this moment {on Christmas Eve}

Joining Soulemama, and many others, in this moment. 

In Amanda's words: "A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember."

Please link to your moment too -- I love to see what you are enjoying this week!

Wishing you a weekend full of goodness!

this moment {famil-ie}

Joining Soulemama, and many others, in this moment. 

In Amanda's words: "A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember."

And stop by here for a great giveaway from my dear blogger friend Lady Cordelia!

little by little

Something I didn't think about when buying a new house was where I could hide Christmas presents.  It never crossed my mind.  Even if it had, it likely wouldn't have been a consideration in buying this house.  But it seems important now.  Mostly because I don't have a good hiding spot for Christmas presents.  Our old house had a basement with perfect nooks and crannies, an attic that the kids didn't venture into.  My gift-hiding was almost an art, down to the tubs I sorted and stored them in once wrapped, for easy and quiet (oh so important with growing littles!) transfer to the stockings and tree on Christmas Eve night.

But this new house?  No nooks or crannies.  No tubs.  No gift-hiding art.

So I'm trying to scheme a new way.  Just one of many things I didn't think of.  Until now.  Where should we place the Christmas tree?  Did we toss the wreath when we moved?  Where oh where did I pack the Santa bags?  Can we unpack all of the boxes stacked in front of the fireplace in time for Santa to make his entrance?

So much new.  I've come to realize that this move -- that began in earnest in February -- really is not yet done.  That each season, each holiday, each transition brings a re-imagining of what to do, how to do it, with whom to do it.  Where to hid the darn presents.  No wonder I'm tired.

But little by little I am unpacking how this season, how this holiday, will be.  At least for this year.  I am letting the new of our lives make it okay for it be new, and different, not holding it up to what came before, but instead making it the holiday for now.

Each day, little by little, a bit more decorates our space.  The familiar Christmas books, Santa bags on bedroom doorknobs, and small tree, brought out for St. Nicholas Day, to light the hallway. 

The new too.  A snowflake tree in the kitchen -- a tree in the kitchen, well I never!  A vintage embroidered table runner for a tree skirt in the sun-room.  And, easily my favorite, winter prints by the amazing Phoeble Wahl in a spot I get to see and enjoy them dozens of times a day.

And enjoy them I will. 

As I will all of the new, and the comfortable familiar, in this season.

lessons at play

"Believe in yourself."

"We are getting stronger by doing hard things."

"You can do lots of things when you are strong."

I'm listening to Munchkin and Lovey play right now.  Those two.  They come up with the messiest and craziest adventures.  They've been known to transform a room quite handily.  But it seems that they also are able to come up with some pretty good life lessons through that mess and adventure.

"Believe in yourself."

"We are getting stronger by doing hard things."

"You can do lots of things when you are strong."

I'm listening.

It's been a rough couple of 3 weeks.  The kind of rough that, when dismantled, seems doable, seems manageable, seems mostly inconvenient.  But collectively is exhausting and overwhelming and paralyzing.

I'm trying to be gentle with myself (and others) right now. Which is hard to do when the rough demands so very much of my attention and energy.  Hard to do this time of year when cheerfulness and joy are expected, when thanks is prescribed.  And I like joy and cheerfulness and gratitude, so I am gently and slowly wading through the hard things to get to them.

And apparently I will be stronger for having done so.

And believing in myself is a good way to go.

And don't mind the mess along the way, every good adventure has some.