An Open Christmas Card from the Klongerbos (2024)

A(nother) Klongerbo Christmas letter, by Troy Klongerbo

*****

“Taynchoo… My-ose?”

Translated, from Calvin-speak, to “Thank you, Miles,” that is the way nine out of ten bedtime prayers start in our household.

Miles, Calvin’s now-eight-year-old cousin, has entrenched himself at the onset of every bedtime prayer. One can’t help but wonder if it’s paid placement.

We imagine Miles is so cloaked in prayer, we’ve asked his parents, “So, Kyle and Amy, have you noticed Miles radiating, levitating, or otherwise speaking in tongues?”

It’s the same routine every night for us. We recite the order to Calvin. He always — conveniently — forgets that “change diaper” is the first step.

But he does always remember that “pray to Jesus” is last.

The full order is: change our diaper, put on our pajamas, put on our sleep sack, brush our teeth, read a book, and pray to Jesus.

If we forget either of his favorites — read a book, or pray to Jesus — his eyes will fill with tears as he looks up to us, mumbling, “Pay da Je-sus…”

There’s a reason Christ draws close to the hearts of children, as disclosed in Matthew 19:

“Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.”

–Matthew 19:14

Children are so pure. And we should emulate so much more about these littles than we do. Their innocence, their trust, their love, I could go on.

Every night, while Sarah puts Wesley to bed, I’m one room over with Calvin.

Our evening prayers are pretty much a recital of “taynchoos.” As in, Calvin repeating, “Thank you,” then listing whatever comes to his mind.

Always, of course, led by Miles.

“Taynchoo My-ose… Taynchoo bear… Taynchoo Mommy… Tanchoo Wesley and Pali and Mommy and Laken and Mimi and Tia and Daddy and Mommy….”

He’s a thankful boy.

To get us off of the “taynchoo” train, I’ve worked to incorporate other elements of prayer into our routine. I want Calvin to learn that prayer is more than just a heart of thankfulness (though he truly has the main part correct).

One night, I decided to pray about anxiety, something I’ve found myself experiencing more as I’ve taken on increased responsibility in 2024. I know that, despite being only two years old, Calvin’s little ears can understand things, so I started praying…

“Lord, we cast our anxieties on you. We know the work you did on the cross was enough for us. I pray that you continue to bury the truths of your Word into our lives and strip away the lies of anxiety…”

…And I was interrupted by “Mr. Taynchoo” himself.

“Taynchoo boogahs?”

I recoiled.

“We don’t thank Jesus for boogers,” I said, a sentence I’d never considered before.

And honestly, I’m probably wrong. We should likely all be more thankful for them.

I sometimes rush our evening routine, exhausted after a long day. From 5:45 a.m. until bedtime prayers at 7:45 p.m., it’s all go. Business, house, kids, activities, etc.

For those of you who know busy careers and have young, dependent children — you get it.

It’s easy to want to breeze through the books and the prayers and get downstairs to unwind. I check myself constantly.

“Someday, these little shoulders won’t be able to fit into this chair next to you…. Notice that it’s already getting snug, Troy?”

The self-talk is crippling. It bears a false hope that simply being aware of time’s passing will cause it to slow — a futile effort. Amidst it all, I aim to cherish.

“The only thing an old man can tell a young man is that it all goes fast, real fast, and if you’re not careful, it’s too late. Of course, the young man will never understand this truth.”

–Norm MacDonald

Speaking of fast, the first six months of little Wesley’s life have been a blur.

I use “little Wesley” loosely.

His gummy smiles are a constant in our house, as are the many “folds” of his body.

He received a stuffed animal from Sarah’s aunt and uncle at birth: a whale. Though they assured us that it had nothing to do with his almost-nine-pound body, and that their daughter had picked it out without knowing anything about him, a whale does suit Wesley.

He’s calm. Slow. And, yes, quite full-figured.

Wes is such a sweet boy, his mere presence a source of peace.

He only fusses if he needs something. And the checklist is short.

He’s had plenty of Mommy time this year, filling out his little body with the all-you-can-drink milk bar. We count all of the folds during diaper changes. We call him our little “Squishmallow.”

He’s so squishy and so happy.

