12 Random Stillar Facts, one for each day til we're all together again. Hallelujah! Amen.

Any day now, the Annual Stillar Family Christmas Letter goes to press. Unlike past years, my siblings didn't get editing rights on this one. Due to time constraints, they weren't even allowed to fact check. I half expect a barrage of hate mail. To that I say, next year you should try being less noteworthy (Molly), ignorant (Kyle) or easy to make fun of (take your pick) and see where it gets you. It's a thin line, and let's be honest you'll probably lose, but hey -- if you want to spend hours being a contributing writer, knock yourself out.  I'd welcome the company.

Oh, and BYOB.

The closer Christmas gets, the more excited and anxious I become at the thought of all 15 of my family members under one roof, prompting the gush of nostalgia from Christmases past. I had the cutesy thought to make a list of 12 memories and post one a day from now until Christmas Day, culminating in the ultimate story about how one year we found out that we're Santa's long-lost relatives, so we donned our turtlenecks and took a trip to the North Pole, and someone inevitably found love, and the elves weren't as freaky as in the movies. Festive, right! 

Except then I began feeling totally schmaltzy, like when did I become a middle-aged mother of small, impressionable children? No. I'm a self-righteous, unapologetic female with too much time on her hands and with a mind like a steel trap. So we're skipping the feel-good semantics and instead going with this: The-12-Days-of-Stillar-and-Other-Related-Stuff. 

Much more fitting. Saves me from having to stick to Christmas stuff.

A warning: if you've ever met us, dated us, worked with us, friended us on Facebook, or seen us on the street, it's possible you could be passive-aggressively mentioned. I won't name names, but ten bucks says I won't have to.

And to tide you over, here's a bonus bit, but it's a classic. Because why not make it a bakers dozen.

#13: The Trampoline Years

My parents discovered early on that if they were going to homeschool us, we needed some incentive to get us out of the house every now and then, and what better way than a giant metal contraption which catapults you into the air? Fun Fact #284 about homeschooling: you can do whatever the hell you want and the fun police can't tell you to stop it for liability reasons. My sister and I, probably around 8 and 10 at the time, made it our life goal to learn the art of trampoline gymnastics. I still remember the 1996 Olympics when Team USA took the gold thanks to Kerri Strug's awesome vault, as seen here. She so deserved it. Also, John Tesh narrated my formative years.

Anyway. Molly and I loved the trampoline, eventually teaching ourselves to execute double front flips. I have to believe Mom didn't know anything about it, because who lets their kid do that? It's a spinal injury waiting to happen, and that's if you actually know what you're doing. We just kinda jumped, tucked, and hoped we woke up. My sister, bless her heart, shares my imminent laughter in the face of others' pain, so whenever we'd injure ourselves (as we often did), the other would laugh their ass of. Then came the day I didn't quite make it all the way around, and landed on my neck. I was in so much pain except I couldn't cry because I'd had the wind knocked out of me, and I tried to walk to the house except it hurt too much so I stood there gasping for air while Molly laughed. Then she tried to hop off the trampoline and her leg got stuck in the springs so she fell over, smacking her tailbone on the metal piping, and promptly tumbled off backwards, landing on the ground with both feet in the air.

There we were, both unable to breath or laugh or cry, but not willing to help the other.

Really we are fabulous testaments to the fact that kids are versatile and will bounce right back, pun absolutely intended. I think I'll print up little tracts of this story, so when I see those germaphobic moms in grocery stores who lather their kids up with hand sanitizer every ten minutes, I can walk up and hand them a copy then say OH P.S., YOUR KID JUST LICKED THE SHOPPING CART.

But really. In retrospect, I probably should've gone to a hospital. I think I turned out okay.