“One of the most glorious messes in the world is the mess created in the living room on Christmas day. Don’t clean it up too quickly.” —Andy Rooney
kara
Christmas Eve 2011
Paw Paw and Sophie
James and me
Grandma and Owen reading Christmas stories
wrestling with Daddy
homemade buckeyes
James giving Tucker a Christmas hug
the Christmas garland Sophie and I made
reading “‘Twas the Night Before Christmas”
After we put the boys to bed, Lizz, Grandma and Sophie worked on making the icing for the Uhl family Christmas cookies—a Uhl Christmas tradition.
Paw Paw, upon learning we forgot to buy nonpareils (thankfully we found a store that was open that sold them).
I love this picture. Sophie is having so much fun with her grandma and aunt Lizzie.
Sophie and Daddy
cookies!
Sophie thought Santa should have chocolate milk this year.
So much joy.
Note to Santa (Dear Santa, I hope you really, really give me a scooter. Love, Sophie. p.s. The boys might want books, cars and the thing that Grandma and Owen are playing with.), plus cookies, chocolate milk and carrots for the reindeer.
Sophie contributed to our holiday decorations with preschool projects.
berries
Andy and I both put Sophie to bed that night. She was so incredibly excited. It took me back, to the sleepless nights, the listening for bells, my dad reading “‘Twas the Night Before Christmas,” all of it. I loved it.
“Christmas Eve was a night of song that wrapped itself about you like a shawl. But it warmed more than your body. It warmed your heart … filled it, too, with melody that would last forever.” —Bess Streeter Aldrich
A Visiting Santa First
We tried to visit Santa earlier in December, but the wait was too long. So we left.We didn’t get back to Santa until December 23—when the wait was three hours. Thankfully we were able to give Santa’s elves our cell phone number. So we spent three hours lunching at Dewey’s, visiting Joseph-Beth Booksellers and shopping at Trader Joe’s. The elves texted us when they were ready for us (times have changed).
Sophie had a lot of questions about Santa this year. She wanted to know how he stayed awake all night. (“Doesn’t he get tired?”) And where he went for a new coat when his got old. And where did he use the bathroom? (I told her I’m sure people didn’t mind if he used theirs—that we wouldn’t mind if he used ours.) One afternoon I found her in our fireplace, banging on its walls and ceiling. Our fireplace is a non-venting gas one, so there’s no opening to the chimney. She was quite upset by this. “Magic,” I said. The response satisfied her.
She was so excited to meet Santa this year. And this worried me. The first two years she cried when we sat her on his lap. Last year, she so wanted to tell him she wanted a butterfly net. And she did, but only barely, while clinging to me.
It reminded me of the summer, when all she wanted to do was go down the orange, curvy tunnel slide at the park. The entire walk there she would say how brave she was going to be, that this was the day she was going to do it. And for many weeks, she didn’t go through with it, even though she tried. She sat at the top of that slide, scooted around on her bottom and walked, defeated, the other direction. And the entire walk home she talked about how next time, she was going to do it. It broke my heart, but I knew it was something she had to do on her time, when she was ready. And, eventually, she did.
But the slide is available always. Santa, only once a year. My mom suggested a picture. We had Sophie draw a picture for Santa and on it we wrote him a note: “Dear Santa, I want a scooter. Love, Sophie.” It was a brilliant idea. If she freaked and cried or couldn’t speak, he’d have the note. She would know that he knew she wanted a scooter.
I watched her in line, head titled down, mouth set. I knew she was nervous. But I also knew she was trying—so hard—to be brave. It’s been a long time since I’ve had butterflies in my stomach but I had them all the time when I was kid. I imagined her, having them. Standing there, waiting, waiting, waiting.
We happened to be there during a snow time. It actually snowed, inside the mall. There was music and Santa came out to wave hello to children. I knew how nervous she was when she hardly acknowledged the snow—head tilted down, mouth set. She wanted to see Santa, but she wanted it all to be over with it. I felt for her, so much then.
We all agreed ahead of time on a plan—everyone would go up to see Santa together. The boys would sit on his lap (which they loved, can’t you tell?) and Sophie would stand next to him (and that she did, at a distance). She gave him the letter. She asked for the scooter. He told her to always wear a helmet (for which we were thankful). And she did.not.cry.
I was so proud of her. I hope she was just as proud of herself.
“Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus.” —Francis Pharcellus Church
A Christmas Dress
Sophie, all dolled up for her preschool holiday party.
“When in doubt, wear red.” —Bill Blass
A Lesson Among Trains
Last month we went with Angel, Zoey and Mya to Cincinnati Museum Center‘s Holiday Trains Exhibit. Owen kept saying “choo choo” and “wow.” The exhibit included a small train children could ride, sans adults. While waiting in line I kept debating if I should let Owen and James ride it with Zoey and Sophie. I thought of the worst thing that could happen—they totally freak out, the “conductor” has to stop the train and I have to climb through the exhibit to get them. And I decided I wouldn’t let them. But then I thought some more. I thought about how much Sophie did at their age. Because of the boys’ gestational age, they don’t do as much as Sophie did when she was their age. They’re not as ready but yet I worry that I sometimes hold the boys back, because of my own fears—of logistics, for example.
And so, I let them. I loaded everyone into the train.
Owen flipped out. Thankfully, he did this before the train left. So I pulled him out, but let James stay. James did wonderfully. He sat on the seat with Zoey and Sophie the entire time. Sophie said once he tried to stand up and that she and Zoey told him he wasn’t allowed—that he had to sit down—and so he did. I was so proud.
