December food

Well now, that was some morning!

The trouble with having Christmas Eve fall on a Tuesday is that half of humanity takes Monday off from work to do food shopping. I should have anticipated that. I should have picked any other day in the month to shop, other than today. However, like everyone else, I thought -- my, that's convenient! Shop on Monday, cook on Tuesday! 

Mistake.

Here's another mistake: I woke up early (significantly before sunrise) and I decided to try to figure out what combination of physical indicators might lead you to diagnose yourself with one thing or another. I came up with a theory and I was excited to tell Ed about it. His response: A.I. could do it better at one hundredth the amount of time. Feed me the indicators and let's see what happens! -- he suggests.  

He was right, of course. Same diagnosis (So A+ for me for coming up with it in the first place), but much more nuanced and of course, speedy as the devil. Ed's been rather obsessed with AI lately, feeding it all sorts of questions on machine design. Perhaps not surprisingly, he has been very impressed with its capabilities. The reason I mention it here though is that the whole "game" threw off my schedule. Not enough sleep, and, too, I lingered in bed luxuriously while he read out loud funny articles about "shouses" (combination houses and very large garages) and people's comments in the paper -- all well and good, but as a result, I began the day focused on stuff other than what I should be doing. I was running late before I even got out of bed! And all this playing around with questions and answers? It will come back to haunt me later in the day.

Animals were impatient. The snow? Starting to melt.

And then -- here's the really stupid thing: I decided that I would "run out" to the grocery store to pick up foods from my holiday list before we sat down to breakfast.

Be back in an hour! -- I shouted up to Ed. 

Ha.

Ha.

Ha.

True, I had to stop at TWO grocery stores because the first ran out of meat. I buy red meat exactly once a year -- for the fam, for Christmas. I guess I did not remember that you have to preorder it. Oops!

Big crowds in both stores. I mean, hugely big crowds! But, I got it done. And I pulled into our driveway in time for breakfast at... 12:30 p.m.

Things aren't that bad. The house is warm, the lights on the tree are especially delightful because it is rather drab outside. W're having a very light snow fall, changing to rain this afternoon.

 

A friend stopped by with an annual gift of a homemade nut roll. I find this to be a really warm and kind gesture. There is no reciprocity here: we dont bake treats for people, let alone bring it to them. And yet, here we are, on the receiving end again. 

 

And this is how it gets to be dusk before you even sit down and allow yourself to feel the beauty of this pre-holiday evening. Unfortunately, that tranquility doesn't last. It is about now that I get an email from my doc's office. "You should be checked out by a real medical person (rather than by AI)..." Wait, you're telling me this at 5p.m.?  When it's already dark and your offices are closed and tomorrow's Christmas Eve?? 

Dutifully, I follow her orders and drive myself to the hospital. I'd rather do it tonight than waste time on it tomorrow. And of course, I'm fine.

And that's how the day got filled to overflowing. But tomorrow -- ah tomorrow. The day before Christmas, when all through the house...

 

 

with love....

December in wraps

There is no time for putting it off. No wiggle room here. It's now or never. I must wrap.

But first, well, can I interest you in some time spent on animal care? (Ever since the snow came down, the chickens refuse to leave the barn.)

And too, my friend is in town! Breakfast, morphing into the lunch hour, downtown. 

(the drive in...)

Haven't you heard -- adult time is very important, especially when you are 71!

And it is the last day of snow on the ground weather. So we must ski. Who knows when an opportunity will next present itself.

Finally. Get to work, Nina. 

Ed, I'm so sorry, but there will be many boxes and a mess and it will look awful here for a few hours... I suggest hiding in the sheep shed! He obliges. Hanging out with the cats in the shed is a priority of his in any event.

(I hide packages, once wrapped, in various corners of the play room; I've learnt not to flaunt Christmas too much in Ed's face.)

