This year, we had a quiet--and delightful--New Year's Eve.  

Upstairs, Jess had some friends over and they all Hung Out, watching movies and eating junk food.

Downstairs, Brad and the boys played a raging game of Monopoly and ate junk food while I read my book on the couch.

 These guys played a very hot game, with Adam finally winning, minutes before midnight.

Brad invited me to play, so I wouldn't feel left out.  The conversation went something like this:

Brad:  Do you want to play Monopoly with us?

Jill:  No thanks.  I'll just read my book.

Brad:  But, we don't want you to be bored.

Jill:  So, we're in agreement, then.

This is what I did instead:

 In my opinion, waaaaaaaaaaaay better than Monopoly.

Happy New Year!

 Brad's Happy Place.

I am a failure as a Mormon Woman.

I honestly, honestly cannot make Jell-O.

I made this today because the missionaries were coming for dinner, and I thought Jell-O would be a nice side dish for the succulent pot roast I envisioned.  I remember as a kid, we'd all come home from church and be greeted by the smell of my mom's pot roast that had been cooking while we were gone.  It was The Best Smell In The World.  Mom's roasts were always juicy and fall-aparty, and so, so good.  And, there was usually a yummy Jell-O something that we'd have to keep the gravy from touching on our plate.  It was Sunday Dinner Perfection.

Well, the Jell-O travesty pictured above was what I had to compliment the dry, grey, flavorless roast that I pulled out of my crock pot tonight at 6:00 PM.  I couldn't even take this orange mess out of the fridge. I don't know what all that white stuff is, but it has the consistency of chewing gum.  The outside edges are hard, and the center is soupy.  The poor missionaries already had to choke down the rubbery roast beef--there was no way I could subject them to the Jell-O-like substance that I created.

The thing is, I have NEVER been able to make Jell-O.  It's not like this is a one-time fluke.  I promise I always follow the directions TO A T on the box, but it never works for me.  

NEVER.

I think is why I have been called to Primary.  Word has spread of my Jell-O Deficiency, and I've finally--rightly--been kicked out of Relief Society.  I'm simply not worthy to sit next to all the Jell-O Gurus of the World.

 I just had to get a photo of our Little Snapper.

Lukie has taught himself how to snap, and he does it constantly.  We can always hear him coming--the pitter patter of snaps accompanies his every move.  This is him watching cartoons.  He doesn't even stop the snaps for Tom and Jerry.

I have something to confess.

My name is Jill, and I am a Story Junkie.

I simply HAVE TO have a story in my head all the time.  I'm not kidding.  I really need it.  I ALWAYS have a book I am reading or a TV series I am obsessed with.  I will even read dumb books or watch mediocre TV just to feed my addiction.  I'm not proud of it, but there it is.

So, when I come across something Good, something Really Good, my joy knows no bounds.  I am like a drug addict on a raging high.  Such has been my status for the last two days.

The reason:

 I luh-uh-uh-uh-uuuuvved this book!

I have read Kate Morton before, so I knew it was going to be good, but this is my favorite of her books by far.  I will not tell you why, because I want you to read it and have the same pleasure of discovery that I had.

When I Google-searched images for the book, I also found this book cover, which I rather prefer to the one on my copy:

 Just looking at this makes me all a-tingle!

Whichever cover you find, please read this book.  I promise you won't regret it.

 Although, like all good highs, it is murder when it ends.  Having just finished this book, I am experiencing a serious low.  That's the only problem with reading something Really Good--when I'm done, I want to keep reading, but I don't want to read anything else.

For Christmas this year, my parents gave me a Bissell sweeper, which is something I've wanted for years.  My sister Jodi had one when we both lived in Michigan, and I've had Sweeper Envy ever since.

It is just a little rechargeable sweeper that takes the place of sweeping with a broom.  It is super light and quiet and with a zzzzt zzzzt, your floor is clean (no, I am not being paid to endorse it--I just really think it's cool).

And while I'll think it is the coolest thing since refriderator-friendly Diet Coke 12-packs (whoa, right?), Joey feels very differently about my Bissell.

He is scared to death of it.

Which, of course, means we must chase him around the house with it.

We really can't help it--the need to tease is in our DNA.  I blame my mother.

Merry Christmas!

We have had a most delightful day, and I hope the same is true for y'all.

We started out with a new tradition, which will hereafter be called the Bitner Christmas Cry.  Instead of giving gifts to each other, we tried something new this year.  We all wrote something that we love and/or admire about each other, and before we opened gifts this morning, we read them out loud.  I don't need to tell you this got the tears flowing, although I would like to point out that Brad was the first to choke up.  

After gifts, we had a nice breakfast and set up the Bitner Weird Food Buffet.

  This just sits on the counter all day and we graze.  Best tradition ever.

We even had a Texas Christmas miracle:

  No, your eyes do not deceive you--that is actual snow.  This is the first--and hopefully the last--snow of the year.

This afternoon, Brad, Jess, and I went to see Les Miserables.  So very, very, very good.  Except for Russell Crowe, it was perfect.  We came home and promptly downloaded the music.  I used to listen to a cassette tape of the original Broadway cast on my sweet sound system in my sweet 1983 Toyota Corolla (The Rocket), but it has been years since I've heard the music. 

Today, I was still able to sing along to almost every song in my head though.  I'm pretty sure my fellow Texas drivers will get to watch me belt "I Dreamed a Dream" on my way to and from Walmart in the coming weeks.  I'll probably have to pull over, though, since just typing the title to that song makes me tear up after watching Anne Hathaway sing it today in the movie.  So yes, I'll be the 40-something soccer mom in the red Durango channeling a 19th century French prostitute on death's door while my Great Value ice cream melts in the back.  Because that's how I roll.