You are going to find out just how crazy this can get.

The picture looks serene, but don’t be fooled. This is the Crazy Person’s Diary.

Ok, this is a little out of season. (I know) but this really was the best out of all my WIP’s in this area so here it goes.

Your introduction to the story; Christmas Eve.

Keep reading.

A short and relatively random intro to the large and various cast.

The Cracy’s

·         -Mr. Cracy (Adam)

·         -Mrs. Cracy (Katie)

·         -Eve (14)

·         -Jack (9)

·         -James (9)

·         -Lily (4)

The Green’s

·         -Mr. Green, Uncle Greg (Greg)

·         -Mrs. Green, Aunt Hannah

·         -Daniel (Dan) (16)

·         -Rebecca (Becca) (15)

·         -Ann (13)

·         -Cecilia (Ceci) (11)

·         -Nathaniel (Nate) (7)

·         -Benjamin (Ben) (4)

·         -Jane (1)

The Wood’s

·         -Mr. Wood, Uncle Derek

·         -Mrs. Wood, Aunt Ruby

·         -Leah (16)

·         -Carol (14)

·         -Holly (13)

The Clement’s

·         -Mr. Clement, Uncle William

·         -Mrs. Clement, Aunt Angelica

·         -Rupert (15)

·         -Edmund (14)

·         -John (10)

·         -Henry (8)

·         -Catherine (3)

Some short and rather interesting descriptions of the featured families.

The Cracy’s

The Cracy’s are our main character’s family. They are from Oklahoma. They live on a small farm and run a country farm store.

The Green’s

The Greens are our secondary characters’ family; they all like nicknames and are very wild, living in Colorado and raising buffalo. Dad’s a computer whiz, and Mom is a pioneer, still trying to convince her husband to settle in Greenland.

The Wood’s

The Woods are from California. They live in a glamorous apartment with their ‘viral’ mother and talent show announcer father.

The Clement’s

Mr. Clement came from England, where he met Angelica in New York; they married and moved to Pennsylvania. He has a major in philosophy, and Angelica is an artist. 

Note: The Wood’s are on Mr. Cracy’s side of the family. Everybody else is Mrs. Cracy’s siblings.

The Tradition:

The Cracy’s would spend the week before Christmas with their cousins in Colorado yearly.

They would leave on the 20^th of December each year and arrive home before Christmas Eve.

And now, for the story…

Chapter One

Christmas, the time of year with the fat guy and tons of presents.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Christmas. It is a beautiful time of year that has been imprinted on my heart forever.

Maybe too imprinted.

I will explain. It all started on the 17^th of December. It started snowing early, and people said it would keep snowing. Was that good? How should I know? Since I had never experienced a white Christmas, I should have been excited…

Shielding my face from the repulsively bitter wind, I stamped across the frozen pavement, hoping not to hit an unexpected patch of ice.

My nose was buried so deep in my thin scarf, knitted by some distant relative, that I couldn’t see from all the loose strands of yarn floating in my snow-blurred vision.

Why did I get elected to fetch the mail?

Staying at your cousin’s house in Aspen, Colorado, is bad enough, but getting to walk down their five-mile driveway in below-zero weather was worse.

‘Fresh air will do you good Eve,’ quote my mom. ‘Besides, it would be best if you had some alone time.’

So she says, I’d rather have a sleepover at my grandparent’s house on the ‘guest bed,’ a.k.a. an actively deflating air mattress.

The blurry outline of the mailbox appears like an apparition floating in a sea of luminous snowflakes, signaling the end of the first half of my journey.

I stop gratefully to rest my aching, frozen legs.

A sudden thought struck me as I headed forward to open the mailbox. How would said mailman reach this snowbound mailbox?

Reaching up and tugging in vain at the frozen handle, another thought crept into my distrustful mind.

If, by some miracle, he did reach the mailbox, how on earth did he open it?

The mailbox relented and opened to reveal its bare and empty insides.

Oh, I can’t wait to hear the excuse this time.

* * *

I staggered up the steep front steps to the Green’s house.

Pushing down the frozen door handle, I threw my whole weight against the door, slightly bruising my shoulder.

The door flew open, throwing me indoors like a bundle of half-frozen clothes. (which was pretty accurate.)

I yanked off my scarf and coat, soaking the warmth of the indoors into my skin. I looked down into a pair of wide brown eyes.

Benjamin, the second youngest of the Greens, who was exactly four years old, was staring at me.

Sometimes, little kids can get on your nerves.

Summoning up all my kind thoughts, I bent down to his eye level and smiled.

“And what would you like?” I asked sweetly. Ben smiled brightly and pulled out three large letters from behind his back.

