her able hands

I got a little carried away with the royal icing on the gingerbread house and forgot to leave any of the cookie showing. Lila and I finished it on Saturday, or I should say I finished it and she ate as many pieces of candy as she could stuff into her chubby cheeks and chattered at me non-stop. She stuck one of the peppermint windows on the side wall, but otherwise it was me trying to hurry through the project so we could move on to the next thing.

I love the marshmallow trees (thanks for the idea Alicia) and the glitter pom-pom tree I made. I’ll have to do a few more of those next year in different sizes. The bumpy texture of the small, medium and large pom-poms makes me smile. Sitting at the dining room table with my bottle of Ayleen’s and my bowl of poms, listening to Vince Giraldi while Lila took a rare nap was the most extended meditative moment I’ve had in a dog’s age.

We finished the little bit of holiday shopping we had left yesterday, and picked up our tree—a live Canada Fir—that we’ll plant along the back property line to start our living fence so in a few years we won’t have to look at the development behind us every time we go outside.

That shot’s from last weekend when the snow was just about done, and what little was left Chris and the kids shoveled into empty cat litter bins and built walls for a kickin’ snowball fight. Unfortunately, Lila did not understand that the goal was to make the opponent’s wall come tumbling down. The child lost it and had to be brought inside, lest the neighbors think we practice torture over here in our idyll.

This weekend we hit the 60s and the air smelled like spring. So disconcerting. I wanted to wrap my face up in a knit scarf and taste that metallic, sweaty wool on my tongue. Instead we went out without coats, just fleece pullovers and no hats or gloves. I wondered if Lila will ever know a truly snowy Christmas.

Last night she and Chris untangled the two strands of rainbow lights and then she micro-managed the hanging of the ornaments. I didn’t get a shot of Tyler because he gave up and went back to his Johnny Tremain homework rather than be bossed around by the pip-squeak. Humiliating as hell, that.

Most of our ornaments are handmade by my Aunt Ginny and mom, a few by me. I couldn’t find one whole box of ornaments—the one with the angel for the top of the tree and the glass icicles. We’ve misplaced quite a few things with this move. Looks like we’ll be breaking out the glitter, glue and some cardboard tonight to make a star.

While uploading the photos from the week, I found the one I most needed to see, a message from the garden to stay centered and low to the ground.

Bookmark It