Okay, I know Christmas was so last year (ha) but I can't let 6 days with my mom and brother escape without proper interweb fanfare. Here's the nutshell:
My mom ^ and her dog Bailey.
Skiing from the house hauling sixty pounds of kid. Love.
:: Of course...
:: The only photo documentation of our aborted attempt to access the family cabin (think stuck vehicles and windburn on little cheeks):(one day, I will make relatively matching pillowcases):
:: Christmas morning. My mother's ebelskivers (my childhood favorite); she gifted me the ebelskiver pan that was given to her by my paternal grandmother. (Now, she's passing the torch.)
My mom's going to hate that I put this photo on the internet, but I love it. It's so candidly her: genuine, happy. (In the background: Hazel slept through the first part of Christmas day.)
:: First thing that morning, with Juniper's love-hate obsessive relationship with Santa Claus, I first had to confirm that Santa had indeed left the house before Juniper would step foot in the living room. But then...she was over the moon about the rocking horse and stocking goodies Santa left and in fact told us proudly, "Santa made this in his workshop." Mid-way through, J bugs didn't want to miss a thing, not even for a potty break:
Overall, the whole gift-opening bit was too much. By the end, she would tear a strip off a box, turn and walk away without finishing the job or even looking to see what it was. As a parent who believes in keeping childhood natural and simple, I was happy to see that she didn't just keep wanting more, that she in fact wanted to stop. It's a good thing.
Taking a break with grandma to "be flamingos!":
Hazel was mostly into ribbons and eating bits of wrapping tissue. Also, she's our snuggler.
Juniper: "Uncle D, I had so much fun with you and Bailey The White Dog!"
In the words of blogger Amanda Soule,
"I find myself wanting to say to these growing older children of mine, emerging into the larger world as they are: "this, my loves, this is what it's all about. Not some silly headphones or gadget or 'thing' you may think or be told you need but will forget about in one months time or two years passing. The magic of the holiday, indeed of life, lies in these moments shared. These are the 'things' you will one day love most of all."