i think that dickens forgot a ghost in scrooge’s story: it’s the ghost of the Christmas undone. i’m currently experiencing a visitation. somehow Christmas has come and gone and i still have a list of things “to do!”. i guess i’ll have to morph the title of the list at this point to something more appropriate like, “darn it, i didn’t do it!” or “should have done!” or “better luck next year!”.

first off, i wish that i had made you a plate of Christmas goodies. i love to make Christmas goodies. in lieu of an actual plate of cookies, i’ve decided to give you a description of all the goodies i would have put on your plate. read it until you can taste it.

1. dark chocolate crackles: these delicious, delicious cookies are like the orange sticks from your childhood only infinitely more sophisticated–the hint of fresh orange zest will make your eyes roll into the back of your head.
2. gingerbread cookies: if you think you don’t like gingerbread all that much, or you’d rather spend your calories elsewhere, think again. this recipe makes gingerbread aboslutely, undeniably irresistable.
3. cranberry streusal shortbread bars: over a cup of butter. need i say more?

obviously, this plate of Christmas goodies would arrive prettily packaged ala martha stewart on your front porch sometime before Christmas. my amazing culinary technique would have you and yours in a calorie induced stupor of joy.

and then, my next project. the Christmas letter. i know there are some who naysay the Christmas letter, but i’m a firm believer. let’s go ahead and admit it. we love to see those tiny print 8 1/2 x 11 brag sheets of second cousins and old college roommates. it makes us feel connected without actually having to connect (here begins my theory that social networking sites like facebook are simply an offshoot of the traditional Christmas letter). i love the pictures. i love the updates. and, really, i love getting honest-to-goodness, hold-in-your-hand, tangible, tangible mail.

so, i’ve written a few versions of my Christmas letter that never was. it’s like a choose your own adventure novel: go ahead and pick whichever curtis life synopsis you like best, print it out, and stick it on your fridge.

for cynics

the curtis clan is still in cleveland underneath seventeen and a half layers of clouds.

joe: grumpily puts on his coat every morning and makes the two minute commute to case western dental school.

jes: her ever increasing girth is indicative of her ever increasing grumpiness.

henry: he turned two and suddenly learned the words “tasty,” “cake,” and “tantrum.”

for people who can’t help but see everything as a blessing

the curtis clan has been ever so blessed this year. multiple residency interviews, another baby on the way, an adorable and precocious two year old. things couldn’t possibly be any better than they are.

joe: passed his second set of board exams without studying.

jes: managed to make a gigantic advent calendar out of felt.

henry: practically knows how to read and we think we’ve caught him doing calculus in his head.

something closer to the truth but still laced with a gooey (but not obtrusive) sentimentality

the curtis clan is sort of astounded that their four years in cleveland are nearly over. in just a few weeks they’ll be matched with a residency program, somewhere…

joe: keeps us laughing, keeps milk in the fridge, keeps the laundry shuttling between the apartment and the basement, keeps delighting in root canals.

jes: is trying to find her largeness beautiful (occasionally succeeding), is proud of her literary journal, is always trying to find ways to get dinner on the table without giving herself a brain tumor.

henry: loves the sound of trains, police cars, and ambulances, loves to help with the dishes, loves to climb onto his momma’s lap and drive his matchbox cars up and down her belly.

thanks for checking up on us and being our friends. we think it’s real nice. and we’ll have you over to dinner sometime. promise.