El-e-e was asking about how people schedule Christmas, and Pann was writing about how when you have holidays at your own home for the first time it can be tricky to know what to do. So I’ll tell you how we do it in the Swistle Family, which includes Swistle, Paul, and kids; Swistle’s Mom and Swistle’s Dad; and Swistle’s Brother and Swistle’s Sister-in-Law.

We start “after naptime.” The quotes are because this holds true even if no one in the family is young enough to nap. We start at 2:30 or 3:00, after everyone is showered and coffeed and dressed and breakfasted and lunched and napped, and no one has to come to the celebration feeling gritty and tangled and exhausted while it’s still dark outside. Perhaps most importantly of all, we can go ahead and eat candy without worrying about breakfast.

First, everyone opens stockings, all at the same time. There is exclaiming and snacking and chatting and calling out, “Where did you GET this?” (one year my brother gave me a bar of Total Bitch soap—best stocking stuffer EVER).

When the chatting and snacking die down, we do the Child Gift Exchange: children take turns opening their presents and handing out the presents they have chosen for adults. There is much exclaiming and chatting and removing packaging and inserting batteries and reminding to say thank you, and the adults can continue to snack out of their stockings.

At this point it is time for a break: the kids are wound up, and the adults are worn out from the children’s excitement and from too many bites of chocolate Santa. It’s around 5:00, so it’s time for a light dinner. At our house we have Swistle’s Soup with garlic bread. (This soup is actually BETTER as leftovers, so it’s good for making ahead of time and not having to cook on Christmas.)

After dinner, the children change into pajamas and we go out on a Christmas Light Drive: just weaving around the neighborhood saying, “Ooooo, I like those!” and “Yick!” to our hearts’ content. We listen to Christmas music in the car.

Back home, it’s 7:00 and the children go to bed. Littler children go to sleep. Older children may stay up and read new books, but they have to stay in bed.

Because now it is time for the grown-ups to relax. The wine is brought out. Everyone changes into pjs or into comfier clothes. There are no children running wild. The snacking from stockings continues, and the gift-opening begins. We go around the circle, taking turns. Lots of chatting and exclaiming.

After gifts, the adults have a late dinner of worstenbroodjes, which are basically pigs-in-blankets but oh so much more delicious. Also, a red jello salad and a green jello salad.

It is so pleasant. We can genuinely enjoy the children’s gifts, and give the children a lot of attention. We can genuinely enjoy our own gifts, too, and not have to try to squeeze them in between the children’s hyper enjoyment of theirs. We can talk without shouting.

Here is the part we don’t know yet, because the oldest child in the family is only a third-grader: at what point does a child cross over into the adult group? We’re playing it by ear, but we’re thinking Rob is close to being ready. I think the most important part is that the child has to be old enough not to dominate the evening, and to get pleasure from watching people other than himself open gifts.

I have been way over-stressed about teacher gifts this year. From the way I have been fretting and storming (did you see my rantlet in the comment section of a Maybe Painted Pink post? oh good, don’t go look), you would think I was under the impression that the gift I give teachers is what will MAKE OR BREAK their Christmas. “This gift from Rob’s mom is CRAP,” the teacher would say. “Christmas is RUINED.” She’d go home weeping, shaking her fist at the sky. She’d snap at her children, sulk on the couch all through Christmas morning, and cry in the bathroom during Christmas dinner. She would go back to school in January, but the light would be out of her eyes and she would be considering going back for a degree in architecture instead. And who would be to blame? SWISTLE.

It is my own fault I feel this way. After years of having a wonderful time choosing gifts for teachers, I thought I’d go online to find some fresh ideas. And what I found out is that all the gifts I was giving were considered total crap.

I was pleased to find I was not bottom of the barrel. I give good-brand candles, good-brand soaps, good-brand chocolates–better and much more expensive than what I buy for myself. As one of my teacher friends cheerfully put it when I turned to her hoping she’d say the reports online were by an unrepresentative sample of rogue teachers (she did not), I’m at “the good end of the Bad Gift Spectrum.” Oh good.

You are asking to see one of my high school poems, but do you really understand what you’re asking? HIGH SCHOOL POETRY. Did you not read Mary’s comment about how awful high school poetry is? “Emotion, writ large (and poorly),” she says, and OH HOW RIGHT SHE IS. My primary emotion in high school was imagining myself in deep, conflicted, star-crossed love with boys I stared at in study hall and never talked to.

Plus, to select a poem to post, I would have to go through that folder (I’m sorry to say that “& Such” means “& Stream-of-Consciousness Essays”), and probably read more than one poem during the selection process. I did TRY, okay? I went through it a little, looking for a poem that would be humorously humiliating without being genuinely embarrassing. But GEEZ, Former Self!

There was a poem written so that the first letter of each line spelled out the name of one of the cute boys I liked to stare at; there are two stanzas, one for his first name and one for his last name. Another poem claims that love and sadness are very different emotions, then ends “…or are they?”—ellipses, italics, and all.