At long last I make progress. [Once again I vow to myself that I really will keep gifts under the 24 by 12 inch rule. Small is good! Right? Right??? Wrapping is more of a chore for me because I use recyclable paper and tape does not like recyclable paper; but it is especially a chore when the items are.... not tiny.]

I call Ed back and cook up some fish and spinach for supper. May as well inch into days of holiday indulgence feeling like I paid my dues in healthy eating. 

Hey, how about we watch Love, Actually? 

We've seen it many. Many. Times. 

I dont push it. The guy is so accepting of my holiday madness. Ok my love. You want to watch Pete the farmer rebuild his old truck? We can do that. Life is all about balance.

with love...

December solstice

How beautiful it is outside! How cold. Winter solstice, perfectly presented.

I have an unusual and supremely helpful calendar quirk this year: Christmas Eve is on Tuesday. From then until New Year's Eve, nothing will move slowly. But I have three days now to get ready. The kids are spending time with other grandparents and on their own holiday preparations. Ed and I have a very quiet farmhouse. Three whole days of it! Enough time for getting things in order, don't you think?

 

 

You know the saying -- "Kto nie doznal goryczy ni razu, Ten nie dozna slodyczy w niebie?" Well, okay, perhaps you don't know it. They're words from Adam Mickiewicz's epic poem Dziady -- a 19th century literary masterpiece known to every Polish person who completed high school. (Mickiewicz was a writer, but, too, he was actively engaged in politics, and many would regard him as a philosopher, a Romantic, a teacher, and military superstar.) It means "s/he who has never experienced bitterness, will never taste sweetness in heaven." My Polish lit teacher took it to mean (and I did as well) -- crudely stated -- that you cannot appreciate the juicy sweetness of an apple unless you've tasted a rotten one first (the apple metaphor is my own). Or sentiments to that effect. For me, this gentle roll into the holidays is especially beautiful because it wasn't always like that. Never mind that my parents weren't especially holiday or tradition inclined. When I was already with my own very young kids, the days before Christmas were madness. I was a law student when the girls were at their youngest ages. For six years, the first half of December spelled exams, often all the way until just before the holiday. And inevitably one of us would come down with some bug, because, you know, 'tis the season. And of course, there was no online shopping. And I insisted on baking stuff myself, because the offerings just weren't good enough back then. When my younger girl was old enough to dance in the Nutcracker and started amassing parts that required her to have ringlet curls, preparing her for rehearsals and shows was another level of craziness. Money was tight, time was scarce. All of it was a fever pitch level of insanity that would drive anyone to despair. And yet, I loved the holidays. I know others had it a thousand times worse. And so I didn't care. I let go of ambition. No writing for Law Review for me. No perfection anywhere, in fact. Just joy. I sweated through the tough times, the strep throats, the exams, the long lines in stores, helped along by the music and the scent of a balsam in the living room. All that is in the past, and now here I am, retired, with a whole weekend of no demands on me! The sweetness of this apple knows no limits!

Breakfast, with Ed. Oatmeal. I have to cut back on sugar!

 

And then my patient and ever so tolerant guy agrees to put together two big toys -- one for Sandpiper and one for Sparrow. 

I tell him it's the last time I will need to put together big toys -- there's enough in the farmhouse to last all kids until they stop playing with toys (which isn't that far off anyway).

I tell him I'll donate away three big toys (that I decided aren't worth the space they take up).

I tell him this will keep things neater in the play room.

I tell him these will give the kids hours of play.

He tells me that kids would play with bricks and cardboard boxes equally well. Evidence: Dance, the cat. Her hands-down favorite toy is Snowdrop's hair tie.

I tell him he doesn't have to do it. He grins, takes out his phillips and sets to work.

I tell him thank you very, very much!

Each boy gets a table with drawers for the toy that comes with it -- a train/plane thing for Sandpiper, and tiny classic legos for Sparrow -- and these tables with their quirky storage bins are what require many screws and much patience. I help assemble the actual toys. The whole project takes us the better part of the day.

