#1-#7, summed up in one very Stillar Christmas

That's right, I'm cheating. 

The beauty of holidays with a swarm of independent adults is that memories and traditions tend to manufacture themselves, you just have to be paying attention. When viewing the world through a humorous (albeit cynical) lens, one always has a story to tell. Because who are we if we don't have stories? This year's holiday celebration was low on the late nights and illegal substances, probably because my nephews were around. Babies ruin everything, apparently. Though one thing that hasn't changed is the noise level -- consider it our contribution to the conditioning process wherein infants learn to adapt to and otherwise sleep through busyness and noise. It's our middle names, bitches! We don't HAVE inside voices. And Kyle, he never learned how to whisper. So those babies can get used to it, 'cause seniority rules.


On that note, some moments worth recalling:

5. Grace and I's spirited discussion as to which Beatles' song can most be attributed to "that one night, on PCP..." = Come Together and Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds, to name a few.

4. Alex opening his favorite gift, a golf club that probably has a technical or more accurate term but I don't give a damn, it's a club. He had it in his hands the entire hour and a half we spent opening gifts, handing it off only to open another gift. People, it was the incarnation of the term 'a kid on Christmas morning'. He's 24. 

3. Some play football, others sing carols, but our newfound tradition is to shoot guns. At clay pigeons, for lack of any pictures of our ex-boyfriends. And the key word here is "at", as I believe most survived.

2. We didn't actually celebrate until the 27th, so on Christmas Day we went to the movies. Mom always makes Dad and I sit together because apparently we talk a lot. For the fifteen minutes prior we sat in the lobby discussing the best way to refill our one popcorn container and make it stretch across two floors/theaters. Because yes, we are unabashedly cheap. We learned it from my brother-in-law who, on his wedding anniversary took my sister to the local discount theater and brought his own popcorn.

1. Though we're older and arguably wiser, our ability to assemble for a family picture has rapidly declined. It's like herding cats, except these ones have attitude problems and don't know what it means when you say BEGGARS CAN'T BE CHOOSERS. Sure they can. We do it all the time. Mom wanted an aerial shot, and thanks to my fixed zoom lens, I needed to be a solid 7'-8' above the tallest person in order to fit all 15 faces into the frame. This meant standing atop a ladder, atop the deck, and I got to thinking I have a strong case for increased life insurance. That was shot #1. Then we hustled to change into our new (matching!) shirts, and ran back outside. Only a snowball fight ensued, at which point Erica retreated indoors and Jaleesa walked into the firefight spouting threats turned promises once she'd been hit twice. I stood there yelling out one simple order: line up. In a straight line. You know, next to each other.

In order?

No.

Tallest to shortest?

No.

Oldest to youngest? Are you older than me... I don't think you are...

NO. JUST LINE THE @$#% UP.

Precious, right. Happy new year to YOU.

#8: Slave labor + stupidity = a bloody lip.

For six years we lived atop a bluff north of Spokane, on a sprawling 100-acre alfalfa ranch. I call it a ranch but it wasn't... we had two dogs until one of them ran into an oncoming car, so really we had just one dog and a smattering of other weird pets, but never anything ranch-worthy. Four horses did appear on our doorstep one day, but they turned out to be locals that had gotten loose. It was fun while it lasted. 

I distinctly remember thinking, as a 10-year-old, that I had no desire to ever leave home, because HELLO, WE HAVE EVERYTHING WE COULD EVER NEED. 100 acres? Check. Trampoline? Check. Swingset? Check. Barn? Check. (It had two haylofts, one was designated for girls and the other for boys. CHECK.) BarnYARD? Check. Silo? Check. Not that I know what a silo is good for, but it sounded important.

We also had four or five walnut trees. As a kid, any tree that yields something edible is a source of potential survival if the world ends. So those trees were yet another check on the list of awesomeness -- clearly I've never been a homeowner, or I could've loaded up the 'Cons' column with things like... flooded basement? Check. Second flooded basement? Check.