There is what I believe is intended to be some sort of ballad, describing the love between a young girl and a soldier who, in a stunning surprise twist, dies in the war. There is a reference to “the neverending ballet with the stars,” and a little notation that perhaps “with” should be “of.” (I don’t think the trouble here was prepositional.) Later on, I wonder in a margin if “like a cloud in the sky” would be better as “like a shadow in the night.” (Answer: no.)

I speak hand-claspingly of “love on a summer’s day,” not that I had any idea what that would be like. I explain in one poem that “when our eyes / meet / it is magic.” (Free tip for high school poets: It is not REAL POETRY if the line breaks make sense.) I point out earnestly that activities such as “dancing with children” and “picking flowers” and “looking at the stars” should be pursued, whereas MONEY on the other hand is unimportant. (Number of times I danced with children in high school: zero. Number of times I earned money babysitting them: seven bersnillion.)

There is the confession that I have “a heart that beats.” Good thing I saved these poems, so I’d remember what I was like! I had a beating heart, I’d almost forgotten! Also, evidently I thought that a woman in love (such as myself) would run to her boyfriend (such as the boy I stared at in English class) “like a zephyr.” Hi, English vocab list! Did I realize that zephyrs do not typically trip over their own pant legs?

I invited one lucky young man to “come fly with me.” I’m not sure what I had in mind, but I can tell you it was NOT what the young man would have thought I meant. (I believe I may have been thinking of the scene where Lois Lane flies with Superman.) There are references to “broken dreams” and “forgetting to dream.” There are “tears running down the windowpane,” and, oddly, “a palavar of sorrow.” A…what?

Some of them are written in PINK INK. I mean—GAH!

Let’s talk instead about the baby names in that post, and what I think of them a dozen years later. To review: the girl names were Fenchurch, Sophie, Molly, Quinn, Madeleine, Philippa, Ivy, Jill, Grey, Noel, Maizie, and Leaf; and the boy names were Jack, Joe, Sam, Luke, Milo/Miles, Leo, and Ross.

I don’t actively dislike any of the names. I still like Ivy and Jill and Madeleine for girls. I still like Milo/Miles, Leo, and Joe for boys, and in fact all three of them were strong contenders when I was pregnant with Henry.

I still like most of the other names, too, but now some of them are starting to sound out of date. Jack and Sam, which seemed so fresh ‘n’ sassy in 1995, are more usual now. And I wouldn’t use Grey or Leaf or Fenchurch, because that didn’t turn out to be our naming style. Maizie now makes me think of Maisy the mouse. (Also: grain.) I still like Sophie, but now would probably go for Sofia instead. Philippa is too hard to spell–I can’t remember if it’s two Ls and one P or one L and two Ps or…? It’s like Eliot/Elliot/Elliott/Eliott.

• Card received: +5
• Card received before December 1st: -1
• Card received after December 25th: -1
• Card is pretty, and looks nice on wall: +3
• Card is glittery: +1
• Card does not contain card, but only letter, so there is nothing to put up on wall: -3
• Card is e-card: -5

• Card includes photo or is photo card: +5
• More than one photo: +2 each additional photo
• Photo is non-Christmassy so will look good on fridge all year: +1
• Photo is Christmassy so increases holiday feeling of card: +1
• Red-eye causes family to appear possessed by evil Christmas spirit: -1
• Photo was taken on beach this past summer in summer clothing, so family looks chilly against winter pattern of card: -1
• Photo includes dogs with glowing eyes who seem poised to eat humans: -1

• Card includes letter: +5
• Letter is informative and interesting: +3
• Letter describes child as “amazing” or “already an avid reader at age 3!”: -3 each
• Letter is so braggy and saccharine-cheery, I wonder why I associate with these people: -3
• Letter is so very braggy and saccharine-cheery, it crosses over into comical and becomes fun to read aloud in an unkind tone of voice: +2
• Letter is a sermon disguised as a Christmas letter, and contains pious hopes for our country, for mankind, and for me personally: -5
• Letter mentions details of gross surgery: -1 or +1, depending on entertainment value
• Letter contains thinly-veiled family gossip: +3
• Letter contains information that should have been told earlier: -2

• Card includes check: +5
• Large check: +10
• Card includes announcement of pregnancy: +10
• Card from Christmas Card Friends contains surprising news of baby born since last card sent: +10

I was going through a box in the basement, looking for my childhood address book. I found it in a box that also contained this:

That is a MATH MEDAL, baby. So if anyone wants to talk about whether pregnancy is 9 months or 10 months, or how to figure out how many months pregnant you are when you’re 28 weeks along, or what the difference is between a child who is “4 months old” and a child “in his 4th month,” you just come talk to me. Me + math = medal.

Also in that box I found my baby name list from 1995.

Girl names:

• Fenchurch (it’s from the fourth book in the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy trilogy)
• Sophie
• Molly
• Quinn
• Madeleine
• Philippa
• Ivy
• Jill
• Grey
• Noel
• Maizie
• Leaf

Boy names:

• Jack
• Joe
• Sam
• Luke
• Milo/Miles
• Leo
• Ross

I also found this:

Poems. From when I was in high school. I think we’d better just back away slowly, don’t you?