 

 

 

But not so that we haven't the time to ski in the forest. On winter solstice day, this is nothing short of magical.

We head out in mid-afternoon, but of course, the light is already low now. (Our sunset today is at 4:26 pm; our sunrise was at 7:26 a.m.) And golden!

The forest is still -- the kind of still that you get only with a snow cover.

If trees really do take care of us, we said our thanks to them today. 

At home now. At dusk, the deer come to the farmette lands.

I feel as if on this day we've all come together -- animals, birds, the two of us -- to celebrate the passage of time, the shift toward brighter days, always.

with so much love...

December break time!

The last day of school for Snowdrop, Sparrow, Sandpiper and Primrose too. This afternoon rolls in the start of winter break. How I used to love a winter pause when I was a kid. The fall semester is unusually long and without a reprieve. Two months into it you realize you've got almost two more to go before you can catch your breath. And of course, winter break spells Christmas, full speed ahead! Lights, music, action! A kid's dream.

And of course, we wake up to snow. And sunshine!

There is a bit of a mad dash to this December morning, but you know, who isn't running around chasing a cat's tail these days (is that a thing? I have too many cats in my life...). We do start the day right: breakfast, together, with gratitude for a beautiful and snowy day!

I have an appointment then. And Ed needs to get his truck over to our front yard (big eye roll here). All this takes time. What we do want, more than anything, is to get back on our skis. It's kind of tight, schedule-wise, and it means lunch will have to be in the car for me -- while driving to pick up the kids -- but we manage it! 

I am thrilled to be skiing again! And Ed is too, though he has a couple of tumbles and he tells me later that his balance isn't as good as it was in years past. 

We're weirdly mismatched that way: I feel grand on skis and my pace is easily twice his. He, on the other hand, feels grand on the bicycle and only because I have the electrical charge on mine, can I hope to ever keep up with him. Perhaps the lesson here for all you young people is keep at it if you want your favorite movement to stay with you long into your senior years! (He's been biking forever, I've been skiing forever.)

I pick up the kids then. How was your last day of school? Amazing!  -- this from both of them. In their pajamas, with their stuffies. 

I have to say, I'll miss the December pickup mood. The kids are excited, agreeable, and swooped into the giddyness of the moment. Typically, they never want my music in the car (classical -- too staid!), but in December, they have loved my Christmas playlist. Choral, jazzy, all of it. The car rides have been made beautiful by it.

The weekend before me is for catching up, for baking, for wrapping. We're getting a blast of cold air, but in fact, the snow wont last for long. Weather bounces are not unusual for this month. For now though, it sure is beautiful out there.

with love...

December snow

We have wanted to see snow. We have wanted to ski on snow. We have wanted to get kids happy and giggly about snow. We have had none thus far. Light sprinkling that disappears within a day does not count.

Waking up, therefore, to falling snow feels grand. Even though the rate of snowflake-hitting-ground-and-staying-there is, at this point... modest.  I doubt we will be skiing this weekend, but you never know!

Holiday ups and downs: this is so common for December! On Tuesday, I gave the kids those twinkly, jingly winter caps. Cheaply made, cheaply sold on Amazon. I'm sure their warmth value is low, but it is thrilling, I suppose, to parade up and down with blinking lights on your head. Sparrow was especially delighted. He wore it to school. He fiddled with it. The battery connection broke. Irreparably. He found this out just as they were all heading out to school this morning. I hear he was inconsolable. 

The various cat factions are fighting again (after declaring a truce for a solid month or so). Pancake the Super Feral is terrorizing Friendly the Farmhouse Cat. Dance is hissing (through the window) at Pancake. I open the door for poor terrified Friendly, who then is chased by Dance -- the same cat who, just minutes ago, was standing up in his defense. 

