happy merry

26/365

things eaten over the last five days:

lemon tassies
fried pickles
mandarin oranges
mexican wedding cakes
deviled eggs
sugar cookies
avocado toast
pigs in blankets
candy canes
monkey bread
fruit salad
chocolate
like, a lot of chocolate

25/365

on this christmas day:

presents have been ripped open
christmas records have been played
monkey bread has been consumed
naps have been taken
my people are happy

(merry christmas, friends)

24/365

on this christmas eve:

songs have been sung
oranges have been put in stockings
quiet has set in
a weary world rejoices

22/365

things I remember about this christmas circa 1979:

divinity fudge and hard candy in glass bowls, spaghetti and meatballs for dinner

the sweet smell of my grandpa's pipe, the faint scent of beer

the snow white ceramic christmas tree with the tiny candy rainbow lights that always, always sat on top of my grandparents' enormous television set

the way I loved that darci doll, the one I'm holding in the photograph above, with her more generously proportioned body and her brassy brunette hair and the very, very professional little modeling portfolio she came with

the way my brother loved that howdy doody doll, the one he's holding in the photograph above, with his goofy grin and painted freckles and mouth made to tell a thousand kid jokes

my dad in that burgundy velour, my mom with that sterling silver locket 

the way we drank RC cola out of frosty aluminum cups in magenta and amber and royal blue

the way we snuck upstairs to listen to old 45s on my dad's suitcase record player and throw things down the laundry chute

the pallet of quilts and blankets my grandma laid out on the floor of the front room for the kids to sleep on

the way we fell asleep right there, to the blink of christmas lights and the sounds of barney miller on the television

18/365

things I still need to do:

send all the cards

wrap all the presents

bake all the things

17/365

overheard while writing letters to santa tonight:

"can I write small"
"can I write in pencil"
"are you going to read these"
"I'm serious, are you and dad going to read these"
"so what exactly are we writing to santa"
"I think I'm overthinking it"
"don't over think it, dad"
"it's just for fun, dad"
"you know, some small part of me still believes"

hello december

ready for you, december. ready for all of your things.

christmas times

still pretty much steeped in merriment here, even with all the hard things in the world. maybe because of all the hard things in the world. hope rooted in the humble birth of a savior.

peace and love and joy (and all of the things, all of them) to you and yours, friends.

any minute now

I have not put up the first christmas decoration. not one. wait, I take that back-- last monday, I hung a wreath on the front door, the one my mom gave me nearly a decade ago, the one that reminds of the one she used to hang on her front door every single year. from the outside, we look pretty merry. on the inside, we are not. well, not yet.

it's not for lack of desire. the truth is I've been buried with work, which is not necessarily something to complain about when you're freelance. happy to have the work, begging for the work (always) but it's the middle of december and there's no tree in this here house. no sap to pinch off the ends of branches, no tangles of string lights. the christmas records haven't even been brought out, the little forest does not yet live on the mantle. in fact, the closest we've come to christmas spirit around here happened sunday night, when we finally told ezra the buzz lightyear story. I couldn't believe, he'd never heard it. and for the first time (maybe ever), I read something aloud from my blog to him-- a story I'd written about him. friends, it was a good moment, one I'll always remember. the way he smiled as I read it to him, the questions he asked afterwards, the way we laughed and laughed. frankly, I wonder what my kids will think about the things I've written about them here. I wonder what our conversations will sound like once they go digging through the archives, especially during those early years, when they were littles, when they were my entire world and I was theirs, when raising them absolutely consumed me. and it still does, but it's different now.

the shift is coming, I can feel it. the spirit is about to hit this house hard. the christmas records are calling, all the way from their musty corner in the garage, the little trees are crying for the mantle. our tree is out there somewhere, waiting for us to bring it home.

today. today is the day.

decembering

steeped in december over here. which really just means I'm busy pinching sap off the ends of christmas tree branches to rub into the palms of my hands. you know, so I can breathe it in, every chance I get. recently, I showed up for a counseling session with a few stray pine needles stuck to the side of my cheek and, I don't know. I think this means I might be doing it right.