Don’t keep asking me what the baby needs. You’re his father, you can go through the checklist as easily as I can. Food? Diaper? Sleep? Attention? New chew toy? Figure it out, genius.

Ask me what the baby needs when you don’t know. I’m with him around the clock, and there’s no shame in asking the expert. You’re acting as if you think listening to a woman would sap your manhood. Ask for some help, genius.

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Buy me something special and romantic from time to time. Come home with flowers. Tell me you couldn’t resist buying me those earrings. Bring me a bakery cake just as a treat out of the blue.

Oh my god, we are hemorrhaging money! You can’t just go spending willy-nilly on non-essentials or we won’t make the mortgage! I know you think this is romantic, but it won’t feel romantic when I’m balancing the checkbook later!

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Don’t tell me every time you change a diaper. What are you expecting, fireworks? I don’t tell you every time I change a diaper.

Tell me when you change a diaper. How can we work as a team when we’re not both up to date on what’s been done and what hasn’t? I feel like an idiot when I go to do a routine diaper change and find a totally dry, fresh diaper.

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Listen, I am not the only one with the magical powers required to pick up a gallon of milk. Could YOU be the one to go out for toilet paper occasionally?

I can’t believe you’re leaving me home with the children again. Don’t I get enough of this during the week?

Oh, dear, yesterday’s post was confusing, wasn’t it? First I say these are gifts I give to pineholes, and then I make a list of gifts you want. What are you to think?

Well, they ARE good gifts! I give these things to people I like, too. But in the case of pineholes, the gifts are good only to reflect well on me. I don’t care if he likes them or not, and THAT’S what makes them “gifts for pineholes.” Does he like to do puzzles? Does he need/want a fluffy throw? Who knows, who cares? It’s a Good Gift, and I am giving it to him to fill in the Gift Slot, but with the care/love ABSENT.

I’ve been renewing my efforts to turn off lights that don’t need to be on. (Oh, hi! Subject change!) It does not come naturally. I was feeling all proud of myself as I turned off three lights on my way to the kitchen for another cookie. Then I saw the fridge was partly open. Way to save the environment through care and attention, dimwit.

This morning I caught Edward putting the letter K from our alphabet puzzle into the return-air vent. I rescued it and asked him if he’d put anything else down there. He said “Yeh.” I said, “What?” and he said “J.” I wasn’t sure he knew what he was talking about, but I thought it was worth getting the screwdriver out and seeing what was what. Behind the vent I found SEVENTEEN letters from the alphabet puzzle, a plastic lid, and a lens from our google-eye glasses.

The hired plow that plowed the driveway of our across-the-street neighbors plowed the snow into OUR front yard. That’s…not right, right? I don’t even actually deep-down mind it (it makes a good natural fence between the front yard and the road, and also it’s just SNOW), but I mind IN PRINCIPLE. Paul saw the guy plowing snow into our yard, so he went outside and did a few minutes’ shoveling in our driveway, just to communicate, “Hey, we’re here and we see you.” While Paul was out there, the guy didn’t put any snow in our yard. Then Paul went inside and the guy immediately plowed a big load of snow into our yard (leaving big humps of snow in the road, too) and drove off. NICE.

I am wondering: What is on the top of your tree? Is it the same as what was on the top of your family’s tree when you were a child? If you are partnered, is it the same as what was on the top of your partner’s family’s tree when your partner was a child? (You know what the English language needs? A gender-neutral singular pronoun appropriate to use for people. “It” is insufficient for our needs.)

When I was a child, my family topped the tree with a big huge fabric bow. When I was living on my own, I tried the big bow for a few years but it didn’t suit. Then we bought a little fairy at a craft fair and tried her for a few years, but she was too small for the job. This year I am trying this:

Why, yes it IS a giant green glittery butterfly, more seasonally-appropriate for SUMMER. I’m OPEN-MINDED about tree-toppers, okay? Also, Christmas trees sure look sad and clashy and wirey if you (1) use the flash (2) in daytime.

I don’t even know what Paul’s family used as a tree-topper. Is that….wrong? (Edit: I emailed him at work to ask him, and he doesn’t know either, so I consider myself fully exonerated. Assuming I know what “exonerated” means. Like, totally cleared of all blame, is what I’m hoping it means.)

If your toddler son were given a free See’s chocolate lollipop and you were not given one, and if he slobbered it for awhile but then got distracted and forgot about it, you’d give it a quick rinse and finish it yourself, right? No brainer, right?

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I’ll say this: Any political candidate whose support-raising phone call wakes up a napping child AUTOMATICALLY LOSES MY VOTE.

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I have to stop browsing Amazon’s toy sales, because they are DRIVING ME WILD. I bought a 2-pack of Melissa & Doug dress-up puzzles for $5.99! A Fisher-Price Alphabus for $6.90! This cute little Leapfrog stacker for $2.99! A My Little Pony 3-pack (shout-out to 1983!) for $4.50! A whole bunch of assorted Cube World things that Rob and William want but that I’d thought were not something we could afford! The Leapfrog lowercase letters pack for our fridge phonics! Leapfrog caterpillar for $5.99! I am in 7th Shopping Heaven! Must! Stop!