I have an early delivery of groceries. They sent the wrong milk. Would you protest and demand a dollar refund? (They sent the cheaper brand which in my opinion sours earlier than the other brand.) Ed says to skip it. We'll drink it after all. And here's the thing: I clicked a few keys and promptly this morning groceries appeared on my doorstep. Such luxury! Am I the type to then complain about the wrong milk in the bag? I am not.

Ed wants to bring the old truck home from a repair shop. It is now fixed and he wants, therefore, to sell it. After all, he has the newer old truck in the space allocated for trucks in our three car parking lot at the end of the driveway. This means that until he sells the old one, we will have keep it in the front yard, underneath the maples, where it will rust some more. Our place will look like one of those properties where guys (it's always guys) leave old machinery out, to rust and rot until they "get around to fixing it."  True, this truck is in fact fixed, but it looks like it rode through a tornado and back again. You will not see many photos of the front yard in the coming months (or however long it takes him to sell that horror).

I wrap presents. I remember how I swore last year that I would not get anything larger than the size of a book for anyone. It's so hard to wrap large items! And yet -- this promise totally went out the door.  How many do I finish off in the course of the morning? Three. 

And speaking of gifts, there's one in the mailbox today. A box, from Poland! Inside? A few of these... So beautiful...

I pick up the kids. It's slow going because of the snow, which by now does resemble a snow storm. 

 

 

 

Oh, how they love it! Snowdrop especially is snow-crazy. 

 

 

Sparrow is a little more reasonable. 

 

 

 

Too, he hates having the white stuff melt in a trickle down his back and of course, a big sister might just be inclined to make snowballs.

I take them home tonight and I pause to chat with my older girl -- something I haven't done for a while. You don't mess with working moms in the Christmas season. They have time for no extras. But, tonight, I'm there for a few minutes, if only to make sure we have our schedules set for next week.

(Sandpiper is there -- he's very self sufficient in getting his own cup!)

And now I'm home again. The snow continues it's slow but pretty fall. All those songs on my holiday playlist delighting in a snowstorm? Well, we're not quite at the blizzard level (which, perhaps, is a good thing), but yeah, it is still snowing and our cheeks are nice and rosy
And comfy cozy are we
We're snuggled up together
Like two birds of a feather would be...

Just not in a sleigh. On the couch. Under our blanket (quilt, actually) of blue...
Just you and I beneath the stars
Wrapped in the arms of sweet romance
The night is ours, yes
Under a blanket of blue

Wait, that's a whole other Ella and Louis song and it properly belongs to the summer season! No matter. Ed and I are slurping our soup, the blue quilt is out, we're happy and warm.

with love...

December gifts

Before you start your yearly grumble about the commercialization of holidays, let me offer you this sweet story: yesterday, during the car ride, Snowdrop proudly listed gifts she was planning on giving this year. I warned her that I did not want to know any specifics. (She has a hard time keeping secrets.) She asks -- can I tell you what I didn't get? Sure. Well, there's your watch band. What watch brand do you have? I tell her. Too late now, I didn't get it for you, even though I really like it when you switch colors occasionally. I thought purple would look so nice... I reassure her that I would have liked purple. I almost got you a fake candle, because I know you miss having them all around, but some of them look so fake and the others are so expensive! But, you'll also like what I'm giving you instead!

How sweet to have a young kid try to imagine what a 71 year old grandma would enjoy. A child isn't programmed to worry about the adult world. To imagine what pleasures an ancient person might indulge in. They have so much to absorb in their own complicated world of friends, teachers, siblings. But here we are, in the car, and she's letting me know how much concern went into this gift. (Sparrow, not to be outdone, assured me that I would like his gift too. I'm pretty sure he remembered it, but then again, he really is only six!) How is that a bad thing? From there, it's a short step to the kids bringing me cups of tea and wrapping blankets around my legs. I can see it now!

*     *     *

We wake up to snow. Once again, it's just a dusting. Still, it lightens up the landscape, don't you think?

I am out early because I want to drive out to the bakery today. Downtown. Along this road that gives such pretty views in all seasons!

