The highlight of our day here was visiting the underwater creatures at the aquarium. The seahorses are my favorite, fins down.
Although we were all tired and cranky from having to stake out a fireworks-viewing spot hours and hours in advance, Wynham got into the holiday party spirit (when doesn't he?)
I was glad to get this photo of the dome -- on the way OUT!
Try to find your shuttle bus. Wait for shuttle bus.
Crowded. Really Crowded.
He's smiling because he's not down here...
Honestly, who waits two hours to go
But the fireworks were truly spectacular.
Cool science exhibit for the kids 
Always familiarize yourself with
Oooo, I love Skymall; don't you?
Crossing the Sierras -- it looks cold down there.
You call this dinner? For nine bucks?
Scintillating onboard entertainment; name that movie...
Almost there...
This was such a lovely sunset -- the last one we'll see from our house this year, since we're heading off for Florida tomorrow. The colors shift and fade so quickly, it reminds me that the calendar has moved swiftly this year, as well; the days and months do seem to get shorter and shorter with the passage of time. Seize the daylight!
Oh no! Please don't go! 
Never mind the origins of the holiday; Boxing Day at our house is appropriately named because it's the day we start packing up all the Christmas ornaments in a multitude of red and green boxes. It plays out the same way every year: all the decorations are taken off the tree, then spread out on a beach towel on top of the piano, then individually wrapped for safe keeping until next year.
Christmas Day began with a bang -- a few unbelievably loud claps of thunder. It was a mystery when it happened, as the sky was clear and sunny to the south, where I was gazing out the window. But then I crossed the kitchen and looked to the north, where there was a torrential downpour and a double rainbow. I can't explain how my soul soars when I see an arc of color splashed across the sky like that, but I can tell you it was the best gift of the day.
Christmas Eve brings the promise of an entertaining pageant at the church, and Wynham was promoted from an acolyte to the Angel Gabriel, if only for a day. He delivered, with flourish, a perspicuous explanation of Mary's coming gifts. Chloe hammed it up as a cell-phone-savvy Herod, and as astonishing as it may seem, Claire played a believable little angel.
Well, Christmas Eve is finally here and Jack has his spot by the tree all staked out. Even though he has succumbed to sleep, he's not leaving his post. I can assure you, he doesn't want to miss a thing!
We had several friends over today for our annual gingerbread house construction party. I should say faux gingerbread, because we switched to graham crackers years ago due to the flexibility it offers as a building material. All the kids have fun (even the grown up ones), half the decorations get eaten, but nobody can ever top Wynham's construction efforts -- this year the results were something like Thai-temple-meets-Taj-Mahal. Jack looks just a little bit envious...
The choral group that Chloe sings with, Les Etoiles, took part in the annual Singers Marin holiday concert this afternoon. I would have posted a picture from the concert, but it was too dark and I was too far away. But I heard two beautiful renditions of Lo, How a Rose E'er Blooming today, and it reminded me of this photo. Although, now that I actually look at it closely, I think those are camellias... Anyway. Not to brag or anything, but when Chloe sang her solos, it brought tears to my eyes. Where did she get that amazing, angelic sound? I don't know, but I can truly say her voice is her gift, and I'm so glad she gets to share it.
Jack was not at all thrilled about his stint as a snowflake in his preschool's winter holiday program. "Too many people!" he said. So while everyone else danced and twirled and swirled their paper cutouts in the air, Jack just stared at the ground. Finally, he gave up altogether and sat down on the floor, arms crossed, glaring at the audience with a scowl firmly planted on his face. Oh well, at least he kept his silly hat on.
Claire was more than excited about delivering gifts to the Toys for Tots Christmas drive at our local fire station. One talented and industrious mom in the class made scarves and elf hats for all the kids. The highlight of the day, though, was the chance to sit for a picture in a real fire engine. As we all know, the driver's seat is Claire's favorite place to be.
One of my favorite stories for children is a fable called The Golden Windows, which goes something like this: A boy looks out across the valley each morning and sees a house with golden windows (the same phenomenon I often see when I glance across the bay towards Sausalito in the early hours). He longs for a home like it.
Everyone wanted a ride to school this morning, due the the cold and the rain. Much to our surprise when we stepped out onto the front porch, we discovered that last night's precipitation left a powdered-sugar coating of snow on the peaks of Mt. Tamalpais. With tonight's temperatures predicted down into the 20s, we could possibly see a second layer tonight. If this weather continues (and it well might), we may end up having a White Christmas. So much for Sunny California...
While decorating cookies this evening, we were treated to a spectacular and unexpected fireworks display (from Crissy Field, perhaps?). I never did find the "fireworks" setting on my camera, but I like the long shot results just the same. 
What was I saying about luster dust? We ended up using ample quantities of it. I worked on cookies for 14 hours straight, with lots of help. Leslie made dough; Deb and Heather rolled it; Claire, Jack, Aidan, Elena and Garth decorated; I botched another batch of royal icing. My pecan snowballs turned out more like pecan pancakes. But everyone had a great time, and no one seemed to mind my lack of organization or skill. Jack won the prize for most dough -- and most cookies -- eaten during the festivities. Anyone who wants one, come on over quick; I can guarantee you with my crowd, they won't last long.
I've just barely gotten my head wrapped around the idea that Christmas is coming and suddenly I realize that if I don't make cookies this weekend, there won't be any to eat until 2009. In October, my Christmas cookie plans were quite elaborate, but I'll be lucky if the butter even softens in time. I'm going to get it done, but I can assure you that there won't be any stained-glass cookies with golden luster dust in the collection. Where is the Pillsbury Doughboy when I need him most? That is the question. (Click here to see the answer!)
