Beautiful Battle

Sometime around November 1st, when I was making my list of projects to accomplish before Christmas, I had the sickening realization I had never sewn Everett's stocking. I bought the kit shortly after he was born thinking I could whip it out in five months. I forgot I was designing a house, tying up all my emotional loose ends with the people I'd loved for years, and trying to not become a crazy person.

Last Christmas I assured myself Everett didn't even know what a stocking was. (Which was true. Christmas morning he didn't even charge the tree or unwrap a present due to bewilderment overload. A sparkly stocking might have actually done him in. I think I did him a favor.)

Seven weeks ago I was rationalizing whether or not an adult can remember anything from their childhood at age 2 1/2—and then I realized it's RE's last Christmas living under our roof and for some reason I needed to have all five sequined stockings hanging in a row on our P-E-A-C-E stocking hangars.

I also had a small heart attack when I realized I needed to read the entire Book of Mormon per President Nelson's challenge. At this point Greg gave me his "I-read-a-lot-of-business-studies" lecture about how people need deadlines to produce results.

So I listened to the Book of Mormon while I sewed and this little project got me to Ether. Can I just say I am old, I am blind, I will never sew a stocking again, my thumb will be split for another three months, and my neck might never recover–but I love my son, our prophet, and the Book of Mormon (which I will surely finish at 11:57 pm on December 31). Between me snipping the stocking's last thread 24 hours before Christmas and RE applying for college two hours before her December 15 cutoff the two of us are crushing it in the deadline department.

My Dad sewed six stockings, I've only made five (Greg, the kids, my father-in-law). He is my hero. I'd be a lousy doctor due to my fainting near blood but if I could stomach gore I would have been good at stitching up wounds. I'm decent with a needle and thread. Actually, all of my siblings are good with handheld precision.

I took these pictures to text to my dad. He was my cheerleader these grueling seven weeks and gave me all the pats on the back I needed, like complimenting the deer's eyeball.

I really love the front of Everett's stocking. It's intricate and complex. The colors are balanced. It's perfect.

The back of his stocking is a royal mess. I lined it so the mess will never show or snag his tiny finger when he reaches in to grab a Christmas orange.

His stocking reminds me of that thing President Eyring is always saying, about being kind because everyone you meet is fighting some sort of battle. A lot of us look like the fronts of stockings while we feel like the backs of them.

Hence why it's a battle—both sides are true. Also why it must feel so good when someone "has your back" and loves both sides of you.