So it's a good breakfast. Croissants with our own strawberry jam.

*     *     *

Friends stop by with cookies. Cards come in the mail, with colorful designs. Yes, paper. Yes, trees. But honestly, if you want to cut back on tree removal talk to Ed. He'll remind you to call all those companies that send you catalogues in the mail and tell them politely to stop. And to be more careful in your recycling habits. And to go paperless with all your statements. And to get a bidet! And I'll tell you -- but please, if you have the time, don't give up on the cards.

*     *     *

In the afternoon I pick up the kids. It's Sparrow's turn to choose a treat for the week and he votes for ice cream. Why do kids like ice cream in December? I cannot say.

At the farmhouse, they still get excited by their Advent calendars. The gift of a surprise, every day, all the way until Christmas. I ask them if they communicated their gift wishes to Santa. Snowdrop (who is the one child who really doesn't exactly believe in Santa) has. Sparrow is worried. He doesn't remember. I tell him it's quite okay to just ask for surprises. He exhales. I'm asking for surprises!

 

 

*     *     *

Evening. Beautiful, beautiful evening. Tree, yet another soup in the making. Veggies from our CSA farmer. Yes, with sprinkled cheese. Not all gifts are to be purchased of course. But think of it -- all gifts come with a thought behind them. And effort. Kindness. And maybe love...

December reset

Routines: they help you, they irritate you, they set your mornings for you. Mine are the same. Every day, regardless of the season, regardless of what the calendar tells me I need to pay attention to. Get up, get dressed, attend to the animals. Two cats, fed in the farmhouse, one cat fed on the porch. Six chickens, counted, called over to the barn, where I give them their grub: two cups of chicken feed and one or two cups of cracked corn. Water filled where needed. Then three more cats -- fed in the sheep shed. In December, add to it the daily watering of the Christmas tree. Every day, same thing. Rain or shine.

On most mornings I then prepare bowls of fruit for everyone who passes through this way in the course of the day. Today -- it'll be Snowdrop and Sparrow, and of course, Ed and me.

It never changes, even as my head swirls with different stories as I work my way through this checklist. Today, for example, I'm still stuck with thoughts of the school shooting. Shame on us for thinking this is inevitable, that this can't be helped, that we will move on, get over it, that we shouldn't blame those who are elected to keep us safe. 

The morning then moves in a slightly different direction: I have a breakfast date with my friend Bee. Sure, it's over Zoom and she can't possibly be eating breakfast, as it's 4 p.m. where she lives, but still, I am on board with my granola and my cut-up fruit. And milky coffee.

It feels so good to let go of those morning thoughts, spinning endlessly about the tragedy that hit my home town yesterday. Inevitably we talk about our kids and grandkids, but, too, about our plans for this week, next week, next month, next year. Bee and I are less than four months apart in age and we suffer a friendship that has to be lived across an ocean, but I've come to understand that this actually does provide some opportunities. At least right now, while we're still "young!" We can plan with great care our next meeting (how often do you spend hours imagining where and when to have a coffee with your friend?). We make sure to fit in time for lengthy zooms (do you give your friend lots of time to talk about anything and everything when you get together?). We don't only half listen. We soak in every story. And when the Zoom call is done, I walk away deeply satisfied. And I look forward to the next one. 

 

The day is cold again. Not yet Arctic cold, but cold enough for me to not give much thought to going out. In these pre-Christmas days, I have plenty to do at home! (The cumbersome wrapping heads the list. I start on it this morning, because I will do anything to keep the kids happy when they come here after school today. They get excited if a package appears under the tree with a tag that has their name on it!)

And then it's time to pick up the two. 

I have some trepidation: we spend twenty minutes in the car on the ride from school. Longer if we do drive up for their weekly Culver's treat. In that amount of time, both Sparrow and Snowdrop are very tuned to what the other is saying. Can I give either of them time to talk about yesterday's awful news? Has it come up in school? Should I ask? 