Yup, 'tis most definitely the season for coughs, runny noses, fevers, colds -- the "ickys", as we generally refer to the symptoms. Theoretically, most of these ills take a week to get over, or seven days if you choose to medicate (!). What your grandmother told you is true, though; nothing cures the ickys like a liberal application of chicken schmaltz. Preferably in some simmered-all-day-on-the-stove homemade soup. And the heart-shaped noodles really do make all the difference. Slurp.
Wynham is in the discernment phase of his confirmation year with the Episcopalian Church. It's truly amusing to see him try to contain his wild side within the confines of an acolyte's robes. The rector's wife and I placed bets on how long it will be until he sets something on fire. Will he see the light and mend his mischievous ways? I'll let you know...
At our house, trimming the tree never works out anything like it does in the movies, with everyone singing carols and drinking mulled cider and looking happy to be with each other. It's usually considered a Christmas Miracle if no ornaments get hurled and no one gets impaled as we try to right the tree. Just choosing the darn thing is a comedy of errors: too short, too skinny, too wide on top, a gaping hole on one side -- nobody can agree, but a tree is finally chosen through attrition of the people who just want to get home and out of the dark and cold.
I steel James' nerves for the lighting of the tree with a small serving of brandy-fortified eggnog. It doesn't do the trick. Jack, still toting his Spiderman Halloween costume embellished with some Elton-John-worthy star-shaped sunglasses, decides to run over all the strings of lights (which James has carefully laid out down the hallway) on his bike without pedals. James puts them on the tree anyway, but half of them don't work. "Grandfather will never approve," he sighs (Note to self: never regale husband with tales of your grandfather's legendary ability to string a perfect tree...).
No, this isn't Claire's latest work (hers is much better); it's a picture I found in the bottom of the last box in the deepest recesses of the closet I just spent a week cleaning out. On the back it says, "self portrait, Mona Helen" and there is a note from my Grandmother to my mother, commenting on the good weather and wishing good health.
There are some things that can be explained and some things that just can't, no matter how hard you try. Like, who can explain why Carl Douglas' 1974 one-hit-wonder single, a weirdly sappy sentimental-sounding tune called Kung Fu Fighting, was such a wild success? Or, how come most people can sing that song from memory, even today? Wynham probably knows it because of the Kung Foo Hamster he got for Christmas one year.
Maybe that's what inspired him to come out of his room with his dukes up this morning. I know Claire decided to study Tae Kwon Do this year so that she could (and I quote), "kick Wynham's b---!" I even get the boxer shorts connection. But nothing could ever, not ever, explain why Wynham is wearing my Whittal & Javitts felt hat with the big satin bow for this particular occasion...
(no animals were harmed in the making of this post)
There are almost never any pictures of Coco on this blog anymore because she's almost never home. I can tell she still lives here by the clothes in the laundry basket, and by the spike in our electricity bill due to her hair dryer/curling iron usage, and by the lip gloss smears on the bathroom mirror, and by the missing chocolate in the pantry.
One of the hit gifts of Jack's birthday was the Skuut, designed to help kids transition to a "big boy/girl" bike without the aide of training wheels. It seemed like one of those overindulgent daddy presents to me, but I had to admire the form over the function. Now that we've had it around for a few days, I'm beginning to see that it delivers on its promise. But it's kinda killing the "no riding bikes in the house" rule, and I've tripped over it so many times I've lost count. What if we just hang it on the wall and call it art?
Watching Jack at his third birthday party was such a joy. He was so thrilled by every little thing, from the cake the cards to the Hot Wheels to the books. He seemed to love it all and be genuinely grateful for the food, the company, and the presents. Jack is just such a sweet kid. Why, oh why do they have to grow up so fast?
There's always so much to be grateful for, and we don't need a special day to remind us of those things: four healthy kids, enough to eat, a roof over our heads, so many loved ones. We're lucky to get to celebrate most Thanksgivings with James' sister Jill and her husband Bob, and all of their kids and grandchildren. The table in Jill's dining room gets longer every year, and there's still room to grow. They live in a wonderful house right on the Delta, and Claire and Wynham made a brief stop in their whirlwind of play with the cousins to peer into the swirling waters. A big brother taking the time to take his little sister's hand -- I am truly thankful for that sweet, quiet moment...
Claire was so thrilled to get the easel she's been begging for on the occasion of her sixth birthday, she squealed with delight. Her presentation of the gifts she received would make Vanna White proud. I lamented to my friend Deb that Claire had already gone through an entire roll of paper, in less than 24 hours. She said, "What are materials in the face of creativity?" Claire obviously agrees with that sentiment: this morning when I suggested she go a little easier on the amount of paper she was using, she replied, "What do expect me to do, Mom? Art is my passion; it's my LIFE!" Sigh. Who am I to stand in the way of greatness?
When I asked James what he wanted for dinner last night and he said, "pot pie," I was only too happy to oblige. Back in June I asked John, one the owners of the wonderful Dipsea Cafe, if he would be willing to divulge the recipe for the Dipsea's fabulous Chicken Pot Pie -- it's really the best I've ever tasted! He was so nice about it: not only did he send me the recipe, he tweaked it to a home-sized portion.
why their version tastes so darn good...
slurped it up, so it wasn't total failure. And if you're pastry proficient, you can indulge yourself with this recipe, posted on Coco's Kitchen. But I have to tell you: next time I get a craving for chicken pot pie, I'm going to the Dipsea Cafe.