Anyway. Walnut trees. They drop walnuts. And unless you're bionic or have nothing to do (and we were homeschoolers, we had TONS to do), those walnuts pile up at an alarming rate. So we used to have to pick them up individually, as the lawn couldn't be mowed until they were gone. We'd slap on plastic gloves, form a line, and comb the yard to find them. Then those same trees would drop leaves. Those were a bit easier, as all you had to do was rake. Unless you're me, and you aren't watching where you're going and step right in the way of your brother who has just pulled a big rake full of leaves behind him, and into your face. My lip got really huge, really fast. I ran inside to stop the bleeding, and all of my siblings followed me because they wanted to see, of course laughing the entire time. 

I think that's when I developed my ability to cope with pain by way of incessant and otherwise nervous laughter. It would make sense.

#9: The Annual Rave.

Every family has those stories which are told over and over, whether because they're comedic or embarrassing, or both. Like the time mom was slicing a piece of fruit in the car, opened her window to throw out the core but threw the knife instead. Or when Dad fell off the roof but says he jumped. That probably deserves its own post. I'll think about it.

Christmas 2009 = we opted to stuff each other's stockings, i.e. buy 12 of one thing, and end up with identical and heartfelt gifts. We've seen everything from keychains to underwear to socks stuffed with fruit snacks, Rogue Dead Guy Ale, and scratch tickets. But the inaugural year also turned out to be one where we received alcohol + glow sticks, so we did the only logical thing: turned out the lights and had a dance party. I can't describe what's going on in this photo except that we heard way more Katy Perry than is healthy. And it must've been where Kelsey's patented dance moves got their start.

This was E-Train's first Christmas with us, and the glow sticks were her idea. You can tell by the way she's biting her lower lip that she is totally the one who started this party.

And the bummer sitting in the corner, that would be Dad. He gets points, however, for the necklace.

There may or may not have been some running around outside in the snow barefoot and later, an attempt at the electric slide, but the highlight of the night came when Jaleesa climbed atop the couch and decided the best means of getting back down was to do a toe-touch. Except all we heard was a crash until someone turned on the lights and there was Juju, on her ass. We figure she made it as far as to jump and touch her toes, but never actually executed the last part of that move, which is to land on ones feet. (And understandably so.)

Eventually we went to bed,  and woke up to this:

It was, by far, the prettiest sight that day.

A moment of gratitude.

This is my former co-worker Ashley. She came on board at K | H during my second year there, and we were the babies of the office. Once, when a new gal started, Ashley and I took a box of old business cards, hand-wrote Ginger's name on them and then told her we couldn't afford to order her new ones, so she'd need to revise this box of old ones and use them until further notice, ok? Ashley was always more well-behaved than I, which was further confirmed when I ended up on the Naughty list for laughing at the FedEx man when he fell down the stairs. 

Ashley was that person who I leaned on, whether I realized it or not. I was close to everyone there, but especially her. She kept me sane. She is sweet yet sassy, has impeccable taste, and fabulous skin. She's good at what she does but she's also super cool to be around. And when she took the summer off to have a baby, I filled in. K | H and me, we're the cheese to one another's macaroni. I love those people and would give my left arm for them, if that's what it came down to. (Not sure about my right.) 

Cheers to her. And them. My other family.

#10: The Letter. That's all.

Today's post is kind of cheating, except not. Here's a recap of our year.

---

Hello! Another year, another letter, and we find ourselves in the throes of Winter when the last one only ended in July. The Pacific NW has a remarkable ability to abruptly change its mind without anybody bitterly egging its houseor unfriending it on Facebook. And so, in the spirit of bigger and better, we've thumbed our collective noses to the four seasons and upgraded to SUVs, aka urban assault vehicles, aka the Mystery Machine pts. 1, 2 and 3. Turns out they're great for conquering snow but still equally as dangerous if you're a stupid driver, and Dad claims none of us know how to drive under 50mph. HELLO, we know what happens, we saw 'Speed'.

We've grown since you last saw us! That's right, WE'VE BEEN WORKING OUT. And by ‘we’ I mean Kyle, because let's be honest, the last time I ran anywhere it was into a sliding glass door at Molly's baby shower--not my finest hour, but I thought it was pretty funny myself. Another year gone by means another year of honing our respective skills: saving old ladies from burning buildings, imparting our knowledge to young minds, and developing new ways to productively use our free time. Which, by the way, is how we figured out that when you jump out and scare Mom, you absorb the years you just knocked out of her and long story short, that's how Leslie got to be so good-looking.