Snowdrop knows a hell of a lot more about it. But Sparrow, too, is at a super sensitive stage in his development (or perhaps he will always be this way). He's easily scared, even by things that are clearly fiction and honestly -- rather tame. So how do I deal with this period of twenty plus minutes, where each one has fears and needs but there is little overlap in what they are able to process or accept as a safe reality?

It turns out that Sparrow's classmates knew nothing or said nothing about the school shooting. Not a surprise. They're six! And Snowdrop? Well, I give her teacher credit: he bent over backwards to get the kids excited about school this week, with promises of treats and activities they would have before winter break. The girl burst out of school excited and happy. Imagine, they can even bring stuffies to class on Friday! And drink hot chocolate! And watch a movie!

It was a fantastic distraction.

 

 

 

 

And speaking of distractions, I gave them the holiday light necklaces and hats this evening. Total joy, over a few blinking lights. Kids!

Snowdrop has Girl Scouts tonight and I'm sure this is a good thing. Being with friends at her age is important and comforting too. They get each other in ways that are unique and specific to their time and place in history. Grownups can disappoint a child with their inability to undo their worries. But friends aren't asked to do that. Instead, they give you permission to laugh over ridiculous things. The girl tells me that at the last meeting, they spent some time throwing around a piece of watermelon. Gaga, it was the funniest thing!

At the end of the day, I think Sparrow has processed very little of what happened (and that's a huge relief) and Snowdrop is very ready to move on. The school flag is at half-mast the whole week, but I don't think either child knows the importance of that small gesture. If they're focused on Christmas break -- that's great. I'm all for it!

Me, I run a few evening errands and then come home. To leftover soup. To Ed. Always so happy to be with him. For an evening on the couch.

with love...

December fog

I wake up to fog. Appropriate for my departure from the city, though terribly inconvenient for the drive home. I dont stop for breakfast. No pause even for a photo of Wrigley Field, just across the street. I want to start in on the drive home. So, I Uber to my daughter's house. They're all gone -- to school, to work, but the car is still there (it's cheaper to park for free in front of their home and use Uber than to park at the hotel). I drive over to Allez -- a lovely little coffee shop in this neighborhood:

I pick up a coffee and croissant for the road and then I am off. Chicago radio Christmas music to the halfway point, then I switch to my Christmas mix for the remainder of the drive. Only as I pull into Madison proper do I turn on the local radio and learn of the school shooting in my home town.

This is the crazy world we all inhabit. Guns, readily available. To kill children. Because... remind me again, why?

On the heels of this, my trip to Chicago -- to celebrate Primrose's dance and Juniper's birthday -- seems especially poignant and precious. We talked yesterday about whether the kids still believe in Santa, or if they've let go of that fantasy already (most of them have not). What other fantasies do we want to preserve for them for as long as possible? How about the one that schools are safe and that they'll never have to be afraid?

Sigh...

It's a quick turnaround for me. I drop my bag, make myself a cup of coffee and head out to pick up Snowdrop. (It's not her school that had the active shooter this morning.)

She's nearly ten. She knows more and more about danger. She has to know, of course. But today, as on most days, we concentrate on the holiday delights that await her, her brothers. I tell her about Chicago, she tells me about her weekend of friends, of sleepovers, of family outings. At the farmhouse, she plays with Ed's computer for a minute... 

 

 

 

... then she clobbers the guy...

 

 

And then we read, for a full two hours (the book is that good!).

I know there will be talk of the shooting in school tomorrow. Kids will find out, they will bring it to class, she will have to face it. So I circle the topic of tragedy, giving some reassuring platitudes about how life-death tragedies are a rare thing. And how we do recover. She and I just finished a book where a child dies of cancer. I tell her that the boy in the story had a loving family and a happy life. She thinks about that then tells me -- I would rather have an unhappy long life than a happy short one. I let her stay with that for now. Her parents will have to fill in some more of the day's events for her.

