The 11th Annual Boring Mitchell Holiday Letter

When the rapture didn’t happen back in May, I began to dread gathering material for this annual update. Unfortunately, no major illness, injury, or humiliation befell any of us this year, so this letter will no doubt leave a gaping hole in your otherwise joyous holiday season. Feel free to send it back for a full refund. First, I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to the late Amy Winehouse for making a mockery of her blood-heroin content in my 2008 letter and to express my regret to those who were offended by last year’s inclusion of the words douche and testicles. Won’t happen again.

As a nation, we witnessed the last space shuttle mission, the death of Bin Laden, and Oprah’s final show (only to have her turn up on an entire network). Our country endured disasters like earthquakes, floods, tornadoes, wildfires, and heat waves, not to mention Weinergate and the Kardashians. As a family, we survived a road trip to Colorado where the age-old mayonnaise/Miracle Whip debate threatened to cut the vacation short. (The only casualty occurred when a slingshot-wielding Luke accidentally killed a bird. Then our dog, in a dazzling display of the circle of life, ate it.) For us, 2011 would have been embarrassingly uneventful if our dishwasher hadn’t broken and forced us to hand-wash and dry dishes for a harrowing three weeks. This low point left us feeling uncomfortably Amish. Rather than make the best of the tragedy and enjoy the extra family togetherness while teaching the kids about responsibility, we simply engaged in a bulk purchase of Solo cups and Chinet. The high point of our year occurred when the government shutdown was averted the same day the IRS cashed our tax payment check. You’re welcome, America.

In terms of providing me with useful material, the kids have been a colossal disappointment. Frankly, they’re getting older, less cute, and (in spite or because of my usually good-natured insults) more sensitive to what I say about them. (The public school system’s anti-bullying campaigns have really worked to my disadvantage around the house.) They have allowed me to tell you that their race to puberty continues to heat up. In fact, Luke laments: “Katy has more armpit hair than I do.” For a spring break trip to Dallas, they took their first flight without parents. For them, a Southwest Airlines ticket was just as effective as (and much cheaper than) a trip to Disney World. They spent the summer suffering sporadic bouts of catastrophic boredom between attending as many camps as we could afford to send them to. After a week at a Christian camp, Katy couldn’t wait to play some AC/DC on her iPod for the drive home, and Luke’s first movie choice when he hit his room was Blazing Saddles. Could be worse.

Luke started high school this year and recently turned 15. He had a wisdom tooth pulled and was disappointed the tooth fairy didn’t leave him a big payoff. He’s over six feet tall and weighs all of 120 pounds. Kind of like a supermodel. His grocery consumption has forced us to petition the government for a bailout, and what little spare time I have is spent replenishing his school lunch account. He can put away a large deep-dish four-meat pizza on his own in under half an hour. Then have a tureen of ice cream for dessert. After a group of girls started sitting with him in the cafeteria, he complained, “Now it takes me forever to eat lunch because I have to focus on using manners.” He helped his track team win district again this year after spending six weeks in physical therapy for Osgood-Schlatter disease (a scary term for growing pains). He has managed to stay out of trouble except for the time he and some other track team members went for a run off campus down the highway to a nearby taco stand. He’s still active in Boy Scouts and was surprised to be elected patrol leader even though he ran unopposed. After scout camp this summer, he said, “Dude, forestry class made me feel like such a hippie. I was like, one with the trees.” He spends his free time working on the 1971 Chevy truck he got last year. One highlight was finding almost two dollars in change when he pulled the seat out. His advanced creative writing skills are only matched by his sharp wit. He suggested that I color my hair blonde so I’ll have a good excuse when I do dumb stuff. When Mike told Katy not to be friends with adults on Facebook because they might say inappropriate things, Luke said, “Then she probably shouldn’t be friends with Mom.”