Enough about that.

Dad & Mom are loving being grandparents, except we're not calling them that because that makes them feel old. Mom prefers NanaGram and Dad seems to be fine with whatever. (We’re lobbying for Papa Elf or Grumpy. Go online and vote! Okay not really.) For this year's vacation they got creative and masterminded a stay-cation which included packing all of us + 2 dogs into their home at Long Lake. No food poisoning, no broken shower doors, and no throwing Grace into the lake at midnight, made for a tame week. We were due for one of those. It was days later that Grace moved out, rendering Mom & Dad empty nesters and Mom discovered the compulsive personality she'd thought had gone out the door somewhere around 1999 had merely been lurking dormant. (Hey! The house stays clean!) As for what they are doing with themselves, the answer is life and death. CooCum (Dad's mother) was diagnosed with cancer in late January, prompting a six-month battle that involved Mom sharing with the aunties in living with and caring for her before her death in August. Our grief was offset by the arrival of the twins, through which Mom has discovered her expertise with the cell phone camera. Dad, for his part, is breaking all the rules (i.e. don't wake a sleeping baby) by pulling the grandparent card, and keeps threatening to retire and become a hermit. We're thinking the twins bought us a few years on that one.

Luke & Erica hit two years of marital bliss and became wine club members. Luke graduates from George Fox mid-December with his B.A. (only took 10 years!), and thus ends his apprenticeship at Fortis Construction (aka the-job-which-took-me-180-miles-round-trip-every-day-for-a-year), and is looking for work. His favorite color is the Beatles, and he has Apple TV and isn't afraid to use it. Erica traveled to Bulgaria, Haiti, China, and Rwanda and only brought back one parasite, to which we say cut your losses, it could be worse: living near your husband's family and bringing home a parasite. We take intestinal discomfort very seriously. And by that I mean not at all. Erica also took a 2-week Caribbean cruise with her mom to celebrate their 30th/60th birthdays, and would like to go on the record as saying that she loves her new decade and you know what else? Her rec league volleyball team is undefeated. So shut up.

Molly & Isaac delivered twin boys (Grayson Randal and Blake Richard) on October 4th, an event heavy on the smoke and lights. And that was just the family's pre-funk. Come induction day there was much anxiety on Molly's part, whereas we tromped around the hospital touting pregnancy flash cards and shouting words like EPIDURAL and MEMBRANE then telling everyone we're homeschoolers. Blake's 8lb2oz + Grayson's 7lb5oz = C-section, a fact they will never live down. Molly complains that ever since getting married, Isaac steals all of her Christmas letter ink. As if having two babies at once doesn't already crown her the Thor of Mommyland. I say beggars can't be choosers and we can't all marry a total dish. But fair is fair, so here you go: Molly worked full time at the VA until the twins started slowing her down, at which point she setup camp on the sofa and played Angry Birds. (Happy? No? WHAT.) Isaac still fights fires and works on cars and stuff. Boring.

I (Annie) did nothing this year but work a lot and burn a few bridges. (A rapier wit will do that -- I'm not sorry.) One of these days I'll take advantage of working for a private University and enroll in classes, but for now I do things like teach dance (still), over-commit myself (still), and take Mexican vacations. I spent a week in Cabo San Lucas and returned with a tan just this side of jaundice. (Milky white is the new bronze--thank you, Twilight.) That was followed up by a sailing excursion wherein bets were placed on which roommate would be the first to go overboard, and Robin has since applied for sainthood. Over the summer I pulled a temporary relief stint with the Graphic Designers I Used To Work For, spending nine weeks being reminded of the differences between doctorates and artists. (It's mostly the usage of big words vs. Apple products. Also, the occasional F-bomb.) And I continue to work with CYT, most recently prompting my students to coin the phrase 'the fear of Ms. Annie' after one particularly rough rehearsal. Again...I'm not sorry.

