An Honest Holiday Letter, 2021

Merry Christmas from Mississippi! We’ve learned our little gem of a town is situated in what’s called “the hidden coast,” supposedly because not many people, other than locals, know how fantastic it is, but for us, it's because people literally can’t find our address. We moved into a newly constructed house on a newly constructed street and the excitement of being both the first owners and the first residents on Barley Drive has long worn off. We can’t have pizza delivered because our address is “unrecognizable,” to every local pizza joint, and Amazon drivers call me on the daily to get directions. We also live in a full-time construction zone six days a week, from sun up to long past sundown. Latin music, saws, nail guns, and cement trucks blare at the highest decibel throughout the day as new houses are assembled up and down our street. You may recall in last year’s letter I mentioned our neighbors planting an inflatable outhouse on their front lawn, with Santa peeking out from behind the door. What I wouldn’t give for those days. Now we have thirteen (that’s right, we counted) actual port-o-potties lining our street. It really sets the welcoming, southern hospitality vibe we were hoping for.

Life in a cozy, little, southern beach town is mostly quaint and charming. We enjoy the downtown shops and the local parades. We’re enjoying all the wildlife too. We swim alongside stingrays and follow a gorgeous pair of bald eagles that have made their nest right here on our street. We also have a neighborhood gator who has taken up residence in the pond at the end of our road. We’ve seen an abundance of cranes, pelicans, and all kinds of “water birds” only Providence could identify accurately. If I’m being honest though I have yet to see a live raccoon, but I’ve seen more than my fair share of their former selves struck down by the side of the road. (Providence insists on naming every animal she sees, including roadkill, and I’m sorry but I just have to draw the line somewhere.) But nothing is quite as enjoyable as Carl, our town rooster. The first time we spotted Carl was under our table at a restaurant, and when I questioned the waitress about him she didn’t seem at all surprised. “Oh ya, that’s Carl. He’s the town rooster.” She said this in the most normal, matter-of-fact voice that I felt for certain she had identified me as a tourist and was yanking my chain. But then we began to spot Carl in various places downtown, and everywhere we saw him we’d hear locals say, “Hey Carl!” as if he was the friendly old man whom everyone knew and loved, and apparently, that’s exactly what he is. I’ve since learned that Carl is the honorary mayor of Ocean Springs and he has his own Instagram page. And if that isn’t small-town USA enough for you, what is?

This is the first year we haven’t kept up the Santa charade, as both Providence and Justice have learned the truth and made their peace with it. It made me feel a little sad at first, but I perked right up when my darling children asked, “Would you like us to leave you wine or coffee on Christmas Eve since you’re the actual Santa?” Or when I asked my son if he wanted me to send in the $10 to school so he could have his photo taken with Santa and his response was, “No, I’d rather we take that money and go to Starbucks.” I really feel I’ve peaked as a parent. Our Elf on the Shelf has lost her magic too this year. She’s been singing her swan song this month in preparation to leave our family for good come December 26th. I’ve made a list of my enemies and I will be picking one at random to send Holly to, along with all of her baggage. (And trust me, she has a lot).

Providence Joy hit double digits this year and with that, she has reached levels of sarcasm and judginess I never thought she was capable of. I beam with sweet satisfaction until she aims her snark in my direction. She continues to best her personal record for the world’s slowest eater and regularly befuddles her brother with her lack of interest in food. Though Providence lacks all common sense on the home front, (consistently forgetting things like where we keep the cereal and how to change the volume on the tv), she somehow manages straight A’s in school, crushes reading goals, and gets glowing reports from all of her teachers. She’s also slaying it on the soccer field this year. She has scored more goals and made more big plays this season than in her last four combined. I have an alter ego, a crazy soccer mom that takes over whenever I’m on the sidelines and I have zero control over her. I’ve been told I do an awful lot of “coaching” for someone who played soccer one season 32 years ago and walked off the field in a fit of rage at being assigned a position I didn’t like. I justify it by pointing out how well Prov is playing, which is obviously a result of my “coaching.” So there.