Spitting up semi-constantly, Wesley has become a fast friend of Pali, who loves clean-up duty. It’s gross, yes, but we’ve already talked about thanking God for boogers, so I’m not sure what else you’d expect from this letter.

Calvin is, even in his early words, a one-liner machine. He says all sorts of funny things (and makes all sorts of funny faces). He loves giggling.

Even though he doesn’t put up much of a fight, he absolutely loves wrestling with his parents. He’s a boy, through and through.

At two and a half, Calvin’s language skills are developing on a pretty much weekly basis. He’s into almost full sentences now, something we credit to his reading several books a night. The boy loves books.

His favorite things are Mickey Mouse, Woody and Buzz, “Welcome” (what he calls Maui from Moana, who sings the song “You’re Welcome”), Rex, Goofy, Donald Duck, and all the others.

His mother took him to Disney On Ice in December. I’m pretty sure it was the highlight of both of their lives.

Our love for our two boys is deep. And their love for each other is already budding, sharing hugs and smiles already.

We are blessed.

*****

The big news for the year was a move into our new home in the Tomar area of Sioux Falls back in February.

We moved into a classic-style home built in the early 1970s. We’ve spent the year making it home.

The story is incredible. It’s a heritage home, owned by one family for the past 55+ years. Through a happenstance connection by our realtor, a connection found between grandfathers, and a few heartfelt notes, we were able to get to know the homeowners.

In their graciousness, they saw the vision Sarah and I held for our lives and agreed to give us the opportunity to purchase it. I suspect we’ll be here for the next three decades or more, barring anything unforeseen.

I’ve been working on a piece to tell the story. When it’s ready, I’ll publish.

In other family news, Calvin and Wesley both attend a new daycare in Sioux Falls and enjoy it, Calvin learning things and Wesley getting snuggles.

Sarah and I both work.

Sarah’s work has remained unchanged. She spends the majority of her focus growing her copywriting studio, Quotable Copy, while still working very part-time as a copywriter at a digital marketing agency, Till.

We are grateful for the flexibility this arrangement has offered our family as we grow.

Although it was initially hard for Sarah to go back to work (as she wrote about here), she loves her work.

I’m a Working Mom of Two Boys — Now What?

Through Quotable Copy, Sarah has been able to serve dozens of female-owned creator businesses in 2024. She is poised for continued growth in 2025.

Need a writer? Reach out.

Still not sure what Quotable Copy is? Google has your answer:

As for my own work, things are growing and maturing at Mount Haley, our small private equity firm.

My main focus is as the general manager of Homestead Living, a publishing and media company in the homesteading space with over 45,000 paid readers and a growing roster of wonderful books (see Daily Sourdough, Everything Worth Preserving, and Freeze Drying the Harvest). The company has been able to grow tremendously in 2024.

I still service a handful of close-to-heart legacy clients through Fisheye Marketing, namely The Prairie Club and Premier Bee Products, companies in which I have personal interests.

My partners at Mount Haley — Darrell, Paul, Jeremy, and Brandon — are life-giving and talented.

Our team at Homestead Living is incredible and passionate.

My Fisheye clients allow me to pour out my creative efforts to help them grow.

I am blessed to do meaningful work.

*****

In 1973, Loudan Wainwright wrote about “The Man Who Couldn’t Cry.” Aside from losing an arm in the war, I relate with the song.

“There once was a man and he couldn’t cry

He hadn’t cried for years and for years…”

–Loudan Wainwright

While receiving LASIK surgery a few years ago, I was told that my tear glands underproduce — so much so, the staff had to supplement to make certain my eyes had enough moisture for the procedure.

It’s medical, you see?

These are the years, with these sweet littles, where thinking back over them will be what breaks me. Or so I hope.

Someday soon, I’ll break Wainwright’s curse.

If you’d like a month-by-month recap, my wife is an expert with these things; she’ll help me add photos with brief captions below.

Thank you all for the love and presence in our lives.

Our Lord and Savior is born, a gift from heaven. He wants a relationship with all of us. Isn’t that incredible?

Merry Christmas,

–Troy and the Klongerbo family: Sarah, Calvin, Pali, and Wesley