1. Favorite Christmas Cookie: Russian Tea Cakes.

2. Favorite Christmas Song: The First Noel.

3. Favorite Christmas tradition: staying up “all night” with my brothers and sisters talking on Christmas Eve in our PJs so excited for Christmas.

4. Favorite Christmas memory: I remember every one from when the twins were born until I went to college. Every one. They were that memorable every year. I remember Christmas Eve we opened PJs and put them on right away; and we’d go to my room and talk until we fell asleep; and the littlest one would wake up first and try to wake us all up (even if it was still technically night); and we’d go out to the tree, and the room would be full of surprises, and we’d go wake up mom and dad and tell them that Santa had already come and it was time to wake up, and they would take FOREVER getting up, and we’d find the long Christmas letter to all of us and each of us from Santa on the table, and we’d eat the Christmas pastries and cookies in the kitchen that Santa hadn’t eaten (if any), and dad would make coffee and drink a lot of it, and Mom would stay in her PJs and not get dressed up, and we’d all sit on the couches and chairs in the living room in our PJs with our crazy sleep hair, and dad would get out the camera or camcorder and tell us about the year, and Mom would tell us about Jesus and that it was His day, and we would read the bible story of Jesus’ birth from Luke out of the great big white bible that was on the coffee table or on the bookshelf in the living room, Mom told us who would read it, and we all read along with them from memory, and then Dad and Mom would pray. And the presents would be sparkling under the tree, and the stockings exploding with stuff, but they would pray for a long long time. Longer than at Thanksgiving. They prayed for each of us, and other relatives, and friends, and thanks for the year behind, and blessings for the year ahead. And then Mom would talk to us. She’d tell us she loved us, and we’d give her kisses, and she’d give us kisses. And we’d rip into our stockings (if we hadn’t done so already while Mom & Dad were getting up). We’d put down the orange from the top for later eating, and marvel at our new toothbrushes and nail polish and silly putty (who can live without silly putty) and other whatnot. And we’d pass out presents and open, and watch the others open. And Dad would help the little ones open and put in batteries, and get into boxes with his pocket knife. And Mom wouldn’t open any. She’d just sit there and watch. And smile. And receive kisses on her cheek when someone came to thank her. When we were all done opening and kissing, (and crying), we’d have to go make her open hers and look at the treasures we’d made or given her. And then we’d survey the room. There would always be a pile of paper in the middle of the room. A ridiculous huge pile of paper. And, the little one, rather than playing with all of his or her new toys, would play with the paper and box pile. Until Dad or Michelle or Dan got it all put in trash bags and set out in the garage.

5. All I want for Christmas is… to hang out with my great big family. And I will.