am trying to find places for all the christmas things in this new house. am playing all the records, singing all the songs, baking all the things. in other words, decembering. because december is something you do but also, something you feel. december is the celebration of a birth, the birth is hope and without this hope, we are nothing.

p.s. I'm also over at habit this month, contributing when I can. that is, when I've not got my face buried deep in the branches of a christmas tree.

sundays (51/52)

sunday, december the 22nd: neon candies, ward's little gingerbread house, christmas records on repeat, string lights in great abundance, ava's tiny gingerbread castle, the way I will remember the decorations, minecraft in full effect, ezra's military gingerbread fort (cherry sours= ammunition), a beloved childhood ornament along with sweet drawings from the kids, more happy-making, my gingerbread house, the little forest that comes out once a year to live on the mantle.

it's been three years since we've been in our own home for christmas. three years. as much as we miss family, it feels good to slow down for a second, feels good to be quiet. feels good to bake in my own kitchen, wake up in my own bed on christmas eve. didn't even know how much I missed it all until now.

(sundays sundays sundays) (wrapping up the project this week)

because, christmas

am currently steeped in that lovely thing they call christmas. am back to pinching the ends off christmas tree branches for the smell of the sap, falling asleep with all the christmas lights on. am sneaking bites of leftover red velvet birthday cake in the middle of the night, waking up with teeth tinged pink. am realizing just how much I love the smell of scotch tape. scotch tape= wrapped presents.

am teaching my kids the carols I grew up singing, the ones that celebrate the birth of jesus. the ones I used to sing so loud I thought my ears would pop off, thought my cheeks would burst from the happy. am remembering my big part in the church pageant, my one big line and how I tripped over the hem of my floor-length ivory dress on the way to the microphone stand. am remembering the way I popped right back up, how the adults in the audience struggled to stifle their laughter while tears burned my eyes. I delivered that line anyway. LIKE A CHAMP. nothing could destroy my christmas spirit, I tell you. nothing.

am not suppressing the sadness. but I'm not swimming in it either. am setting out her little trees, baking her cookies, singing her songs. am remembering just how special she made each christmas, how much of a gift that was. am doing everything I can to keep that part of her alive. am celebrating even when I feel like crying because, christmas. christmas.

hello december

hello christmas tree, hello house that smells like childhood. hello december. I am somewhere between wide open arms and wishing I could skip you altogether. am living squarely in the space between. but you're here, december. and there's really nothing I can do about it. what I can do is pinch sap off the ends of christmas tree branches, wear it like perfume. eat clementines, make salted caramels. set out the little forest, jump on the couch with the kids. celebrate the birth, sing the songs. and ride the waves, ride all the waves.

the good bits

these are times we will remember, times we will talk about when we are old. these are photographs we'll want to climb inside and relive.

merry merry

well, in a last minute turn of events, we ended up someplace completely different for christmas. two airplanes, one bright red rental car and a few days of rigorous traveling found us on the opposite end of the country. and it's not what I planned, it's not what I'd originally hoped for but it was good, it was solid. it was time with family, with people we love. copious amounts of that joyous thing called merriment. I miss my mom and dad but I am thankful.

and I know I am late with this but merry merry to you! the merriest, friends.

spirit

and so it is december. apparently, I am the last to know. am mustering up everything in me to make christmas magic around here, I am tapping the reserves. not sure where it's all going to come from but there are two children here and they are waiting for the little forest that lives on the mantle. they are waiting for the kooky little gold glittered santa boot that I bring out every year, for the santa mugs that line the bathroom window sill. they are waiting for christmas records and christmas picture books, for shiny old bulbs and sparkly white lights, for the scent of fresh cut christmas tree to fill the house. they are waiting for the jolly and the merry. my head is worlds away but I will get there this week. I know that I will.

the last of the year

the last of the last of 2010, friends. out with a bang. a quiet bang, but still. tomorrow= 2011.