Under Pressure

A few years ago, 2002 I believe, I decided to write my first-ever family Christmas letter. I bored myself. I didn't want anyone to have to read it. I decided it would be less boring if it rhymed. I like things that rhyme. When the kids choose a storybook for me to read, I always try to steer them towards the rhyming sort. But only fun rhymes with even rhythm. Sometimes I'm not sure how children's books get published. There are some very poorly written ones. But there are many, many children's books that are written excellently and I love to read them outloud. I am wandering off the subject.

Back to 2002. I had never written any thing resembling poetry before, so I told Chris that I was going to give my brother, Jacob, our family information and ask him to write a poem for me. Jacob can whip those things out as easy as sneezing. But much less disgusting. Chris said, "Don't ask Jacob. You can write that." I said, "No, I can't." And then decided that I could prove my point by writing a Christmas-letter poem and showing Chris how terrible it was. I surprised myself. I wrote a decent little poem. I had no idea I had it in me. But I have read a lot of Dr. Seuss over the years. Since then, I've continued my quest for entertaining Christmas letters. They haven't all been in poetry, but I have found them all incredibly entertaining and I write them mainly for myself.

Earlier this year I decided that a lovely photo-of-the-kids Christmas card would suffice for 2008. Nothing has happened. We are largely the same as we were last year. But then the pressure started. We had some friends over for dinner. I haven't seen them for a couple years. Robin started talking about my Christmas letters. It was October. How does she remember them? I don't remember hers. (I might remember hers if she wrote them, which she doesn't.) She told me that she and her sisters had been talking about my letters and how much they enjoy them. I was flattered, but a little overwhelmed. I don't think I can live up to the hype.

Then I went to my mom's Relief Society Christmas party. My friend, Christie (whom I haven't seen for a couple years), grabbed me and said, "I'm looking forward to your letter. It's the only one I like to read. No pressure." Well, thanks, Christie. But there is pressure. There's a lot of pressure. I don't have any idea what to write about. I'm not feeling creative. I'm feeling boring. Actually I have one idea that I got from my sister-in-law, Laura's, blog. But the writing is not going well. Will a simple Merry Christmas due?