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Dear Chady-Bear,

Insert one of the following holiday greetings, depending on when this arrives: Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, Happy Easter!!

If you don’t get this by Christmas I’m really sorry, I spaced it. I’m fully aware of the fact I’m a crummy sister, but I’m all you’ve got so at least there’s no competition factor. And as much as we both love Holli, we only got her a few years ago. I was there from the start, changing your disgusting diapers, speaking of which I’m still regretting the day Ben fed you his corn.

I can’t believe you aren’t going to be here for Christmas. I hate that. I get that you love God but seriously gone for Christmas? This sucks. I haven’t been home to see the tree; I’m really hoping Mom didn’t pull the crap she did when Ben was on his mission: decorating a Christmas tree outside rather than one nside. Now that was a weird Christmas! I’ve told you this before, but going home without you there isn’t the same… I miss you. How many more minutes until you’re home? I’m not as excited this year as I have been in past years, and I think you being so far away may have something to do with it. I like having my brothers, Holli, and the kids close.

Mom said you wanted beef jerky and hot chocolate–good to see you’re still a freak. Cathy said you can find beef jerky in the liquor stores there, but I guess that’s probably against the rules, so I put two bags in. Mom also mentioned you needed warm gloves, but I’m lousy with all things winter so I’ll leave that one to her. I’m still sporting the stretchy Hello Kitty gloves I’ve had for years. I figured you wanted real gloves, not kid ones. But your real present is a promise from me… I promise to be better about writing you. I know you’re homesick and letters help, I relish in the fact I’m still ahead of Ben in that area!

I love you my sweet, little, Jesus-loving Chady-Bear! Happy holidays!!

Love,
Sissy

PS. The Victoria Secret Catalog was NOT my idea. Ben added it in at the last second, however, I didn’t stop him. Also, we sorta just threw random holiday cards from family. My fridge is full, so…

As I made my bed last night, I came to terms with the fact this is likely the last time I’ll sleep on these sheets. These sheets that I brought home from my grandma’s house after she died. These sheets that bring me comfort, no matter how crappy I feel. These sheets, with their crazy flower pattern, remind me that my grandma was spunky, even when she was sleeping.

Over the years, since her death, these sheets have gotten me through a lot of hard times. Seeing the sheets remind me that I come from a line of strong women, they could do anything, and so can I. When the corner ripped as I made my bed last night, I didn’t feel quite so strong anymore, and I got a little teary-eyed.

I can’t throw the sheets out just yet. Instead I’ll lovingly pack them away knowing that if I ever need them they’ll be there for me—just like she would’ve been if she were still alive.

Dear Santa,

I’ve been a good girl, just ask the boys—they’ll tell you. So for Christmas this year I would like the following:

Pink or brown UGG boots
Paula Abdul to never, ever gain sobriety
A down payment for a new car or condo, your choice
Matching dishes for my kitchen
A kitchen
A first edition Dorothy Parker book
Lower gas prices
A pink terrycloth robe
Ben to have a normal haircut
Botox
Skinny thighs
A ring (Don’t worry Santa, I want something pink, nothing of the diamond sort.)
Pink Kitchen Aid to go in new kitchen
A Democrat as President
Gas prices to fall (Stop emailing me, it’s on here twice for a reason!)
Summer

Oh and some of that world peace people are always talking about would be nice.

Santa, I know you can’t give me everything on the list, especially a Democrat in office since I imagine you’re a Republican (I base this assumption on the fact you’re old, fat and white.). But Santa, that’s ok, I still love you. You also can’t do much about my thighs since that’s sorta between me, trainer Alaska Pat and the gym, but if you’re some sort of magician or baby Jesus than by all means go ahead.

Love,
Sarah

PS. It’s hard to set out cookies and milk without a proper kitchen to bake them in. I hope you don’t mind a vitamin and Diet Coke. I have plenty of both. If that’s not ok I can ask Arlo to whip you up something, but it would likely be something fancy, and Santa, you seem more of a down-to-earth-I-break-into-houses-for-a-living kind of guy.

Little AK’s birthday was a wild success. I drank good wine, had chocolate cake and heard 15 kids screeching all at once, reminding me I’m no where near ready for parenthood. Luckily I had the foresight to take Advil in advance.

My favorite part of the party took place this morning, long after I’d gone home.

Mrs. AK: “Go get the Hannah Montana doll so I can open it for you.”

Little AK: “I thought Daisy’s Sarah took it home.”

Mrs. AK: “You mean Arlo?”

Little AK: “Oh yeah, I mean Arlo.”

I love the way kids think! I belong to Daisy and not the other way around. And that she didn’t question Arlo stealing her toys, and in fact sort of expected it.

Jess had the girls over last night for a PJ party. Over dessert we discussed sex toys. The conversation was much like the one every man imagines, only we didn’t have a pillow fight in our panties afterwards.

I regaled the girls with a story of my mother and her body massager from The Sharper Image. Everyone knows those massager’s aren’t intended for use on your back. I tried explaining this to my mom, but she wouldn’t listen. One weekend when both Ben and I were home my mom’s neighbor and her young daughter came over to visit. 

And you know what? That stupid cashier was right.

Yesterday was Frank Sinatra’s birthday. Ben sent me a text message reminding me, but I didn’t need a reminder. I’ve been in love with Sinatra my entire life. In fact, he’s the first crush I ever had.

My Grandma Leavitt played a lot of big band music when I was little, which explains my love of it. It reminds me of her, and now that she’s gone I really, really like having that reminder. The first time she played a Sinatra song I announced to her I was going to be in love with him forever. From that point on whenever I spent time at her house I wanted to listen to him. I used to put on a dress and sit and listen to his records. When my grandmother asked me why I needed a dress on, I said, “I need to be pretty in case he comes to marry me.” And even though he didn’t come to marry me, I still listen to his music obsessively all these years later.

My mother bought me the below Frank Sinatra doll a few years ago for Christmas. I love it! In fact if there were a fire in my apartment and I only had time to save a few things I’d save the doll, and my baby blanket. Depending on how much Daisy farted that day I may save her, but chances are the fire would be a direct result from her ass.