“You take mail?” He lisped, fixing his ginormous cow eyes on me.

My smile turned down somewhat. “Why don’t you ask your sister to take it?”

Ben shook his head sorrowfully, “She not happy.”

I nodded, “I can relate.”

I stood to finish, taking off my cold-weather gear.

Ben watched me thoughtfully.

I bent down and started the struggle with my boots, balancing on one foot. I yanked at them savagely in an attempt to loosen their death grip on my frozen, unflexible feet.

I gave up on my left foot and tried my right one. Looking back down at Ben, I grimaced. Ben smiled, grabbed hold of my boot, the one still on the floor, and yanked. Down I went, sprawling on the floor in a tangled heap with Ben.

Ben started howling.

Over his wails, I managed to promise a food bar, and peace descended over his features. As he led me away to fulfill my promise, I gazed longingly at the empty sofa. 

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

I was caught up in the evening bustle of preparing dinner. The Greens and the Clements were large families and, including us, created twelve kids, not counting the parents.

We were expecting a new family this year, this time from Dad’s side.

The Woods.

 Mom didn’t talk much about them, and as enthusiastic as the Greens were about meeting ‘the other side,’ I had doubts.

They had three kids. I don’t remember ever meeting them. According to my dad, they lived in luxury on the other side of the world.

The other side of the world being California.

I guess he wants to forget that he used to live there.

A tall, gangly, spectacled youth with mousy brown hair bumped my elbow, causing me to splash soup over the counter.

His eyes grew wide behind his round glasses. “P-pardon me.” He stuttered, “I didn’t s-see you.”

“That’s all right, Edmund,” I said. The troubled boy picked up his bowl and hurried off.

Uncle William swept into the kitchen. That was the only way to describe it. When a man who wears only old English trousers, new England shirts and keeps a monocle in his pocket walks into a room, he likes to view it in very low regard.

“Did Edmund upset you, Eve?” He asked, viewing the spilled soup distastefully.

“It’s quite all right,” I said, mopping the soup with a paper towel. “It’s a small spill.” Uncle William sniffed and swept back out of the room.

Sighing, I picked up my spoon and continued ladling soup into bowls. My little sister now made her entrance.

“Are we having pizza?” She asked, with all the regality a four-year-old could muster. I raised my eyebrows and gestured silently to the soup bowls.

Adapting an atrocious stink face, Lily crossed her arms.

“We want pizza.” She announced. I sighed loudly and turned my back to her.

Then, I stopped mid-scoop. “We?” I echoed, turning around.

A posse of young children had now flooded the kitchen, armed with the power of vocal persuasion. I slowly counted them to delay the inevitable.

My twin brothers, Jack and James, Nate, Ben, Henry, Catherine, and, of course, Lily. Peering into the shadows of the back kitchen wall, I saw the figures of Henry, Cecilia, and Ann, watching with great interest.

Wielding my ladle like a sword, I brandished it before me.

“I don’t have any pizza, and you won’t get any dessert if you attempt anything!”

Just then, the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it!” I shouted, dropping the ladle and running to the front door.

I tugged open the door and was unexpectedly blinded by the glaring light of sparkles and sequins.

On the doorstep stood a model family. The mother, 5” 8’, high heels, a glittery winter coat, manicured nails, makeup, and a dazzling hairdo.

Three daughters likewise bedecked with their smartphones at their every command. Plus, their freshly pressed father with slicked-back hair and a million-dollar smile.

“Welcome?” I said, awkwardly attempting to hide the soup stains on my shirt with my arm.

The tallest girl (or the one wearing the biggest high heels) sniffed and stepped daintily past me, followed by the two other girls, their status marked by heel height.

I looked over at the Father, who looked me up and down.

“Is this..” he hesitated, “…the Greens home?”

“Yes,” I said, “but I am not a Green, I’m a Cracy.”

“Oh?”

“Welcome,” I said again, “Mr. and Mrs. . . . ?”

“Wood,” the mom said hurriedly. (Apparently, her husband was taking too long.)

“I am your aunt Ruby,” she declared, looking at me intently as if my reaction was required for her to enter the house.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, “Won’t you come in?”

 Stepping into the house and dragging her husband behind her she looked around.

“How quaint,” she remarked, “very sweet indeed.”

I shifted my feet awkwardly, wishing for all the world that I could disappear.

Then, to my great joy, a sudden bang erupted from the kitchen.

Mr. and Mrs. Wood jumped.

“What on earth was that?” Mrs. Wood exclaimed, looking at me severely.

“I must go see,” I said, sending a silent prayer of thanksgiving heavenward. I quickly retreated to the kitchen, leaving a shocked Mrs. Wood behind.

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