Yarn cats are notoriously camera-shy, so out of the almost dozen kitties we made, only these two were captured on film.  The first is a glam girl who is always ready with a pose.  The one on the right may have still been asleep, as his pupils look a bit bleary.

Not to worry, I’m sure he’ll be wide awake by the time he’s been tossed, tousled and hugged on Christmas morning.

The cadre of finger puppets might have been my favorite craft this season.  So ferocious and fun!

I think the guy with the purple hat looks like Oscar the Grouch, from Sesame Street.  The monster in the middle is impersonating my soul when I’m woken early in the morning.  Hopefully you can make out the jagged teeth and take fair warning!

Our very wild horses are made with pipe cleaner bodies, so they can be shaped in different poses.  They were supposed to get a yarn carrot, too, but it can’t be found.

Horses love their treats, so maybe they ate it.  Then again, maybe the carrot realized it was destined for greater things (like a life of crime) and ran off to join the monster cadre.  Not disguising himself very well, is he?

And lastly, our layered crayon art.  Unlike the gifts above, this is not as easy as it looks!  In fact, it’s kind of a pain and involved at least an hour of grinding carefully color-sorted crayons in a blender.

On the other hand, our pseudo sand art uses up all those nasty bits of broken crayons which breed in the back of kids’ desks.  Old crayons, a blender, and an empty jam jar and voila!  You have the perfect teacher gift or surprise for Grandma.

And people say my hyper creativity is only good for getting into trouble.

It was time.  Would she come?

The sun rose higher, blinding the baensee and bringing misty tears.

Then a shadow fell across them, and once again the baensee swayed with emotion.

The girl stood before them, her glossy hair flowing in a single line from the back of her head.  She wore a thick blue covering over her legs which hid the skin but accentuated her shape.  Around her waist was tied a soft, thick cloth, and her chest was wrapped in a brightly colored material which shimmered in the light.

She walked down the hill toward the baensee and a low moan escaped them.  As she drew closer they reached, touched the sparkling bits of metal and stone which dangled from her ears, caressed the fabric of her clothes.

A jangle of music cut through the morning sounds.

The girl pulled a slim, arcane device from her pocket and began speaking.

The baensee drew back, their wavering almost stilled by fear-touched awe.

The girl walked on, followed only by her shadow.

In the middle of the table was a box of Meat Lovers pizza.  Kyle sat on the kitchen counter with a large wedge in his hand, while Todd was leaned over the table to get another piece.  Todd looked up.

“Hey, it’s the old man!” he said.  Kyle sputtered into his piece, swallowed quickly. 

“That’s right,” he said.  “Ryan, I hear there’s a sale on walking sticks.  You should pick one up!”

Ryan folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe.  “Don’t you think that joke’s getting old?” he asked.  “I mean, surely there’s something funnier than pretending I’m going gray.”

At this the other two laughed harder.  Kyle grabbed another piece of pizza and went out the backdoor, whistling “For he’s a Jolly Good Fellow” as he went.

Ryan rolled his eyes and reached for the pizza.  He took a big bite, but avoided Todd’s eyes.

“You know, it wouldn’t be hard to dye it,” Todd said.  “If it bugs you.”

Ryan threw down the pizza and stood up.  “Todd, cut it out!  My hair is not gray.  I see it every morning and it’s not gray, okay?”  

” . . .Ummm, Ryan?”  Todd stood up.  “Come with me.  I’m really sorry, mate, but you’ve got to see this.”  He grabbed Ryan’s shoulder and pushed him toward the bathroom.  He reached into the cabinet under the sink and pulled out a shaving mirror. 

“Here,”  He said.  “Use this.”  He put the mirror into Ryan’s hands and turned him around. 

“This is stupid.”  Ryan said.  He raised the mirror.  “I don’t even need to  . . .”

He was silent, turning the mirror this way and that.

“Crap!  Where’d that big gray spot come from?”

I lay quietly under the table; just watching.  Missus had been so sad since Rusty, the old tom, had died.  I was willing to give this new thing a chance.  But she didn’t look promising.

She minced her way by me and I gave my attention to my bone.  When she’d moved on I turned my head so I could watch her without seeming too.

Chip and ‘Snuff, the ferrets, were playing with their rubber squeak toy.  Vanilla Ice came wandering up like she’d found something dirty on her rug, and just curled up, neat as you please, right around that toy.  Chip backed into the corner looking disconcerted, but ‘Snuff was made of sterner stuff.  He just jumped right on her fluffy little self and chomped down.

Vanilla shrieked, Missus scolded, and the ferrets went into their cage without the toy.  Poor fellows.  Never have learned that timing is everything.

I stayed under the table, meek as a lamb.

Missus was fussing over her food, as she’s wont to do.  Scrubbing it and what not.  Vanilla hopped up next to her, looking like the sweetest thing to every roll over and purr.

I just bided my time.

Vanilla butted her nose into the missus hand.  When that didn’t work, she tip-toed ’round the sink so she could try the other side, and I saw my moment.

“Woooff!”  I let out a rumble bark and lunged.

“Merowr!” Vanilla went into the full sink of water.

Missus started to scold, so I just scooped up my bone and headed for my crate.  Vanilla Ice was one sorry looking little rat, all dripping wet, when the missus dragged her out of the sink.

Yep, I’d be in my crate for some time, from the look of it.  But I didn’t mind.  The fellows and I had a better view from here, anyway.

Emily folded her hands in her lap, then placed one on the table and leaned back.  The tension around her eyes was joined by a finger stroking the velvet trim at the table edge.  Sarkin moved forward at a suave, unhurried pace.  He aproached from her right, so she didn’t see him coming.