Katy started middle school and turned 12 last month. Her tweens have hit us even harder than her toddlerhood did. My heart swelled with pride when the first week of school brought a dress code violation and necessitated a marathon fitting room session the likes of which I had not seen since The Exorcist. We wear the same shoe size, and she wonders why I won’t let her borrow my high heels. She wants to wear make-up, and hasn’t yet learned to apply it after she gets on the morning bus like I did at her age. We made the mistake of getting her an iPhone. In less than three days, she maxed out her data plan, and within a month, let the phone get stolen. Her recent birthday gave her another chance, and we are pleased to report that phone probation has not yet led to any bloodshed. In the spring, she played basketball and was glad she was finally old enough for a league that keeps score. She was named school district student of the month and received a bumper sticker to advertise it. She didn’t even seem to mind that I refused to put the sticker on the car. She dabbled in Girl Scouts and has continued to sing with the band at church. At scout camp this summer, she got her wish for air-conditioning when she had to move to safety after her cabin was attacked by wild hogs. She’s a first chair trumpet player and can already play Taps, the Star Wars theme, and Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance. Growing up has not been without its disillusionments for Katy. She discovered that her American Girl dolls were made in China. I told her it doesn’t get more American than that. And at seeing Elton John on a magazine cover with his partner, she said (loud enough for everyone in the checkout line to hear): “Wait…Elton John is gay?” Her quote of the year: “The word jugular isn’t really about boobs.”

Mike’s year included trips to Knoxville, Tucson, Seattle, and Nashville as well as Dover for another NASCAR fly-by. He also spent yet another spring break weekend of drudgery at the coast for the Confederate Air Force airshow. He started playing guitar with the church band and at his debut performance, entertained the congregation with some Stairway to Heaven. His high point was a promotion to 149th Fighter Wing Operations Group Commander. Advancement to Colonel is pending congressional approval. (Maybe they’ll do something right for a change.) Mike managed to destroy his truck’s grille when he met up with one of our neighborhood’s more suicidal deer. Such a waste of good meat. Speaking of killing animals, Mike took Luke out of school for opening day of dove season. Skipping school to hunt? It just doesn’t get any better than that for a teenage Texas boy. While Mike will be celebrating another birthday later this month, he still shows no signs of slowing down. His only speed bumps occur when he has to stop and look for his reading glasses. This is why he went to Costco for a multi-pack and has them scattered within arm’s reach in places like his tool box, barn, RV, motorcycle, vehicles, desk, living room, kitchen, and of course, bathroom. Mike and I spent a week in the Dominican Republic for our 20th anniversary. I made him proud when I won a poker tournament, and he impressed me by not snoring too loudly during our couples massage. In an amazing show of restraint, he only commented once on the number of pairs of shoes I packed. In return, I agreed to try to keep my closet from looking like an episode of Hoarders.

I was nearly electrocuted in January when we painted the kids’ rooms. Turns out, those switch plates are there for a good reason. For my birthday, I carelessly invested in a lighted magnifying mirror that Bed, Bath & Beyond wouldn’t let me return without a better excuse than I just didn’t like what I saw. Mike was kind enough to tell me, “You’re not a spring chicken anymore.” I told him neither are people who use the term “spring chicken.” Not to be outdone, Luke asked if he could take me to school for show and tell on 80s day and Katy quoted something from what she referred to as, “this old show called Friends.” Business took me to Dallas, Indianapolis, Austin, and New Orleans, as well as St. Pete Beach, Florida, where I was re-elected (without resorting to bribery that anyone can prove) to another three-year term on the Board of Directors of the National Organization of Veterans’ Advocates. After speaking at a few seminars, I found out that a good handful of tasteless references goes a long way to entertain a crowd and disguise a lack of knowledge. (Perhaps Rick Perry should try that at his next debate.) In other news, because one road kill per year for this family isn’t enough, I ran over another one of the stupid deer that wander our streets like drunken overgrown squirrels. The only damage was some blood on my license plate, but I did almost spill my drink and drop my phone. The rest of my year was wasted trying to figure out what the big deal was about that royal wedding.

For next year, we have high hopes that Luke will learn to turn lights off when he leaves a room and that Katy will stop leaving wet towels on the floor. We plan to teach them better bathing and deodorant-application techniques so they don’t smell like Occupy Wall Street protesters when they get home from school. I will try to finish writing my book before I get too old to take it on tour, and stop buying Groupons that expire before I get around to using them. And Mike vows to improve his relationship with Siri on his new iPhone. Luke will spend the holidays shooting his new rifle while Katy busies herself with music downloads and friend requests. Mike and I look forward to taking full advantage of the new water heater we were forced to get each other for Christmas.

May you all spend the holidays and 2012 happy, healthy, safe, and strong. And if the Mayan calendar is right, you won’t have to sit through a letter like this again. Life is short, so don’t let it be shallow.

Love, Jill, Mike, Luke, Katy & Buzz