Four

Sophia finally turned four today. We had a lovely snow day regardless of tears due to her postponed party (hers and mine.) I removed the rugs and she did circles with her brand new Princess bike in the living room all afternoon. The emotions I feel over this girl being four are intermingled with exhaustion from pre-birthday prep. I think I was more disappointed then she was over today's change in plans. Tonight she threw her arms around my neck and said "Oh Thank you Mommy...for my new pajamas." Sweet girl, how you continue to blow my mind and rearrange my life...in all the ways I really need it. And with the doll cake chilling (and hopefully miraculously improving) in the fridge, I'm off to bed. Sophia Birthday Four, The Sequel is tomorrow.

Me, The Cake, and Mrs. Hatcher

With Sophia's fourth birthday days away, I am focusing in on a single project. Our halls are decked, cards have been mailed, gifts have been bought - all earlier than usual so that I would have the emotional space needed...to create this:

Picture taken from Christine's Recipes Christine makes these cakes regularly! I wonder where she lives...

Except the cake will be a Sleeping Beauty version (a change from her earlier "Ariel Cake" request). And honestly, my goal is something near the shape of this (apparently Pampered Chef makes a special pan), the decorating will be something only a daughter could love. I don't have much confidence. And apparently I'm not alone:

Me: So I'm going to make that doll cake for Sophia's birthday - you know the one where the cake is the dress and you stick the barbie on top...

Mom: (beat) Oh Nina. Why don't you ask Joyce to do it for you?

This is my mother's response whenever I announce some sort of domestic/semi-crafty motherhood endeavor. Mrs. Hatcher - the Joyce of whom my mother speaks - can do anything.

I believe she made me a poodle skirt in first grade, a "Mulan" costume in 12th grade, and countless school play ensembles in between. She can cook anything, sew anything, construct anything...and she's good at math. She navigated Erin and myself through cities over the phone, "guided" us through dozens of science projects, and did emergency alterations on my wedding dress - two days before the wedding. My favorite though, was my phone call to her last year with one desperate question: "Mrs. Hatcher, Travis is making his own advent wreath for the service - what color are the candles?" She knew.

But, no, I will not bother Mrs. Hatcher with this project, not this time. I must pass this Self-Inflicted Motherhood Initiation on my own. We'll see how it goes. Even if it means an emergency run to the Harris Teeter bakery - and Sophia submitting her own request to Birdneck Point next year...

The Grandest Yet...

This weekend Travis was out of town and we were hosting a holiday open house on Sunday during Grand Illumination - about twenty minutes after he was due to return. So Saturday, my work lay ahead of me - dozens and dozens and dozens of cookies to bake, food to cook, and my house to clean in such away that it would look like civilized people lived there - a weighty endeavor indeed. Until a Festivus Miracle occurred with the arrival of The Connecticut Krops. In town for a wedding, their presence turned a day I was dreading into such a great time. And, as always they were a HUGE help.

Note: Mike pumping air into the tires of my stroller.

Kristen put on an apron and started to bake. This sweet friend has been bailing me out of crises ever since we were bunking beds on the third floor of Dupont Hall.

Mike and I frosted cookies. I depended on his architect eye to create an aesthetic I was not capable of. I was still frosting Gingerbread People at midnight while it was softly snowing outside. It was a beautiful Christmas-y moment - marred only by what my Gingerbread actually looked like. I quit after doing only six. I figured I couldn't convince people that Olivia had been able to frost more than that.

Sunday night turned out to be wonderful. Many fabulous friends stopped by - including Rudolph.

We were so excited to have people in our little home.

And the fireworks were breathtaking. Some though, were not so enthralled...

And others really,

really,

really enjoyed them.

We were thrilled that Grandma and Grandpa joined us for their first Grand Illumination!

This is, quite possibly, the most celebrated night in this city. And its one of our favorites.
Sharing it with so many people we love could have made this year the best yet...

Wish Me Luck...

