An Honest Holiday Letter, 2023

Happy holidays! Christmas is now upon us; I know that because our neighbors have erected their 20-foot inflatable Frosty the Snowman that towers over our street like a festive, but still ominous Stay Puff Marshmallow Man. I’ve seen people stop to take photos of their children standing in front of it. It’s become quite the spectacle, but it’s still better than the body bags and blood spatter the retired couple put out in their yard for Halloween last month.

I planned to stand my ground this year and not give in to the hype by displaying my tastefully lit garlands and a simple nativity scene, but darn it if Amazon didn’t tap into my unhealthy attachment to my dog and send me an ad for an inflatable English Bulldog wearing a Santa hat, COMPLETE WITH UNDERBITE! I mean, the Bible doesn’t say there wasn’t an English bulldog present at the birth of Jesus, so adding one to stand guard over my nativity scene isn’t exactly sacrilegious. (This is what I tell myself when I stare down the bulldog inflatable in my Amazon cart and my finger hovers over “buy now.”)

While on the subject of the dog, I’m happy to report Sugar completed her weight loss journey and now weighs in at just under 60lbs, thus satisfying the vet if not her appetite. Selfless as she is, she waited until we had perfected our budget for the year before she revealed her onset of arthritis and hip dysplasia. Since we can’t justify the four surgeries at $3k a piece required to fix her joints, we’ve resorted to issuing her cannabis capsules. I measure out her portion in clear baggies and weigh them on a scale while playing “Gangsta’s Paradise” and donning dark sunglasses. This drug deal goes down three times a day in the middle of our family room in broad daylight and I’ve never felt more alive.

Providence is now twelve years old and in the sixth grade. She stays home alone, wears perfume, lip gloss, deodorant, earrings that dangle, and she can borrow my shoes. If you’re having trouble wrapping your mind around that, join the club. She won’t let me pick her outfits anymore, but that’s okay because she has a better fashion sense than I do. I now have someone I can go to besides my doting, but unhelpful husband to ask which necklace goes better with this sweater or if I should go with the heels or flats. Prov is gorgeous as ever, but because the universe is all about balance, she got braces this year complete with rubber bands, and currently, her mouth looks like a game of cats in the cradle. She took up cross-country track this fall and soon found her calling. She has no interest in the running tips and tricks Zach and I share, only a “run and have fun” attitude. Her apathy for winning is baffling to me, but I have to say, it’s working for her. For someone who doesn’t have an ounce of competitiveness in her body, she’s sure enjoyed collecting all those medals.

We’re still not quite at the stage where we “like like” boys, only “like” them as friends, but I’m doing my part by gently nudging her towards the boys who love Jesus and their moms well. When I point out how chivalrous or cute a classmate is, Prov’s response is always the same: “Mom, stop talking.” At her age, I was already cutting out the faces of cute boys from the yearbook to put in my locket (That sounds more stalker-y than it was, at least, I think), so I’m finding her disinterest perplexing.

Justice is now eight years old and in the third grade, but in weight and stature he fits right in with his sister’s friends. He’s traded the world of Star Wars for Pokemon and we’re all trying to catch up. In case you’re wondering, there are over ONE THOUSAND various Pokemon characters which means I’ve had to invent over one thousand ways to feign interest in my son’s ramblings about said characters.

The years of distraction, mischief, and “But WHY?” moments we’ve endured since preschool have finally been explained with an ADHD diagnosis. Thanks to parent education courses, a fantastic team of teachers and school administrators, fast-acting medical teams, and the right balance of medication, our days of putting our heads through a wall are over (well, at least in this regard). His regular visits with the school counselor have been especially helpful, but I slip him an extra $10 not to mention my name during their sessions. There will be plenty of time for that in adult therapy.

Now that I’m not so preoccupied with the fires Justice starts (metaphorically of course, although he has been dangerously close to starting an actual fire at least once), I’ve realized that my firstborn, otherwise known as our “golden child,” is not exactly the rule follower I thought she was. I’m starting to wonder how much she’s gotten away with all these years while I had my back turned. I suppose it was too much to ask that both my kids be on the straight and narrow at the same time, but man I picked a bad year to stop drinking.