His voice was charming but cool when he spoke.  “Sorry to keep you waiting.  Truly unreasonable traffic out there.”

Emily started.  ”Oh!  Hello, Mr.- Mr. Sarkin.”  She stuck out her hand and tried to rise, bumping into the table as she did.

Sarkin smiled, just parting his lips over even white teeth.  “Sarkin.  Just Sarkin,” he said.  He stepped behind her chair and held it, as if assisting her.  

As he came around the table he flicked his fingers at the waiter and gave the man both their orders.  When he was seated he leaned forward and pitched his voice just below the general noise in the restaurant.

“So, you have considered my proposal?” he asked.

Emily tried to laugh, but it came out a weak and timid thing.  “M- Sarkin, I’m really not sure why I came.  Surely this is a joke . . . of some sort?”  She flicked her eyes anxiously around the room.

“Emily.”  Sarkin let her name stand alone until she met his eyes.  “Do I seem a jesting man?”

She flushed, looking away again.  Quickly he touched her fingers with his hand, closed his hand over the tips of her fingers and drew her shivering palm into his.

“You are the king’s daughter,” he spoke in gentle, caressing tones.  “It may seem unbelievable, and yet it is so.  You have his quick wit, his dark eyes and curly hair,”  His voice dropped a notch.  “His royal birthmark.”  He went on quickly, sensing her weakening.  “You have been watched over since your birth by me and by my men.  It is time for you to be watched more openly.”

“But- “  Emily gave a feeble tug, then left her hand in his. “How could I not have known?  Why was there never any sign?”

Sarkin smiled, wrapped his fingers firmly about her hand.  She had begun to question, now she would begin to believe.  He set his voice at an intimate pitch, the better to explain persausively. 

The silhouette of a man joined her, his hand reaching.  Her voice punched up to a shriek, she tossed his hand away.

The shadow was now something more.  It oozed around the edge of the light.

The deep resonance of the man’s rumble joined the women’s voice.  They were shouting now, each trying to top the other, and the shadow soaked them in.  It rolled foward to lap at the base of the window.  Now it’s form found mass and took the shape of a coil, tensed and listening, ready to spring.

Nothing stirred.

Issret lay her head on a pillow of spun silver.  Her eyes were slits of gold.  Her body was still on her hoard.

Her ears caught a tiny sound, no more than the scratch of a mouse.

She roared into the air, claws extended and teeth flashing.  She would shred the intruder–add it’s body to the dust carpeting the floor.

She smiled and took her seat at the computer.  With the kids happily playing, she could finally get a few minutes to write down her thoughts and feel sane.

She logged on to her account, opened the program, and composed her mind to stillness.

“Mom?”

“What!”  Peace fled and she felt her musceles bunch as she turned to see her seven-year old standing before her.

“Can I have a bowl?” he asked.

Of all the idiotic . . .

“What do you need a bowl for?” she asked.  She went on without waiting for his answer.  “Don’t you know that this is my time?  I’ve told you a hundred times if I’ve told you once that you’re only allowed to have quiet time in the game room if you can stay in there and not bother me.  It’s off to your rooms, all of you!”

“But, Mom,”

“No buts.  If I have to count you’ll do a chore when you get out, understood?”

“But, Mom!”  He was desperate, near tears.  “Sara’s throwing up–she needs a bowl!”

Samuel could see the plaque from where he crouched in the custodial closet.  He watched the hall for another count to ten.  When no one came he eased the door open and stepped lightly into the hall.

Across the gleaming tiles.

Into Principal Bishop’s office.  Quickly now he went to the desk and crouched behind it.  His fingers flew over the keyboard and he sang softly, almost inaudibly, as he worked. 

“Little Jack Horner sat in the corner . . .”  He caught his tongue with his teeth.  His fingers continued to work, but with greater caution.

He tapped out a string of eight characters, waited.

His face lit and he laughed softly.  His fingers moved with confidance now. 

He smiled as he finished.  ” . . . what a good boy am I!”

He taped the return key and sprinted out the door.  As he dodged into a side hall and slipped into his classroom seat the alarms began to blare and the rush of running feet filled the halls. 

“So . . .” Laura said.  “The party’s over, Sheila won, and she also got Matt.”

Karen laughed, almost a sob.  “But we got a big bowl of candy!”

Laura squeezed Karen’s hand, giving her a sympathetic smile.  She leaned forward and grabbed a Dum Dum from the candy bowl and stood it up like a person. 

“Hi,” she squeaked.  “My name is Sheila, and I’m a thief.  I steal men and prizes and all your friends.”

Karen picked out a Kit Kat and stood it up.  “I’m Matt,” she said, deepening her voice.  “But you can’t steal me, ’cause Karen’s already eaten me!”  She ripped the package open and popped in the candy bar.

“Oh, no!” the Sheila Dum-Dum squeaked.  “Don’t eat my candy!”

Laura tossed aside the sucker and grabbed a baggie of Skittles.  “Watch this, Sheila,” she said.  She opened the bag and poured all the Skittle into her mouth.

“Oh, no!”  Karen said in the squeaky voice.  “You’ve eaten my rainbow!”  She laughed and popped in a Midnight Milky Way.

Laura dug into the bowl and got out all the Whoppers.  “You stay out of my candy!” she squeaked.  “Or I’ll fire up my cannon!”  She began throwing the Whoppers at Karen.

Karen caught the first two in her mouth, but the third caught her on the nose. 

“Hey, no fair!” she said.  She began ripping open candy and throwing it at Laura.  ”Whoever eats the most of Sheila’s candy wins!  The loser cleans up.”