I'll be baking all day for an event tomorrow. Baking is not my natural gifting (unlike creating one-dimensional paper manger scenes) but I am excited about the challenge and very grateful for my assistant(s)!

Keep Singing

(for Jessie...and Tara, because today they both asked...)

Photo courtesy of Sophia: Elmo, Ernie and Bert asleep in her closet. Bert was clearly not consulted on this change of scenery. And Elmo and Ernie are practicing for a Christmas Cantata.

Singing "O Come all Ye Faithful" puts this big lump in my throat. Every year, every time I sing it, the same wave of regret washes over me. It is about this time that I remember: This was supposed to be the year. I was going to extend my arms to the poor and complain less, and be triumphant and joyful and never ever doubt. I was going to radiate love and peace and be the Proverbs 31 woman wearing purple and weaving my enterprising loom late into the night. I was at least going to learn to be nice. But I didn't. Nope. Not even close. Even as I write I'm kind of fuming over the college student who left her car in front of my sidewalk for the past six days and hasn't bothered to introduce herself. (Because I was never a student who snuck my car onto residential streets at night and ran for my life - in this same town, two blocks over. Obviously).

I learned to tell the right story years ago and but I am always tempted with believing the wrong one. The one with halos and pristine clothing, Mary's hair freshly straightened and cherubs and gentle, sleeping oxen. The manger scene that's by invitation only, based on excellent behavior, or at least wanting to behave. My Christmas Theology is being held captive by a Renaissance painting. And I think the only place I really could be welcome is in Sophia's rendition below:

( Which I have to confess, I contributed quite a bit too. In fact, she only colored and glued. Another reason I must never homeschool.)

My friend, Kate, once had a professor who said "more than anything she wished she could smell history. The smells would add incredible perspective." So here's my new strategy: When I start shutting down in the first line of this most beautiful Christmas hymn, I'm going to be imagining what it smelled like in that stable - before and after all the "prestigious guests" arrived. And maybe then I'll feel that there is room to squeeze one more in. Even if my year didn't seem to accomplish all I had planned, and even though I'm probably silly enough to think next year still could.

The power is in the Story's ludicrous details. Grace is woven through every inch of the poverty and scandal and invisibility and odor. Our crazy Yankee Candle Burning traditions, though lovely, make it so pretty and well-scented. And then its down the slippery slope to becoming like every tale we tell - a story about what we have done and we will do, or haven't done or can't do. And we get stuck on the first line and miss the song entirely. Imagine the smells. Hear His invitation. And keep singing. The song isn't actually about us. (Thank God.)

...Word of the Father; Now in flesh appearing.

O Come Let us Adore Him

O Come Let us Adore Him

O Come Let us Adore Him

Christ the Lord.

Hip-Hip-Hooray! The SuperReaders Saved the Day...

While coloring yesterday, Sophia wrote the word P-I-G. Besides names of everyone she loves, its the first word she has written. And I did not show her how. She told me she learned from this PBS show: I was immediately torn between parental pride and parental guilt. My child can write! My child learned to write sitting inactive in front of the TV! But I do really like this show. We love to sing the theme song and the dance with the characters at the beginning and end. And, most importantly, they have an episode dedicated to the story of Juan Bobo. All these years and I thought Juan Bobo was just a Puerto Rican Family Myth. One day I turn on the TV and a huge part of my cultural heritage suddenly felt more legitimate... Moral of the Story?

PBS Kids - educational, inspirational, life changing.

Foo FlashBack (Way Back)

Christie sent me this picture today as she continues to go through her archives. I had never seen it before and am thrilled because I now have exactly one picture from each of my pregancies. Christie writes "I remember you coming to this party and just sitting on Tara's bed and eating a giant bag of popcorn." I vaguely remember the party - no idea who it was for. But I really remember that popcorn. It was good.

If you are pregnant or ever plan on being pregnant: Take a few pictures of yourself over the months. I read somewhere that I should and would regret it if I didn't. I still didn't and do regret it. Thanks for being my personal historian Christie and for sending this to me instead of posting it for the world. (So, I could post it for the world, obviously.)