You read that right, I stopped drinking. It’s been nine months now and the only time I truly miss it is when I’m eating Mexican food without a margarita (it just isn’t the same). Some books I read confirmed what I already knew about the damage alcohol does to your body, even in moderation, and the relentless association my kids made between me and my glass of wine was enough for me to put the kibosh on the whole thing. (They still drew a wine bottle on my place card at the Thanksgiving table, so I guess some reputations are hard to shake.) I’m also at the age where I’m losing friends to cancer and holding my breath every time I wait for medical results, so my desire for a chilled glass of wine, the occasional martini, or just meeting a social expectation, didn’t feel like a worthwhile trade-off. I feel significantly healthier and I have no regrets. Nobody touches my coffee though. If I so much as miss my morning cup of Starbucks house blend my body is wracked with withdrawal symptoms and my kids are Googling rehab centers by 10 AM. That’s one liquid diet I will never surrender.

My other victory this year was graduating from college. It only took me 23 years to complete my Bachelor’s degree. Still, by God I did it, and I mean that literally: by God’s strength and grace alone was I able to complete 14 classes while being a writer, stay-at-home mom, moving across the country, and starting a new season with my family in California. I’m proud to report I performed significantly better at forty than I did as a teenager, landing straight A’s in all my courses. I think the last time I got straight A’s was in the 3rd grade so this feels really good. I hope my kids don’t take the same academic journey I did, but I do hope they remember how hard I worked to finish, how I pushed myself to keep going in spite of the struggle, how I overcame my fear of failure, and how God redeemed what I’d lost in my life.

They’ve continued to show their support for me by sharing my blog with all the adults in their lives without my knowledge. Despite what their teachers, coaches, and parents of their friends may think, I do not put my children up to promoting Glory in the Grind at every opportunity. They handle all my PR for free and at their own discretion. If you see them handing out mousepads and drink cozies with the Glory in the Grind logo, just know I had nothing to do with it.

Zach has found his groove in his position as Associate Pastor at our church. Not surprisingly, he’s earned the love, admiration, and respect of our congregation. An elderly woman approached me before service last week to inform me she thinks Zach is “all kinds of perfection.” She seemed harmless enough but you best believe I’ll be keeping a closer eye on her and her friends.

Zach’s on stage every week either to give announcements, welcome guests, or preach, and he has a unique habit of standing at the very front of the stage with his feet halfway off the edge. He’s entirely unaware that he does this. Everyone anxiously watches his feet as he takes the stage each Sunday and I can hear the congregation sharply intake their breath whenever he teeters on the edge of his inevitable downfall. If they only knew that it’s me they should be nervous about. Twice now I’ve subconsciously shifted to the left during worship and completely missed my chair when the set ended. I land flat on my back but manage to bounce back up and slide into my seat before the lights go up. If anyone’s noticed they’ve been too kind to say, but I’ll bet they’re surprised, upon reading this letter, that I’ve been unimpeded by alcohol, (just drunk on the Holy Spirit).

With the changing of the leaves so comes the changing out of Zach’s wardrobe. We’ve entered the season in which he rotates between three sets of loungewear per day, each one warmer than the last as the temperature drops and the sun fades below the horizon. Winter weather has never done him any favors but he more than makes up for it with therapy and vitamin D supplements. Every week he proudly shares with me how well he makes picks in the NFL spread online, on par with professional betters even, but as he’s bet exactly zero dollars, his skills don’t benefit anything but his ego. He DOES however have a keen sense for knowing where I’ve misplaced my phone, glasses, keys, and where I’ve parked my car, and that is a skill I literally can’t live without (or, at least, I can’t talk, see, or drive without) and so I think I’ll keep him.

I’m heading into the holiday season well-caffeinated and ahead of the game. My Christmas shopping is completed, my holiday cards are addressed and stamped, and my house is decorated. This means things will hit the fan any second because the universe always wins. Even as I’m typing this I can hear that Justice has begun to develop a chest cough. It’s the last day of Thanksgiving break and Zach and I have a getaway to Vegas planned in four days, so naturally, he would get sick right now. And so it begins.

Wishing you and yours a blissful December.

Anne & family

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