It seems just like yesterday when I was sitting on the living room floor decorating Santa sugar cookies and listening to my husband, and our friend, John.

It was almost calming as they talked about everything from politics to historical events while I painted red icing on Santa hats. Then, they argued, and messed up my fa-la-la evening.

Both said they weren’t arguing: they were just “discussing.”

Ah, semantics from a couple of OU grads.

I’d heard that before, and believe I offered them warm cookies so they would keep their big mouths shut.

Jill, my late husband’s oldest daughter, recently mentioned the year when her Dad dressed up like an elf.

We could both remember him walking into the living room wearing his red long-johns over his green Bermuda shorts being held up by colorful suspenders.

Jill recalled he wore an elf hat, and maybe some elf-looking turned up toe shoes.

My memory about that night is also when everyone was in the living room during a lull in the conversations. That’s when I heard the sound!

“I got a double!” Bill announced from the kitchen, then tangled the two baby mice caught in the trap.

No, alcohol was not involved. Bill’s joy was because those mice had earlier gotten out of his trap, twice.

Another Christmas past story took place before we moved to Hennessey, and we were living in an Edmond apartment after we’d sold my house in OKC.

We were all around the tree, and Bill made a big deal out of handing me a special present from him.

It was a kitchen timer! “The honeymoon is over!” I announced, and marched down the hallway while Jill yelled: “He got you diamond earrings too!”

That didn’t calm me down!

I knew we couldn’t afford diamonds, and lucky for him: they were cubic zirconia.

Just a little what not-todo hissy fit, and a memo for guys to always give the jewelry before a kitchen appliance.

While looking for something else this afternoon, I found a three-ring binder of documents, and other stuff, that my late son had put together years ago.

It includes copies of my then “All Our Children” Christmas letters I’d sent to our kids each year. These were from 1990-05, and all were neatly organized, and in sheet protectors.

There are also copies Nick had saved of some of the “Couldn’t Help But Notice” columns I’d written for The Clipper.

Just seeing the care he took, and that he’d thought enough to save those Christmas letters, gave me a warm feeling. And a cry.

••• Now I’m going to truly get into the Christmas spirit and present, by making some Christmas cookie dough.

I also pray the kids don’t get sick eating that raw dough. Once I found out they prefer the dough to the baked and decorated cookies I’ve had some yeehaw moments.