Reason 12,732 why I love being a grown up at Christmastime

Oranges.

I love them.

And now that I am a grown up, I can buy (and eat) them by the box full. (And I do.)

When I was growing up, there was a family in my ward who'd get a box (or two, or three or four) of oranges every year at Christmas. I remember going over to watch movies or play games - or, erm, just to mooch food - and we'd cut oranges and eat them while we watched, played or chatted. I remember slices of oranges so juicy that I'd have rivulets of sticky sweet goodness running from my pinky to my wrist and halfway to my elbow before I'd even think to grab a towel. I tell you, those oranges were fantastic, made all the more delicious by the fact that there were boxes full of them and the sky was the limit as far as how many we could eat. At our house, we'd peel oranges and eat the sections. At the Solomons', we'd cut them cross wise and then eat them right off the peel. Oh, they were heaven. Pure, juicy heaven.

And now that I am a grown up and am in charge of the grocery buying, I can have heaven in my house. And I do. Seriously, I'm eating about 10 lbs of oranges a week these days. I peel them, I cut them, I juice them, I zest them. I love them. They taste like Christmas to me, and they feel like home. When I eat an orange slice in my kitchen, leaning over the sink so the juice won't drip on to the floor, it takes me back in time. I might as well be standing on Luana's wood floor with Cathy on one side of me and Christine and Patty on the other. I taste the sharp tang, and I can hear Rachel and the other kids laughing and playing in the living room. I have instant recall of the chimes of the Christmas clock, and I am grateful for the years of memories I have tied to a family that I love, in a house that was a second home.

Oranges.

I love them.

I love the way they feel, taste and smell - almost as much as I love the memories they bring back to me.

Go buy an orange today. Heck, buy a bushel. Take them home and cut them up and eat them until you think you'll burst. That's what this time of year's for, anyway. (And, being cold season and all, the vitamin C can only help.)

Breath of Heaven

Because I've been feeling that I need to make sure and keep Christ in Christmas.

Sure, peppermint is delicious and fun music is always a good time... but it was time to bring Him into my 30 Days of Christmas posts.

I love Him. I'm grateful for His life. I'm overwhelmed at the magnitude of the plan. I marvel at the purity of Mary and her ability to raise the Son of God so He could be who He needed to be - for each and every one of us.

"Help me" - Mary says it so well, so perfectly, in this song that is very like a prayer. I pray that He will - help me, help you, help all of us - every day, but especially as we try to stay focused and remember who and what matters most at this sacred and holy time of the year.

Joseph, Mary and Baby Mickey circa 1979

This is an Evans family classic, folks. Baby Mickey gets brought up in conversation at least once every season. You can see why. I mean, is that not pretty much the most adorable little nativity scene ever? ... Also, I'm pretty sure that it was my stuffed monkey that I used to dip (repeatedly) in the toilet when I was a kid, not the Mickey. (Pretty sure, but not positive.)

So happy together...

Meet my two best breakfast besties.



Seriously, this is the BEST cup o' hot chocolate outside of ... well, actually going to Starbuck's for hot chocolate.

Heaven in a mug, I tell you. Pure heaven!

This cake tastes like Christmas!

*And by "Christmas", I mean: peppermint. (Clearly, I am on a peppermint-obsessed roll this year. But truly, I love it. And the good news for all of you, my dear readers, is that I have no qualms in admitting that and sharing the wealth with you in tips and tricks for how to make the holiday season even more delicious and calorie-laden than it would be without me!)

I give you The Cake That Tastes Like Christmas:



Yeah, I know. That cake looks like a giant cake donut covered in peppermint candy sprinkles. ... And it sort of tastes like that, too. (In my opinion, this is not a bad thing.)

And it's not just the crushed candy canes on the outside of the cake that give it a minty flair, people. Oh, no. This cake has a secret weapon inside of it.

Behold, peppermint pudding:



That was a sweet view of my claw-like hand and kitchen sink, right? (I'm putting it up anyway because I know it will make my mom happy to see the Noel on my fridge in the background. I'm funny like that.)