Comfort and joy. Can we still aim for that?

In the evening I cook split pea and lentil soup. Don't you think that it is a perfect winter supper for a foggy December day? Yeah, me too!

with so much love...

December and Juniper

Yes, Juniper was born in the middle of December. Three years ago. How well I remember her day of arrival. Covid times meant that we (Primrose and I) did not visit her in the hospital. But, she was quickly packed up and brought home, bushy haired and big eyed. She continues to hold (and will always hold) the title of being the youngest of my grandbabes and of course I am therefore extra careful with these birthdays and celebrations because I know this is the tail end of it all. I'm not moaning about it -- the kids all grow to be interesting and wonderful human beings and I love being with them in their older years, but still, the cuddle bug herself is our last "baby" and I think we all take note of that!

I wake up to a drizzly Chicago day. My hotel (the Zachary) has a well regarded bagel and coffee shop downstairs (Steingold's). I'm not looking for a bagel, but I do love their other traditional Jewish baked goods. I go for a rugelach and a milky coffee, by the window, looking out at Wrigley Field.

And then I Uber over to Juniper's house. It's Juniper's day today, for sure.

(greeting me out on the stairwell)

It's enormously grand when a child's birthday falls on a Sunday. She can put in breakfast requests (waffles!). Lunch requests (mac and cheese!). She can have her family gather for an afternoon celebration. In our crazy busy and spread out far and wide lives, we rarely get many generations together for celebrations. Sure, the Wisconsin kids all have birthday dinners at the farmhouse, but that's because they are a short car ride away and, too, they have all come to expect it. But the Chicago bunch? Only Juniper still gets me to come up for her birthdays. And once she switches to having kid parties, I'm sure I'll do for her what I do for my daughter, and for Primrose: celebrate on the next occasion that I see her. Not necessarily on the birth day itself.

But this year, every grandparent except for chicken watching Ed is here in Chicago -- call it a two-fer. One day for the Primrose ballet, the next -- for Juniper's birthday.

And honestly, I'll miss these gatherings going forward. I almost never see the other grandparents. In the typical American way of trying to stay above water with life's demands, we, the grandparents, usually step in and take turns visiting, babysitting, celebrating holidays. Well, for once we are all here. Grandparents, an uncle and aunt, and Juniper's own sister, mom and dad.

But that's all later in the day. Before we party away the afternoon, there is some time for hanging out. 

 

 

 

 

 

For sneak-peaking at the cake...

 

 

 

For lunch. For spending the day together.

Eventually, Primrose gets ready for her second Nutcracker show...

 

 

 

... and Juniper goes down for a nap. One parent runs errands, the other parent attends the ballet. I sit back and enjoy the moment of quiet in my daughter's home, sneaking peaks at her cookbooks, with Christmas tree lights right by my side.

And then the party begins!

Juniper, officially three.

Presents, food, singing, playing.

And importantly, cake.

I 'm ready to take a classic cake before her photo, but she's quick! Puff, the candle is blown out!

Well done, little one!

Well, at least I can get the classic family shot!

Happy birthday dear Juniper, happy birthday to you!

(yes, she wanted a "rainbow" cake; Primrose is distributing the very large, deliciously colorful slices)

(Family portrait, on my timed release)

Late in the evening, after the guests have left and the kids have been properly cajoled/bribed/urged to get to bed, I finish up with a last lingering hour (or two) with my daughter and her husband. It's immensely satisfying to review the day, the year, life gone by!  A beautiful weekend comes to an end. Totally special, all of it.

I Uber back to the hotel Zachary (named after the Architect behind Wrigley Field). Tomorrow morning I'll drive back to Wisconsin. One more week of after-school kid duty before winter break sets in.

With this P.S.: I'm glad there is no snow for my travels here, but now that I'm done with road trips for a while, could we please have some of the white stuff?

with so much love...