I made a thing.

Over the years, I have often made picture books for my kids for Christmas and birthdays.  As they got older and I got busier and so on, I did it less often.  Then, two years ago, I realized that I missed doing it.  I liked writing the stories and choosing or making the pictures and doing the layout.  By then, of course, the kids were adults and I’d acquired an extra one in the form of Sam, my dear daughter in law.  So I made four that year, including one for Brent.

In the process, I realized, again, that I like writing.  I also realized that I had never made a picture book for myself.  That has sent me down a whole different rabbit hole (my “picture book” is up to 28,000 words so far).  Suffice it to say that I didn’t get around to making books for Christmas 2018.

But I have spent a lot of this year writing.  When it was time to think about what to do about Christmas books, I asked T., since he is home, if he’d rather have one story of his own or a collection that I could give all the kids.  He voted for option two.

In the past, I’ve done the picture part of the picture books in different ways.  I am not exactly a gifted artist.  Sometimes I draw, sometimes I make collages, and sometimes I use photos.  This time I did photos because my drawings were coming out spectacularly badly.  (I know my children love me and consider my “sincere” drawings in the spirit with which they are made, but I have at least a minimal standard for myself.)

And so I present the 2019 Christmas story book, written by me, with photos by me, wrestled out of the printer by me, and, finally, spiral bound by me.  Yay!