Here's a better pic of the box o' pudding, sans claw:



Yes, Jello is now making a peppermint pudding - and my mind is running amok with thoughts of all the things I could do with this pudding: trifle, parfaits, just a bowl o' pudding with broken candy canes on top. (I'm pretty sure I'm gonna have to go back to Safeway and buy every box on their shelf, as this is a seasonal item and I have no less than half a dozen things I'm wanting to do with it.)

Anyhoo... make this cake. (Make it even if you don't like peppermint - just use the chocolate pudding, or a white chocolate pudding, or a vanilla pudding, or do a lemon cake mix with a box of lemon pudding. Really, the possibilities with this recipe are endless.)

Darn Good Chocolate Cake

1 pkg devil's food cake mix
1 pkg (3.9 oz.) chocolate instant pudding mix
4 large eggs
1 c sour cream
1/2 c warm water
1/2 c vegetable oil
1 c semi-sweet chocolate chips (I recommend the mini chips, as they weigh less and are less likely to settle at the bottom of the pan)

Mix it all up, pour it into a greased and floured bundt pan and bake at 350 for 45-50 minutes. Turn cake onto a wire rack to cool.

You can ice it, drizzle a glaze, or leave it plain. Serve it with ice cream, fresh fruit (raspberries, anyone?), glaze it (or, uh...make a ganache-like substance, like I did up there) and then press candy (candy canes, Reese's cups, Butterfinger... whatever floats your boat) into the frosting. Don't be afraid to mix it up with the chocolate chips, either. You can do white chocolate or peanut butter chips - mix and match and make this recipe yours. This cake is so ridiculously moist and delicious that you simply can't go wrong!

Happy holiday baking, my friends!

I dedicate this post to Molly Sanchez Mortensen

I love Christmas trees. All of them. I love all of them. But I especially love my own. I love it because I've had it for umpteen years. I love the memories of this tree in my apartment in Provo, in my bedroom in Taylor, in my living room here in Mesa. I love that the star on the top of my tree was made by my brother Kirk when he was in high school wood shop for Benjamin #1. I love the clear balls that I stuffed with potpourri with my own bare hands almost fifteen years ago (they're sorta moldy now, but I still use them because I love them so much). I love the random ornaments that were gifts from some of my best friends, friends who know what colors and textures are my favorites. I love the cranberry colored wooden bead garland. I love the fake presents under my tree, fake presents I've been using since I can't even remember when, because I think a tree without presents looks sad and barren (and I don't have kids to get into them, so I can decorate however the heck I want). I love the berry picks and the crocheted snowflakes and the homemade ornaments and the bells that have real, actual clappers in them, and I love the lights.

I love the lights especially, because they always remind me of Molly. (Those of you who were lucky enough to be in the BYU 3rd Ward should remember Molly. She was delightful. Molly was a joy and a pleasure. She was, truly, one of the sweetest and most genuine people I've ever known.) The year that Julie and I lived in The Pink House (capitalized, because it was a proper noun - a living thing with a personality of its very own), we had a Christmas party complete with homemade egg nog and caroling in the neighborhood. Molly came with her husband (she'd gotten married that year and left the ward) and we were SO HAPPY to see her again. We were talking in the front room, by the tree and Molly was staring, mesmerized, into the tree (we were on Ben #2, maybe Ben #3 by then) and she pointed at a light bulb and said "this one is you". Molly told me that when she looks at a Christmas tree, and all of the many lights that shine on the ornaments and make everything sparkley and beautiful, she thinks of the people in her life that do that for her - and that she liked to give the bulbs a name, to help her remember the people she loved.

Every year since that year - every year - I've thought of Molly as I put the lights on the tree. I love her. To say that in the present sense sounds a little silly, since I haven't seen her since 1997, but I love her. She changed me. She made me a better, kinder and happier person. She was one of those friends who come into your life and leave you better.

And this light is hers.



Merry Christmas, Molly, wherever you are. For me, you'll always be a light on my tree.

Some things never change...

Me, playing dress-up circa 1977:

Me, playing dress-up circa 2010:

Some things never change.

Vermont must be beautiful this time of year...

Anyone who knows anything about me knows that I am a movie loving fool. And any movie that can be quoted is a movie worth watching, over and over again.

