A Broberg Christmas

I can't believe Christmas has already come and has its foot out the door! We had such a fun and very relaxed year, because we didn't travel. Somehow, a simple plane ride gets me so frazzled.

Nels and I didn't even have to go anywhere for the Broberg Christmas Eve Party. It was at our house: my first time hosting! I'm so grown up. Going for casual and awesomeness, it wasn't a meal, per se, but an appetizer and dessert food affair: mostly finger food. But slim pickings there were not! We had an apple cranberry tart, cheese and crackers, chips, hummus, crackers with two kinds of cheese, avocado tomato cheese bean dip, fruit shish kabobs with tangy fruit dip, souffles, veggie tray, *butternut cream cheese fondue, *homemade hot chocolate with *homemade cranberry almond white chocolate biscotti (a real winner, in my opinion), *cinnamon rolls, *mini cheesecakes, and *pumpkin chocolate chip bread. Oh, and water. With lemon. Needless to say, there was something for everyone, and no one left hungry.

All this and a partridge and a pear tree. Thanks everyone for your fancy dishes! It was quite the non-meal!

After we ate til our cheeks were like roses and our noses like cherries, we had a few musical numbers. All were lovely and notable and will be posted later, but here is one particular highlight we can't resist sharing:

Starring Kelly Echols, Jay Burton on guitar, and featuring a foam trumpet improvisation from Clement Burton, and a bit of scat singing from Calvin Broberg.

Merry Christmas, family and friends!

*dishes made by me!

Dear First Real Christmas Tree...

I've dreamt of meeting you my whole life. I kept hearing from my friends, who had already experienced their first, that there was something magical when the real thing happened to them. They'd bundle up in scarves soft as fur and gloves knitted by their grandmothers. Christmas carols would start softly on their journey to the tree nursery or the tree farm or the tree forest, feeling kind of corny at first, but soon all nature would burst into song as if condoning the sacredness of meeting it. The air freshener. The trinket holder. The ribbon spindle. The shelter for fit and misfit toys.

And of course, there's the feeling when you meet the one. It is electric, I was told. Passion, hope, warmth, and love raging from its branches like Moses' burning bush.

Ah, then chopping it down, trimming the stray twigs, and tying it to the roof of your mom's squealing old minivan over a hot cup of cocoa is the very act of adoption. The tree has become family. Duly christened, it is driven back to your home; and as though you feel guilty for keeping it out in the cold waiting for you so long, you put it in the place of honor in your living room, warm and safe. Then you water it, decorate it with more carols and laughter. Christmas has officially come.

Not so with you, First Real Christmas Tree! I was a fool to trust in the fable of pine and humans sharing spaces. I want a clean floor, you want to wilt. I want right angles, you want to stoop. I want cheery ornaments, you want to drop and break them. I want to deck your branches with lights, you want to deck my arms with scratches. I want harmony and peace on earth, you want to do a face plant in the middle of my floor.

But then, is it I to blame perhaps? You sulked from the day I ripped you from the happy association of fellow trees. No matter how much we accommodated your lack of balance--due most likely to the weight of your emotional duress--you didn't stand straight and tall, but wilted under the artificial lighting. And then, making you embarrassingly front heavy, you lost any self-respect and literally lay down as a plea to be dragged out the back door.

So, should I feel bad for causing you suffering during this season of seasons, month of months, and day of days? After all, isn't it Christmas for one and all?

Well, no. You're just a tree.

Sincerely,

A fan

Go ahead and chuckle

That's what I did anyway, chuckle. I'm finally succumbing to the pervasive blog theme: family, craftiness, cooking, and diapers: my life. That is the real reason I haven't posted on my blog for a year and a half. I haven't been busy saving the whales, writing a book, traveling, or anything crazy. I spent all that time coming to terms with my reality; which is, if we're going to be honest here, that running just isn't all that interesting. Especially when you don't do it.

I have it on good authority, however, that everyone will care about my day to day. I asked Calvin. He said something like, "Na na na shobee conack wachuna." I took that to mean "Of course they will, mom." He's a real sweetie.

So, here's my maiden voyage mommy blog post, which wouldn't be complete without a picture of a baby:

Yes. He is screaming at you.