Alex & Jaleesa moved into a new house in August and have discovered the joys of digging sprinkler ditches and landscaping your very own corner of paradise. They also added a dog to the mix, a chihuahua conveniently the size of your foot. Her name is Lilo, and Alex says she requires more attention than the house. Though once the babies arrived she went (more) bizerk, and don't get us started on what happened when Jaleesa's parents gifted Alex (right) another dog for Christmas, this one named a black lab named Lucy. Alex continues at Principal Financial, and in his cynicism claims that once you start working, life gets more lame. Jaleesa teaches for the Riverside School District, and enjoys whipping the next generation into shape. We like to think our maturity and lack of manners prepared her to work with children, so JUKES, YOU’RE WELCOME. She says she kicked all of our butts at tubing during family vacation but that's just 'cause she drew blood by nearly breaking Grace's nose. (It made for great pictures.)

Kelsey had a big year on the employment front, moving from working with juvenile delinquents to dispatching for Spokane County Sheriff’s Department. (But it's fine, her family of delinquents keep her busy.) She works 50 hours a week and has forgotten what two consecutive days off look like. She said some other stuff too but I'll stop there. KK has managed to fix all of our cars this year, which she says (along with family sushi nights and her proven ability to organize an awesome pub crawl) keeps her sane. Her goal and determination is to be the coolest aunt, which will probably happen because when have any of us beat her at anything? She gives them til age 8 to learn how to snowboard and cliff-jump, at which point they'll be trained as mechanics and we'll see if they can be the first to pass the "tell me what this tool does" test. Oil, brakes, you know, the basics. (I didn’t know that. So…) It's gotta be passed on to someone, her back won't last forever.

Kyle is this year's bummer, said only because when I asked him what he did this year, he suggested I recycle his info from last year and see if anyone notices. But I'd much rather make some of it up, so you be the judge. Kyle earns a decent living being a referee, spending his time keeping basketball players in line while simultaneously telling their parents to sit down and shut up. Ah, power. He is also the proud owner of a Subaru Outback, which Auntie Pretty says is a girl car. (And then all the Portlanders rose up to defend its honor.) Kyle's 22nd birthday, while a celebration of maturity and also achieving his second recorded palindrome, wasn't nearly as awesome as his 21st. After all how can you beat taking a dozen people to Vegas? Did I mention he got married? Yep. In other news, Kyle moved in with Auntie Pretty and recently learned how to play the piano on his iPhone. Must have been how he wooed that lovely wife of his.

Leslie is in her second year at WWCC, racking up all kinds of awesome memories including but not limited to beating Spokane (at Spokane), developing a mysterious rash, and pinching a nerve in her face. The latter which prompted us to believe it had finally stuck like that. Other milestones include earning 2nd Team in the NWAACC eastern region, 1st Team during the tournament in March (where her team took 2nd overall), and getting her first speeding ticket. That's right, the self-proclaimed 'most lovable child' finally caught up with the rest of us, and it was a lukewarm reception at best. Leslie blames her Hoopfest loss on Molly's inability to play, and claims that she showed me up while tubing during family vacation. Because it's oh, so impressive to beat your sister whose arms resemble Ramen noodles and who, thanks to many failed barrel rolls, can kiss her chiropractor-free days goodbye. Leslie loves being an auntie and enjoys Walla Walla even though they won't let her visit the State penitentiary (whaaaaat the..?!)

Grace moved out of the house, and in with Kelsey. It's a good fit -- Grey cleans and Kels fixes. WHAT MORE DO YOU NEED?? She says it's not her fault that her year was extremely boring. She attends SFCC and is in love with a kid from her Sociology class, but has yet to learn his name. (She can corral an entire gym of unruly children but can’t eke out a ‘hello’ to the object of her affection. I’m so confused.) The big news is that she got her license back, making it that much easier for her to work her butt off and make the rest of us look bad. Grace is this family’s indie sensation, sporting impeccable taste in fashion, music, and assuming total knowledge of everything. She loves her nephews but maintains that she won't be having any kids, which I suppose is better than the gratuitous advice everyone else offers. We've decided the reason rooming with Kelsey works so well is because they share an affinity for death by fitness, and should you ever decide to join them for a workout, be forewarned they are not above name-calling. They also use this technique on their sisters' (and heck, their own) potential suitors.

Aaaand that's our year! This is us taking a collective bow and wishing you the very best in 2012. Thanks for loving us and caring enough to read til the end; your selflessness is admirable and your focus remarkable. Next year we'll plan ahead and have door prizes! Until then, we love you, have a Merry Christmas, and don't do anything we wouldn't.