Enter White Christmas:



Good gravy, I LOVE THIS MOVIE! I mean, so much. And the people who know me best (my mom, my sister, my cousins) know that the surest way to make me giggle is to throw a line out every once in a while, just to keep me on my toes. See the text conversation below between Julie and me. This started at about 10:00 PM Thursday night and ended 11:00-ish, when we realized how late it was and sent ourselves to bed like responsible grown-ups do.

Julie: You'd have to pay $6.60 or even $8.80...

Julie: Mutual, I'm sure. (She had to send two texts to get my attention, I guess. Like I wasn't going to guess the movie at the first quote. Whatever.)

Me: Girls like that are a dime a dozen. ... Don't quote me the price when I haven't got the time.

Julie: Boy, girl, boy, girl.

Julie: I guess she carried me away with her. I don't weigh very much.

Me: General Waverly... a janitor? It's worse than that, I'm afraid. I own the place!

Julie: A landlord!

Julie: Right in between ouch and boing...

Me: What do you get when you mix liverwurst and buttermilk?

Julie: Pray, tell, what does "Mandy" have to do with the minstrel number?

Me: Who knows... But doesn't she have great legs?!

Julie: Grab the cow.

Me: It's time for mother hen to leave her nest.

Julie: I'm starting to play trombone a little, too.

White Christmas + Cousins (with a capital C) = a good time. Forever and ever. Amen.

Christmas traditions

My mom called this morning to tell me that she was going to be giving the lesson in Young Women's today, and she was SO EXCITED, because the lesson was on traditions. Mom and I get pretty excited about traditions, because we think they're great memory makers. We talked for about half an hour before I had to go out the door to my own church meetings, and I've been thinking ever since about our Christmas traditions - what they are and what they mean to me.

I'll share just a few:

sugar cookies - baking them, frosting them AND eating them
Harry Connick Jr's Christmas album - I cannot get enough of the big brass sound
fudge - at least 3 different kinds
dipping pretzels (for hours) as we talk around the table
cold cereal in snack-sized boxes
microwave popcorn as a meal
watching movies all day Christmas day
the garland around the living room ceiling
Mom's wall of Christmas photos
watching (and quoting) White Christmas all month long
going caroling with Mom
having a friend come over to play the piano while Mom, Kate and I sing
Christmas tree pizzas
the unofficial seating arrangement in the living room Christmas morning
waking up SUPER early because it's Christmas, even though we're all grown up
Queen Anne chocolate covered maraschino cherries
the Milk Dud cartons on top of the freezer

The 25 Days of Christmas book

I tell you, I could go on and on. I know that most of the stuff I typed up there won't sound familiar (or even make sense) to most of you, and that's okay. These are my family's Christmas traditions. You have your own, as you should. There are things that we do that my mom's family did, there are things that we do that my dad's family did, there are things that no other family (including the Griswolds) would have ever done, but we do it and we love it. (Insert a visual of Tyler's bacon-wrapped Christmas tree pizza from last year.)

Traditions. They are memory makers. They make the holiday, the magic, the relationships we have with our loved ones real. I am grateful for them, for the sameness of things from year to year. Going home to my parents house and opening the living room door to see the wall of stockings that have been hung in the same place all of my life? That's when I know that I am home, on so very many levels.

My word, I love Christmas! And so much of why I love it is wrapped up in the way my parents taught me how to celebrate it. I'm grateful for music and candy and laughter. Out of all the things we do, having fun together - I think, anyway - is the most important. Thanks for the memories, thanks for the silly (and meaningful) traditions that we have, Mom and Dad. So much of why I love Christmas is because the two of you did. Thanks for raising me right.

A milkshake a day...

Probably won't keep the doctor away. But you know that I'll be having one anyway!



I'm pretty sure that I've talked about my life-long love affair peppermint here before. It is a love that is deep and true, and it's lasted a lifetime already.

I tell you - I looooove peppermint. And peppermint and chocolate together? EVEN BETTER!

Enter Chick-fil-A's new seasonal milkshake. Pure heaven, served in a styrofoam cup with a thick straw. (Also, they serve fried chicken at this fine establishment. And we all know how I feel about the fried chicken...)

Go get one today. ... And if you live in my neighborhood and don't want to go alone, you just let me know. I'm all about supporting friends and loved ones in their quest to get their peppermint shake on. What can I say? I'm a giver.