Dear Friends and Family,
The annual argument continues in the Hardy household: who will get the most facetime in the family Christmas card? With my siblings having kids, applying for grad schools, baking mouth-watering treats for every family event, and my brother actually playing the clarinet that my parents bought for me after I abandoned it after only one year of use, it became clear to me that I would need to write my own card if I wanted to have my turn in the spotlight.
We began the year by moving into our new home. There are many perks of this wonderful apartment: plenty of space, nice neighbors, homemade cinnamon rolls every Saturday morning, a seemingly never ending pantry, and a free trash service. I know what you’re thinking…. “Rachel, where did you find such a wonderful place? Can I put my name on a waiting list (because with a place that grand, how could there not be hundreds, if not thousands, of people wanting to live there) so I can live there, too? The simple answer would be no, because we live in my parents basement. (But a more complicated answer would be maybe, because technically there is a second bedroom we don’t use, and if my parents don’t read this letter then maybe we could lease out the bedroom for $3000 per month without them knowing, and I could quit my teaching job and become a retail tycoon) Anyway, we really did move into the basement, and whenever I mention it to my fifth grade class they all laugh because they imagine me as the stereotypical old person living in their parents basement, playing video games, and stealing their parents food. (I do go upstairs for random ingredients quite frequently, so they’re not too far off base) I know that living with your parents/in-laws gets a bad rap, but I was not joking about the cinnamon rolls. My dad makes them every Saturday and they are divine. Needless to say, things are going swimmingly.
The rest of the year brought some great things. In the beginning of February, my sister tried to get us tickets to see Hamilton, but was unsuccessful. Later that night I told Tyler that I had accepted the fact that I wouldn’t be able to see Hamilton until I was very old. Little did I know that he and his family had tried getting tickets for us that morning and had actually gotten some! For the next three months, there was an unspoken agreement with me and everyone else in the world that Hamilton would be the only thing I would have conversations about unless there was a dire emergency. Being able to see it was a dream and the perfect surprise. 
2018 included some fun trips for Tyler and me. We visited Denver in the spring, and Arizona in the fall. While in Arizona we went to the BYU game, which we expected them to lose but they did not, which gave us false hope for the rest of the season. We visited Washington D.C. in October, where I was dismayed to find that President Trump does not wander around the National Mall as he tweets. I had some things to chat with him about, and now my only hope is that the people with camp chairs and sound systems outside the White House will yell my ideas to him with their microphones.
Fall also brought Thanksgiving, which Tyler and I have both agreed is truly the best holiday of the year. I spent the day before making pies, and when everyone was devouring them my mother-in-law told me they were so good that I could open my own bakery, so I was feeling pretty good about myself, to say the least. It was somewhere around the time I was debating what I should call my new bakery (I believe I was deciding between the names “Pies...because that’s the only thing I can bake” and “Mediocre Meals”) that my sweet nephew, who is allergic to eggs, threw up all over the couch. He was having an allergic reaction. To the pies. An allergic reaction to the pies that had egg in them. An allergic reaction to the pies that when I was asked if they had egg in them, I said no. EVEN THOUGH THE FIRST STEP IN PUMPKIN PIE IS “BEAT EGGS LIGHTLY.” Yes, I had totally forgotten they had eggs in them, and if I had a time machine I would use it to go speak with past Rachel, who at 9 years old gave a church talk that discussed how President Gordon B. Hinkley once said that “Now is the time for revolution!!” instead of “revelation”, and inform 9 year old me that a moment a LOT more embarrassing than that would be coming. Actually, I guess I would probably just use the time machine to go back an hour and remind myself there certainly IS egg in the pie, but whatever. Luckily, I married into one of the greatest families of all time, and they were all very nice about the whole thing. If I had a time machine, I’d go back to when I was worried about my dating life and tell myself, “Don’t worry! Eventually you’ll find the greatest person ever and he has the kindest family ever!” I think the moral of this little tale is that we need to let whoever is in charge of inventing time machines know that I need one ASAP.
Merry Christmas! May you all get plenty of coverage in your family’s Christmas card.
Love,
The Neeleys
