Picture by Maria Alexandra Photography

Ahhh, Christmas time in the McPhail household... brace yourselves people, this could get ugly. Last year was the first time I had attempted to do advent activities with the boys. It was a nightmarish debacle on an on all accounts (I wrote about some of the nightmare here if you need something to make you feel like mother of the year), and I'm pretty sure I swore off ever doing another craft with my children again... or maybe I just swore... or maybe both, I can't remember.



You would think since last year's activities were filled with tears, shanking attemps, f-bombs and pooping on the floor, I would rethink repeating the same offenses this year... but I am bound and determined to make my kids remember Christmas time as being amazingly special, and magical if it kills me darn-it! Luckily my kids are easily pleased and somehow block out the crazy... and that's just enough to give me hope that this year can be better.



Every year growing up Christmas was magical. My mom just has this way of making everything fun and festive... it seemed so effortless at the time, but now I know with 5 kids and bucket loads of crazy, it was all hard work on her end, and apparently she didn't enjoy a lot of it:):) Anyway, being the "Anti-Martha"that I am makes me  the black-sheep of the family in the domestic department. The genetic code that was given to my mom and sisters that makes them naturally wonderful and June Cleavery (well, sometimes June Cleaver on Crack, but still June-Flippen-Cleavery) was not deposited in the Lindsay Bank... it seems like the harder I try to make things special, the worse it gets. Either he kids don't want to join in, or they're fighting or I didn't read the directions (shocker) and put the head where the butt's supposed to be.