Moving, the Process

This is a picture of Eden at the airport yesterday, her one tantrum of our travels, which happened to take place almost in baggage claim, right in front of the crowd eagerly awaiting their loved ones from the flight.This morning as I faced the unpacked house, the mass of empty boxes, and Ben's utterly different packing philosophy, I embodied this photo perfectly, so perfectly that Silas and Eden, like a little Greek chorus sitting at the breakfast table, kept saying, "why were you so mean to daddy? why? why were you so mean to daddy?" Since, when the mouth is full of rage there is no appropriate answer to give a two and four year old asking this question, I stormed into the kitchen. Only fifteen boxes/three hours later could I bring myself to call him and say sorry. (We are working on resolving conflicts in front of Silas, so at dinner I had to apologize all over again).

Amy gave me soup, coffee and her company all day long (i.e. sanity). And other friends took Silas and Eden to play, brought cookies, boxes, and groceries. (thank you!!)

I am now tucked into bed feeling jet lagged and groggy. The kids are asleep and I can hear Ben dragging boxes around upstairs. We aren't quite ready, but in the morning, movers will appear and take these packed and half-packed things to the pink house that i can't quite imagine living in, and we will start something new.

Our Visit

It's 9AM and suddenly the house is empty. My parents left for the airport, KJ drove off to the mountains, and Ben left while it was still dark. My mom always talks about how in a breath the house transforms from a flurry to stillness. Usually I am in the flurry, but today, I sit at the counter in the quiet pause that follows departure.

I feel a little restless: the tug in my chest I always feel when I leave Washington; the awareness that I still, despite the three full suitcases, have many things to gather and zip up; the anticipation of packing and moving when I get home.

Instead of springing to action, I am sitting at the counter drinking lychee tea and looking at pictures. The time has been full, "magical" as Ben said last night, a dose of everything.

Here are some pictures:

The babe we met for the first time, cousin Jesh:


brief snow:
the cathedral:


baking:


new york with Ben:
the pageant:


Christmas morning:

my sister's crocheted gifts (greatness):

The Twelve Days of Christmas

Yesterday I was going to write a post called "The Twelve Days of Christmas: the Pros and Cons," and it was going to say something like this:

After Silas and Eden gave each other their one present weeks ago and reveled in it, I began thinking that there is a certain brilliance in the Twelve Days of Christmas philosophy: Why not spread Christmas over several days to savor the gifts and avoid the ravenous ripping through that can happen Christmas morning?

Though the idea sounded great, I could think of no easy way to follow through with it, especially once here. But despite that, our Christmas really did shake into several days: We had California sibling Christmas, cousin/Eli and Hollie Christmas, and Newcott Christmas Eve all before Christmas. The pro's were everything I'd imagined: the slow wending through the season, through the presents, and the lack of one big binge. But as of yesterday, we had celebrated so many Christmases, that I could hardly keep in my mind that actual Christmas was still on the way - the clear con. I have always loved Christmas and been one to soak in its magic. But as of yesterday, I felt detached from all Christmas music, Christmas trees, and any sense of anticipation. Bummer.

[Enter today's blog: The Twelve Days of Christmas]
But then last night, after a day of Newcott Christmas, a mid-day of settling sadness that Cindy wasn't here, that we, again, sit at the brink of family change, we all headed to the church where Ben and I grew up for the children's Christmas service. Immediately, we were ushered into a side room where Max (my brother) and his 3 year old son were already wearing shepherd's clothing. They had volunteered our family, too -- Silas was quickly laden with sheep-dress and Eden made into an angel. Though Ben wasn't there yet, we were told that he was listed in the program as a shepherd too (he ran there). There we were, residents of a state across the country, fat in the middle of a church that had been our home for so many years, in a play. I LOVED it, and sat in the front row taking pictures of my little costumed family.

And while we sat in one of the more chaotic services -- instruments for all -- shaking my maracca to the Christmas carols, I listened to their words about light coming to me -- something I need so much -- healing, life. And I thought about birthdays and birthday parties. I love birthday's, especially my own. And I love birthday parties. I thought about how even when I don't feel like going to someone's party, I go because I love them and it's their day. So sitting there, I told God that I'd shake off my blah's and rise to the occasion, yes, I'd come to the party. It sounds silly, I know, but I made him a cake, just like I was a 7 year old, and piled it high with whipped cream, marshmallows and sprinkles. And thanks to my sister's prompting, the kids and I put out cookies and milk for Santa and a carrot for the reindeer. After they fell asleep, we all filled the stockings FULL, and went to bed with the twinkle of Christmas reignited.

And today, the twelveth day of Christmas, was the best Christmas day yet.

In the Kitchen

Tonight my dad made eggnog; my sister, a huge bowl of salsa; my mom, french toast bread pudding; and I, a carrot cake, all at the same time in the kitchen. We talked loudly over the old mixer and waited for measuring cups and mixing bowls. Eli sat holding 5 month old Jesh, whose little head bobbed and watched us all, and Hollie drifted in and out of the room, her bread patiently rising on the counter.

At home, I love to be in the kitchen alone -- a corner of the house where I can unlock my mind to wander as I work with my hands for a few brief moments in perfect allowance.

But here, at my parents' house, I spend about 80% of my waking time in their kitchen with family, eating, talking, watching whatever's being made or sorted or discussed.

There are few places I'd rather be.

Last Hurrah

The party felt like a goodbye party to the house; it's held us well.

(banner idea from katie did)

an Eggnog Extravaganza of sorts

When I was a kid, the night before my parents' annual eggnog party, my dad and uncle would disappear to the basement for hours of eggnog concocting. I could hear the thrum of the electric mixer knit with their voices and would poke my head downstairs to watch. It was always a night of chemistry, as they tweaked the recipe and jotted notes on the index card my dad kept in his yellow plastic recipe box.

When I was in high school and college, I began sitting in on the sessions a little longer, learning how to beat the yolks to death, to pour the liquor in a tiny steady stream. After Ben and I lived in California a few years, we decided to throw our own eggnog party; making my own frothy batch felt a palpable rite of passage. Each time we make it (this year was our 5th time), I have a wow-ed sense of accomplishment, that I have invoked my father, his mother, his mother's mother, and on back, in my own kitchen.

Last year I was clever enough to jot myself a note: 4 dozen eggs for eggnog this year -- perfect! Long story short, my note was faulty; 4 dozen eggs was a larger amount than I had EVER made before. So large, that it overflowed both of my biggest pots and left me at 11PM with no container big enough to combine the halves:

Yolks/liquor/milk

to be combined with egg whites/whipped cream:
I stood in the kitchen staring at my two largest pots, filled, and at more egg whites and whipped cream than I'd ever seen. Ben breezed in and out holding various pliers and announcing he was turning off the water. After looking between the pots, I finally got in my car; we had nothing large enough. Thankfully, a friend was awake and met me in her driveway with a cooler that we swapped for a bigger cooler. At home, I stood in the dark cold scrubbing it in the hose and then went about the work of combining:
In the end, it all worked. I did have to dump some eggnog residue down the drain of the complex, which I'm pretty sure I wasn't supposed to do, but at the party there was eggnog for all. I will note for next year that 4 dozen (though unprecedented) was the perfect amount but to be sure I have large buckets on hand.

interpretation

A conversation between Silas and Eden while listening to Christmas carols in the car:

song: everybody knows some turkey and some mistletoe

Eden: turkey head!?

Silas: no, Eden, turkey hand.