No childhood is perfect, but when I reflect on my Christmas memories, I must admit that most of them are pretty darn good. My mom was always big on holidays, so for me and my little brother, Christmas meant stringing popcorn, baking cookies, making handmade ornaments, watching The Grinch Who Stole Christmas and going caroling. (My mom is generally a pretty quiet person, but for some reason, she’s close to obnoxious when it comes to door-to-door caroling!)

I remember when I was 16, I came into the kitchen one morning for breakfast. I wasn’t greeted with my mother’s usual, “Good morning,” but rather by a look of shock mixed with a slight hint of amusement.
“Shellie, where did you get that?” she asked, trying to hold back her laughter.

What Bono does for AIDS awareness, Becca Stevens does for prostitutes. Of course, I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting Bono, but I have seen some interviews, and he seems to be a really cool guy; someone who is celebrated as one of the most influential philanthropists of our time (cool) and yet his focus seems to be more on his cause than the fame he’s gained from it (so much cooler).

Cold feet. That’s the best way to describe how I felt when my sweet, smart, loving, committed boyfriend of four years and I started talking seriously about marriage.