kara

The Saturday after Christmas we celebrated the holiday with my Grandma Gebhart, aunts, uncles and cousins in Lewisburg, Ohio.

Sophie received many nice gifts, including clothes, a pink stuffed elephant, a wobbly penguin, a grocery cart she can push and a pelican she can pull.

MaryBeth had my mom’s name in the Christmas drawing and she wrapped—individually—many, many buttons (which my mom collects).

Sophie hung out with Grandma …

… and Suzy, Greg, Amanda and Autumn.

At the end of the day we celebrated Aunt Ellen, a now 10-year breast cancer survivor.

“Cancer is a word, not a sentence.” —John Diamond

“Never play peekaboo with a child on a long plane trip. There’s no end to the game. Finally I grabbed him by the bib and said, ‘Look, it’s always gonna be me!'” —Rita Rudner

We spent Christmas Day at my mom and dad’s house.

Here Kyle’s reading his new cookbook, Moosewood Restaurant Low-Fat Favorites.

Christina is untying a present tag, each of which had a note from my dad.

Katy and Tom made the delicious buckeyes this year.

Sophie wore her Christmas outfit.

Kyle, very excited about his gift membership to The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Sophie was very happy, too.

She got an organic teether and two books—Vincent’s Colors and A Farmer’s Alphabet—from Katy and Tom.

Here’s Kyle, holding up the old map of Bowling Green, Ohio, we got him.

A quick family picture before Sophie’s outfit had to be changed (we were a bit negligent about changing her diaper when we first arrived).

Mom, holding her French vintage linens from Au Trousseau with “DG” embroidered onto them.

Dad, listening to Elton John sing. He got tickets to a Billy Joel and Elton John concert.

Sophie loved her first tea set (although we told her she has to wait a little while until she’s old enough to use it).

She was interested in the turkey,

the tree,

Christina and

the glass snowflakes over the dining room table.

She sat on Kyle’s lap,

made some sounds he didn’t appreciate and

then wondered why he was carrying on so much.

It was a good day.

“I wish we could put up some of the Christmas spirit in jars and open a jar of it every month.” —Harlan Miller

Sophie opened her stocking first, and in it found Sophie Le Giraffe and and an owl puppet from Santa.

Andy found all his favorite, hard-to-find candy in his stocking.

Sophie liked the banana runts the best.

Then came the presents under the tree.

We tried to give Sophie a present to open.

But she was insistent “Da Da” open his present from her, first.

It was a picture of the two of them, for Andy’s new desk (he starts his new job January 5).

Next came a present from Grandma and Grandpa Uhl.

A new toy! (Grandma and Grandpa Uhl also gave her some cute winter clothes.)

And then Sophie opened the night sky from Santa.

I gave Andy some silly onion glasses so he wouldn’t have to look for the ski goggles every time he makes spaghetti.

We ate cinnamon rolls and drank coffee from Christmas mugs.

New pants.

And a beautiful necklace from The Fig Leaf, my favorite jewelry store.

I also have a new tea kettle that whistles so I won’t forget about the fact that I’m heating water every time I heat water, and Andy has a new electric blanket to keep him toasty warm these long, winter nights.

“I sometimes think we expect too much of Christmas Day. We try to crowd into it the long arrears of kindliness and humanity of the whole year. As for me, I like to take my Christmas a little at a time, all through the year. And thus I drift along into the holidays—let them overtake me unexpectedly—waking up some find morning and suddenly saying to myself: ‘Why, this is Christmas Day!'” —David Grayson

“Christmas Eve was a night of song that wrapped itself about you like a shawl.” —Bess Streeter Aldrich

Christmas Eve Mom, Dad, Katy and Tom visited for a short while during the day.

Mom delivered a beautiful stocking she made for Sophie, made from vintage linens with a hand-embroidered tree on front. There are three charms on it—a star at the top, a heart at the bottom, and a single silver leaf hanging from a branch. As we learn more about what Sophie likes and the type of person she becomes, we’ll add charms to the stocking. (Thanks, Mom.)

Before they left, Sophie had a staring contest with Tom …

… and played with Nini’s hair.

“The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.” —Clement Clarke Moore

I helped Mom wrap presents. I wrinkled wrapping paper, flung ribbon and banged on boxes.

I went to Nini’s kindergarten class Christmas party. I watched the big kids eat treats, make crafts and search for words, and I got to sit on Nini’s lap when she read a Christmas book.

I saw Christina graduate (she’s somewhere in there) …

… and while someone read lots and lots of names, I tried to sit still and do quiet things, like touch Nini’s jacket.

But there were a lot of names and I got a little restless. So Mom and Dad took turns walking me around NKU’s Bank of Kentucky Center.

After graduation, I went to my first sushi restaurant …

… where we celebrated Christina’s graduation.

That night we went to Grandpa and Nini’s house.

The grownups played Pictionary …

… and I put the drawings in my mouth.

At home the next day, I crawled off the carpet, onto the hardwood floor and over to the metal register so I could bang my hands on it. And guess what? Hot air came out of it! Now I crawl over to it all the time.

I played blocks with Uncle Tom, Aunt Katy and Uncle Kyle.

And then I went from a sitting position to a standing position all by myself. (What can I say? We had company. I had to show off.)

Uncle Kyle told me to keep both hands on the ottoman, and I should have listened, because eventually I did fall down.

After another outfit change (don’t ask) Aunt Katy held me. I love having aunts and uncles in town.

“The best of all gifts around any Christmas tree: the presence of a happy family all wrapped up in each other.” —Burton Hillis

We think Sophie likes our Christmas tree a little too much (not possible).

“Never worry about the size of your Christmas tree. In the eyes of children, they are all 30 feet tall.” —Larry Wilde

Sometimes, Mom lets me nap on her, which, really, is the best way to nap. (She complains, saying she can’t get anything done when I do this but secretly, I think she likes it.) And when I do this, I wake up with funny marks on my cheek!

“When a girl ceases to blush, she has lost the most powerful charm of her beauty.” —Gregory I

I wish I could cook. My mom is a great cook. My dad is a great cook. Both of my grandmas are great cooks. I don’t know what happened to me. I like the idea of cooking. I really enjoying baking. But every time I try to cook a meal, it always seems to end in disaster. For example:

Friday my parents stopped by for lunch. I decided to make calzones. My parents called as they were leaving the house, giving me plenty of time to have a hot meal waiting for them when they arrived.

First, I cut my finger chopping the spinach.

Then, the kitchen started filling up with smoke. I wasn’t even cooking yet—just pre-heating. Apparently something had dripped in our oven the last time we used it (and we do use it fairly often—thankfully Andy loves to cook). I opened the oven door and more smoke filled the kitchen. I called Andy. No answer. I opened windows. I called my dad. He told me to put on an oven mitt and clean it with a wet towel as carefully as I could. My mom got on and asked if I had a self-cleaning oven. I have no idea if I have a self-cleaning oven. I think, though, having lived in this house for almost fours years, I should know if I have a self-cleaning oven or not.

At this point Sophie’s screaming for attention. And the house is freezing. And filled with smoke. So I gather Sophie up, put her hat on, give her a pastry brush to play with and sit her on the kitchen floor. I go back to the recipe. The next step? Brush olive oil on the top of the calzones. I look at Sophie. I look at the recipe. I use my fingers to brush the olive oil on the dough.

My parents claimed their calzones were good. I didn’t think mine was all that bad. But Andy, who had his for dinner, could only eat the edges. The middle was a doughy mess. So he had a bowl of cereal instead.

“Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all.” —Harriet van Horne