplane, was it?” “Oh, no. Daddy’s fine.” Then I wondered how many kids will remember a different answer to that question. Mike spent a few nights on alert that week. We’re glad his full-time job as an F-16 instructor with the National Guard should keep him close to home.

Anyway. . .Luke started Preschool. He’s learned from his classmates (yes, I blame them) how to pick his nose and how to call his sister a “dumb-ass.” When I told him that wasn’t nice and never to say that again, my five-year-old son hesitated and replied, “Katy, I’m sorry, but you’re a stupid-bottom.” I turned away and smiled as I marveled at his budding language skills. So we’re hoping he’ll save us some money, CLEP out of next semester, and move on up to Kindergarten in January. Meanwhile, Katy was aptly dubbed “the Diva” by her Mother’s Day Out teachers. Her terrible twos have hit us and our local community with a vengeance unlike any in recent memory.

In October, we celebrated our 10th anniversary. We marked the milestone by merging our compact disc collections and agreeing to disagree about how to load the dishwasher. Then we spent a weekend alone at a B & B in Wimberley. He watched football while I went shopping. Quite romantic, really. For Halloween, the kids went out as Peter Pan and Tinkerbell. Mike was Captain Hook. I stayed home in my Bubba teeth and handed out candy along with dental hygiene warnings. When the family returned, I tested their treats for anthrax and razor blades, kept the good stuff, and (money-saving hint) sent the uninfected rejects right back out into circulation.

This month, Mike will be baptized and we’ll become members of our Presbyterian church. (Yes, we found one that would take us without a background check.) For next year, Mike resolves to find a way to paint over the expansive black crayon mural we discovered in Luke’s room, while I plan to improve my housekeeping skills and never again come upon a two-week-old errant sippy cup full of what started out as milk. We also resolve to relax and enjoy the things that really matter, like family, friends, freedom, and our new DVD player. We thank God for our many blessings, especially those of you who’ve had the courtesy to read this letter to the end. We wish you all a healthy, safe, fun, and peaceful new year.

Love, Jill (and Mike, Luke & Katy)