Love, The Stillars

#11: The Time Mom Locked Us out of the House

Most moms threaten any number of things should their kids act out, namely pain of death. You know, they brought you into this world, they can take you out. We didn't really get that one a lot. Ours were more labor related... doing everyone else's chores, running alongside the car because you started a fight on the way to Chuck E Cheese, etc. 

But. And I'm not bashing Mom here, that's the last thing I'd do. Partly because she reads this blog but also because the woman didn't even have to apply for sainthood, they just took a look at her credentials and shooed her in.


It was on a day probably 15 years ago, when we pushed her a little bit too far. We did it often, but this was the first and only time it garnered this kind of response. I think it was the culmination of several small things, mainly our ungratefulness, which spawned the swamp witch. She was making dinner (grilled cheese) and somewhere between the bickering and not doing what we were asked (WHEN she asked, that's her pet peeve), she snapped. Sent us all outside. Doesn't sound so bad, right, except she marched out with our cups & plates and announced we were eating outside tonight, and when we said thank you she turned around, marched back inside and over her shoulder yelled YOU ARE NOT WELCOME!

I can't convey the force with which that door slammed. Then she locked us out.

Dad was outside too. Not sure he'd done anything but ya know, you don't want to be stuck indoors with that.

It was one of those mommy moments I'm sure we will all think of in ten years and say OOOOH. SO THAT'S WHY. And I don't tell it to make her look bad, rather to show her enormous restraint. What a remarkable display of self-awareness, like I'M LOCKING YOU OUT BECAUSE IF YOU COME IN HERE, I WON'T BE RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT I DO. 

Not unlike the time Luke & Molly got into a knock-down, drag-out fight--(which happened often, for there is a tribe of antagonists somewhere out there and Molly was their queen)--and Mom, having gotten tired of it, locked them outside to have it out. I remember peering out the window thinking someone was going to die that day.

They didn't.  

As for dinner, I have no recollection of ever going back inside that night. Not that it matters. I'm sure we learned our lesson and never did it again.

#12: How We Survived Ice Storm '96 (with only a few casualties)

When Ice Storm '96 hit, we were living in a rental on top of Orchard Bluff, north of Green Bluff. That's code for WAY UP THERE. I always thought we got more snow than everyone else, but now I'm thinking it's just because I was short. It's a little disappointing, not gonna lie. 


We were like a modern day Little House on the Prairie, though my dad never had quite that much hair.


What isn't an exaggeration, is how long we went without power when Ice Storm came through. Our house was already sans central air so every day we chopped firewood for the stove. That's right, mom and dad gave us an ax and said TIME TO EARN YOUR KEEP. I have no explanation for how we're all still here today. To add to that madness was the fact that we were on well water, and for those of you not versed in all things irrigation (aka those who think plumbers are just guys with long butt-cracks), it means where there's no power, there's no water. We were already living 10 in a house with only one bathroom, but suddenly we didn't even have that. Dad brought in a generator but we still had to follow a 3-step process whenever flushing the toilet. Anyway that's not my story.


This was back during a time when we actually enjoyed playing in the snow. Never mind that it took you 20 minutes to bundle up and by the time you were outside you were already tired... we were going to ENJOY IT, DAMNIT. We would build fortresses and have snowball fights, we even once built an igloo by filling recycle bins with snow and water, freezing them and stacking them one on top of the other. It was worth the work for the few days we had of a 3'x3' crawl space, despite the constant fear that we'd be buried alive if it were to collapse. And at the back of our 100-acre property were some hills, where water would accumulate and freeze over. It was our very own skating rink, which we took to every day in our tennis shoes.


But our favorite game was the climb atop the garage, and jump into the feet of snow below. This particular roof was constructed of long and narrow steel plates, and by the end of the day our snowsuits were near ripped to shreds. I distinctly remember our amusement at jumping (falling, let's be honest) so hard that we'd get lodged in the snow, and have to dig one another out. It's for this reason that come Springtime, we found a number of boots and gloves sitting next to the garage.


And then there's the time I went to climb onto the roof (accessible via a smaller side roof) and Luke pushed me. I rolled right off, dropping about 3 feet and onto the wheelbarrow. Would've been great if it'd been INTO the wheelbarrow, but I missed it by about a foot. It was a picturesque ricochet. 

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.