Justice is six, but true to form he is taller, heavier, and just outright bigger than every other child his age. (This is mostly genetic, we know, but some attribution must be given to his doubling up on meals now that he attends a school offering free breakfast and lunch. The kid has never been one to turn down a buffet.) He often gets mistaken for being at least ten, that is, until you hear him talk, then his maturity level becomes quite obvious. As his parents, we’re so relieved because it seems he has reached a genius level. According to him, he knows absolutely everything. There isn’t a single bit of new information I could share with him. We’ll be pulling him out of first grade and sending him out to apply for leadership positions of the highest level. If you’re looking for a mentor, let us know and we’ll give him your number. Every time he shares an idea with us, he ends it with, “Boom!” as if he has just dropped the most mind-blowing proposition. Our little buddy struggled to make friends at his new school here; our normally confident, the extroverted son became reserved and sad. After two months of sessions with the school counselor, he finally came back to embracing his true self, thus resulting in a phone call from his teacher saying, “We seem to have overcorrected. Justice has become quite the class clown.” I had to explain to her there are only extremes with him; he is either all in or not at all. She can’t have it both ways.

Zach has taken up some new hobbies that were once completely foreign to him, like paddle boarding and mowing the lawn. He attempts to keep up with running but the humidity and abundance of flying bugs make it a truly gross experience. His greatest struggle since moving to the South is the total absence of decent Mexican cuisine. Nothing he’s found has come remotely close to what he grew to love and crave in Arizona. Against my advice he still follows his favorite Tucson restaurants on social media; the images of tacos and burritos make his stomach growl, causing involuntary drooling and only perpetuating his homesickness. It’s really not good for his mental health. Now that we’re living in a single-story house for the first time in our married life, I finally convinced Zach to put up Christmas lights, (a task he’s always excused himself from due to dangerous heights and not owning a ladder tall enough to reach). Well, as it turns out we still don’t have a ladder tall enough to reach the highest peak of our house, and the height from the roof was indeed still dangerous. I know this because Zach was stuck on the roof for a solid thirty minutes while I was inside with the children, entirely unaware. He tried to call me repeatedly using his Bluetooth but his phone would only call our sister-in-law who lives 600 miles away. When I finally discovered him he was dead set on calling the fire department to get him down. I assured him that wouldn’t be necessary and that I had the ladder firmly secure if he would only muster up the courage to slide down. It took a lot of coaxing, (and fits of hysterical laughter on my part, if I’m being totally honest) before he gingerly made his way down. Needless to say, we are going without Christmas lights again this year. Zach has now added exterior lighting to his list of things that make him feel inadequate. (Curtain rods still hold the number one spot.)

As for me, I’ve acquired a fishing license, inadvertently worn camouflage pants to Walmart, ordered crawfish on my pizza, adopted the word “y’all,” into my regular vocabulary, and had my birthday dinner at a place called “The Rib Crib” which was aptly located between a Tractor Supply and a Dollar General, so… I guess you could say I’m embracing Mississippi life. Aside from the long journey I have to take to get to the nearest Whole Foods, Target, Trader Joe’s, or even Costco, my biggest complaint is the sand. Why don’t they tell you this about moving to a beach town, or should it have been obvious? I find sand EVERYWHERE, even on days, we don’t go to the beach. It is nature’s glitter and I am so over it. Because I don’t find managing our home, our kids, my husband, volunteering, community groups, and friends enough to keep me busy, I’m going back to school in January. I will finally be completing my Bachelor’s degree. I’m turning forty next year and I figure it’s about time to start reaching those “life goals” I always talk about. Operation Get My Act Together commences in 2022.

Merry Christmas and a very Happy New Year to you and your family. Here’s to another year of God’s honest truth.

Zach (40 something), Anne (not 40), Providence (10), and Justice (6.5)