Bear is starting to miss her friends, pine trees, and sleeping in her own bed.
Daddy Shortbread misses the cats.
I miss being able to button my pants.
Bug doesn't miss a thing. She'd be happy to bask in the glow of her grandparents' adoration forever. But I'd like to think that she'd eventually miss us, so we're taking her with us.
I'd like to send up a small prayer to the Gods of Travel that our return trip involve easier driving weather than our trip out. Because THIS is what we drove through on the way here:
I'd like to submit a formal request for clear-to-partly-cloudy-skies, a lack of significant precipitation, and a liberal dotting of Starbucks along our route. Thank you.
She savors its bouquet, like a fine wine, before taking that first crunchy mouthful.
She even multitasks, munching snow while sledding.
Totally, unabashedly full-out eating snow. No shame at all. And, yes, she saw me taking pictures. That's how devoted she is to her craft.
She discovered an empty tube from a roll of wrapping paper.
And proceeded to happily gnaw the crap out of it while battering it with her hind claws. At least she was out of the way.
Bear was careful not to buy any "sissy" shirts. She told me how everybody wears a new outfit on the first day back to school after Christmas vacation, and she wanted to make sure this little guy had some cool shirts to choose from. She was able to get him five.
The merits of various wrapping papers were discussed (too girly? too young? too shiny?). They both insisted on wrapping their own gifts, smacking away my hand when I tried to help. I was relegated to ribbon-tying and corralling certain cats, who felt that they should be allowed to help wrap presents, too. And by "wrap presents", I mean run around like furry maniacs in the loose tissue paper.
Christmas morning, while my two are opening their presents from Santa and all their loving relatives, I'll take a moment to think of the two little boys opening these carefully chosen and wrapped gifts, never knowing that their angels are my angels, too.
Inspired by the gardening magazine my mother-in-law got me a subscription to, and also by the stunning case of writer's block that was rendering sitting staring at my computer screen pretty pointless, I decided to take pictures of the birds visiting my feeder yesterday. The feeders hang right outside the window by my kitchen table, where we enjoy watching the birds while we're eating (or instead of writing, as the case may be).
Chickadee, here. I love these chipper little guys, and I think this one was deliberately taunting my cat, Maisy, who was standing on her hind legs on a kitchen chair talking smack to him the whole time I was taking pictures. Doesn't he look cheeky?
Another female goldfinch. I've decided that an excellent weight loss plan would be to hang by my feet while using only my mouth (no hands), like the birds. I plan to get right on that after the holidays. It seems to work for them.
Lest anyone be erroneously impressed by my skill as an avian photographer, I would like to point out that I got about four decent, in-focus pictures with actual birds in them. I got about eighty of just my bird feeder. The rest looked like this:
A definite plus to living in a state with four distinct seasons is watching the kids' excitement with each dramatic shift of the seasons. I know I tend relish each season more when I know it's fleeting. Midway through summer, I start thinking wistfuly of fall. Around the end of October, I decide I'm ready to face snow again. By December, we're all jonesing for those first flurries. 
I was dubious that there was enough snow to slide on, but they would not be dissuaded, and sure enough, they made it work.
Bear initally agreed only to go out and watch Bug sled and "maybe walk around a bit." I think she feels sledding is somehow beneath her newfound maturity. 
Didn't you realize that sledding is a full-contact sport?
The girls and I spent the day before Thanksgiving baking sugar cookies to take for a kid-friendly dessert the next day. (Side note: if, the week before Thanksgiving, you decide to make sugar cookies for dessert on the big day and think it would be cute if those cookies could be shaped like, oh, turkeys, or pumpkins or leaves, and you head out to purchase a Thanksgivingy cookie cutter, YOU WILL BE SORELY DISAPPOINTED. Much like one cannot buy snow boots in February (bikinis and flip-flops, yes, but not anything vaguely winter-related) your choices will be limited to only Christmas cookie cutters in the week preceding Thanksgiving. So, plain ol' circles in sorta fall-ish colors it was.)
(I only let her do that to one cookie). 
This photo kinda says it all, yes?
Uncle Awesome and Aunt Fabulous just came to Maine for a six day visit. We had a great time hanging out with them, eating, playing Wii, eating, shopping, (did I mention eating?), and watching the election returns. Oh, also we ate a lot. I have GOT to get back to the gym on Monday. 
Bug, in particular, is completely awestruck by Aunt Fabulous. She takes careful note of Aunt Fab's stylish clothes, accessories, and shoes. I notice that she takes a little extra time with choosing her own accessories when Aunt Fab is around, and frequently adds a little dab of glitter roll-on to take her ensemble to that next level.
Bear was supposed to be a Medieval Lady. We were planning to curl her hair into ringlets and weave a gold ribbon through it. She would wear pearls and dangly earrings. Once she discovered that all her friends were planning to be Goths, or vampires, and various other scary types, she decided that Medieval Lady was lame. She came to me worried and anxious four days before Halloween.
Over the summer, though, I watched the preteen begin to overshadow the little girl. Along with the obvious physical changes, came a heightened maturity, moodiness, and a sudden and complete aversion to waking up in the morning. There was dramatic sighing. There were requests to go to clothing stores. She shyly asked me to show her how to shave.
I've watched with equal parts amazement and pride as she's handled junior high with grace and maturity. Oh sure, we still have the occasional forgotten homework assignment, the inability to remember to bring home her gym clothes, and the exuberant bursts of silliness that reassure me that the little girl is not completely gone.
Bug's been pretty focused lately on the negatives of being the youngest in the family. She has an earlier bedtime than her sister. She's not allowed to watch certain TV shows that Bear does. She has to wear her sister's old winter coat instead of choosing a new one from the Land's End catalog. She practically writhed with envy last weekend when I let Bear borrow my cell phone to go ice-skating with friends.
And, no, that's not how I normally dress my child. She put on an old t-shirt of Daddy Shortbread's to paint earlier that day and then decided not to take it off. Ditto on the too-short sweatpants. Whatever.
To wit:
I had such a good time watching them enjoy each other. Daddy Shortbread would turn to retrieve the ball, only to have an ebullient Bug tackle him from behind. Two-square isn't normally a full-contact sport, is it?