And yet, I felt so guilty. I know Owen and James are two separate people. And I know Owen gets much more anxious and upset with strangers and strange situations compared to James. But yet, I felt sad. Sad that James got the experience and Owen didn’t. Happy that James was so happy and then, it occurred to me. Owen was, too. He loved watching the train go past, waving to Sophie, Zoey and James. He was happier off the train. James was happier on it. Sure, equality is important. I wouldn’t give Sophie and James an apple and not give one to Owen—if he wanted it. But I also wouldn’t force him to eat an apple, just because Sophie and James wanted it.
It seems so simple, but it was a good twin-mom lesson for me to learn. Most lessons are that I way, I think—seemingly simple, once learned.
“Life is a succession of lessons which must be lived to be understood.” —Helen Keller
Sleeping Brothers
“All men whilst they are awake are in one common world: but each of them, when he is asleep, is in a world of his own.” —Plutarch
One Year
Watching “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” last year.
Watching “The Grinch” this year.
“The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough.” —Rabindranath Tagore
Oh, Christmas Tree
This year we bundled up the kids and drove a few miles south to Hilltop Pines in Camp Springs, KY to cut our Christmas tree. Much like Neltner’s Farm & Greenhouses (a neighbor to Hilltop), this tree farm was super low-key—no Santas, no hot cocoa, no barn full of merchandise—just a saw, some dogs roaming about, lots of hills and lovely, $25 trees.
It was a beautiful farm.
But note the name: Hilltop. I suppose we should have assumed there would be hills to climb. Maybe we did but we didn’t really think about it, the logistics of it with three children, a sharp saw and a Christmas tree. In fact, when we started our trek up the hill, we still didn’t know how we were going to make it back down. We just started walking.
Up we went.
On the way, we posed for pictures. Sophie is annoyed in this picture because we were carrying the boys, and not her. She struggled up the hill and complained about tired legs. But the hill was so steep that if we put the boys down to walk—which they very much wanted to do—they simply fell backwards. Which, truth be told, was quite funny to witness, especially with all their winter gear on. But I feel guilty for typing that. I think, as their mother, I wasn’t supposed to laugh as much as I did when we tried to put them down and they both toppled backwards, down the hill a bit.
Along the way we stopped at a barn and watched a farmer feed some cows.
The boys loved this.
Another break for a posed picture. Sophie is much happier here, because we’re at the top of the hill. And yet this is when she decides she has to pee. We have yet to pick out a tree. It’s freezing. The bathroom is a Porta Potty all.the.way.back.down.
“Can you hold it?” I ask.
Sophie gives me a panicked look.
“OK,” I say.
I knew it would be impossible for one of us to handle both boys and the saw on the steep hill. So I agreed to take Sophie and James back down while Owen and Andy looked for a tree. Down, down, down we went, all the while me pleading with Sophie to hold it.
Have you ever tried to fit three people in a Porta Potty? Even when two of them are half-sized, it’s amazingly difficult. So difficult that I actually took everyone in and then brought everyone out, wondering if there was someone who could hold James for me before deciding that was crazy irresponsible. So back in all three of us went.
Sophie really had to pee at this point and for some reason that meant taking off her mittens, scarf, hat and winter coat. Before I could stop her I was holding all these items and James—and I still had to lift her on the seat. So I put James down. He immediately walked over to the urinal and started rubbing his hands all over it, while I just kept yelling “Don’t touch anything!” over and over. He, of course, just looked at me and smiled while inspecting this thing he has never seen that was attached to the wall.
Finally we emerged. I sanitized everyone’s hands, put all of Sophie’s winter gear back on and back up the hill we trekked.
Andy had (thankfully) found a tree.
The children approved.
We cut it down.
I carried both boys while Andy carried the saw and dragged tree on the steep part. And then, when the ground evened out, we all walked, much to the boys’ delight.
Sophie was thrilled with her candy canes.
The boys were thrilled with their muddy jeans.
Once home we realized how short our tree was—and yet perfect for the only place we had for it, a small corner in our dining room.
The kids helped test the lights. (And yes, that’s a hole in the back of Owen’s hair. We thought we’d start taking the boys to the local barber shop that Andy goes to, saving the nice salon visits with Nicholena for Sophie and me. The hole wasn’t the barber’s fault. It was the screaming, flailing child’s fault. The barber, who has been cutting hair in Fort Thomas for years and years and years, felt awful. But seriously, I don’t understand how the rest of Owen’s haircut turned out so normal looking, the way he was thrashing about. In fact, I’m surprised he didn’t lose an ear.)
We decorated. The boys undecorated.
Sophie put the star on top.
Despite everything, it was a beautiful tree. (But aren’t they all?)
“Never worry about the size of your Christmas tree. In the eyes of children, they are all 30 feet tall.” —Larry Wilde
Happy Birthday, Kyle
We celebrated Kyle’s birthday when he was in town for Thanksgiving (someday, hopefully before February, I will be caught up with this blog—I have yet to bombard you with Christmas pictures). We watched the OSU vs. Michigan game, and had lunch and (vegan) chocolate cake and pudding. The cake sort of crumbled but was really good. The boys loved it. I mean, they love dessert. But they devoured this. Which was awesome because one of the main ingredients in the pudding, for example, was avocado. I must get the recipe.
The day was nice. It involved lots of good food, candles in crumbled cake in a bowl, presents, hugs, turns playing hairstylist, a color icing experiment with Nini, football and family.
Happy birthday, Kyle.
“A brother is a friend given by Nature.” —Jean Baptiste Legouve
Rashmi + Sophie
While the adults ate muffins and fruit, and sipped mimosas, the children re-friended each other, remembered each other, played with each other. I love far-away places because I love travel. I just wish those I loved didn’t live so far away.
“Little girls are cute and small only to adults. To one another they are not cute. They are life-sized.” —Margaret Atwood