Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?
-Mary Oliver

09 January, 2012

The Long Overdue Christmas Post

I know, I know. It's been a long time. But here's the thing. I don't know what to write about Christmas. I didn't know last year either.  But what I will say is that Christmas was delightful. New Year's is another story, but oh...Christmas.

I love Christmas. And just in case anyone is reading this who I haven't forced to listen to White Wine in the Sun, you should listen to it. No, really. I'll wait.

...

So good, right? It is my favorite Christmas song. Maybe just my favorite song.

I started with baking what I think is technically known as a "metric shit-ton" of cookies and then drove all over the Metro area delivering them to friends, who very graciously allowed me to intrude upon them pretty much unannounced. It was a good night.

010


013


Then it was out to Ortonville for some family time. A lot of family time.

120


115


081


391


378


134


393


139


172


153


200


213


179


243


Interspersed with all the craziness and cooking and tantrums and games of monster vs. super-monster vs. super-duper-monster were the little quiet moments that are my favorite things about being alive.

Like seeing so many watercolor sunrises and sunsets, it was hard to keep track of them.

368


002


358


411


A walk on a frozen slough with Ricardo and Mother.

066


068


Finding the nativity set I made when I was little. Its shoddy/adorable craftsmanship never fails to reduce me to tears of laughter.

329


334


Setting out all the presents after the littles had gone to bed on Christmas Eve.

166


164


Waking up early on Christmas day, but waiting until I heard the pounding of little feet running down the stairs to get up.

162


Just my mom and dad and me in the kitchen, finishing up the filling for the chicken pot pie.

264


302


Teaching the little ones the art of setting a table for company.

317


Cat (and dog) naps.

297


007


Another walk on the frozen slough, but alone and at night. And because of the cracking and shifting ice and the howling coyotes, it sounded like a Stephen King horror novel. Alone. At night. In the very, very dark. It was exhilarating. But the best part was climbing back up the hill towards what will always be my home.

405


You know. Quiet little moments like that.