It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like

We finally got our Christmas tree last weekend, going over the river and through the woods to a local tree farm to saw that bad boy down ourselves (or Adam's self), timidly take a candy cane or two from Santa, and lose our way on the drive home. I guess I say "finally" even though when we lumberjacked our tree we still had twenty-four days until Christmas.

But when I was growing up we always got our tree the Friday after Thanksgiving. Always. In fact, I didn't hear the term "Black Friday" until several years ago and was completely confused and convinced it wasn't a real day. Of course now I know what Black Friday is all about. But in our house the Friday after Thanksgiving was all about driving out to the tree farm, taking a tractor ride with jingly bells to the middle of the rows and rows of coniferous trees, finding The One, taking turns with the saw, warming up with cocoa and cookies, and getting that tree home ASAP to turn on the Christmas music and decorate.

So even though we were a weekend late this year, we have our beautiful, sparkly, magical tree. You can be sure to find me in any of the next twenty days, sitting (or laying) on our couch, tree lights twinkling, nursing a hot cup of joe, (or tea, or cocoa). It's pretty much what I do all day long. Maybe.

The girls, like the sweet little children they are, are just the right amount enamored with the tree. That exact amount between touching, and potentially breaking, every ornament and not really caring that it's there at all. (Does anyone ever get to the point where they don't care the Christmas tree is there? I hope not.) Most of the time they steer clear from the breakables, but sometimes the ornaments do have to be rearranged. It's a child's prerogative, you know.

It's Christmas. It's CHRISTMAS! Time to get excited, people. I am feeling the magic and excitement, even if the cold is kicking my butt. Excuse me now. I have a cup of coffee to warm up and a tree to admire.

xoxo
Christine

Fathers

It was a moment nine months in the making.  Maybe even more.  A moment after a long night of timing and breathing, walking and crying.  After restlessness and anticipation.

Naturally, I was focused on the task at hand.  So much so that I almost missed it.  The muffled sobs to my right drew me out of my concentration to my husband’s face.  A face with hazy blue eyes and leaking tears.  A face of joy and awe and love.  The face of a father.

******

Bumbling.  That’s what he called it.

The only time I’ve ever seen him cry was at the birth of our first daughter.  And I would have completely missed it, had he not “bumbled.”  I would have missed not just his tears, but also his joy, his first moment into fatherhood.

******

I can not imagine being on this journey of parenthood without my husband.  He is so many wonderful things, especially father to our children.

Happy Father’s Day, Adam!

******


And to my father, who filled my childhood with good books, good travels, and good memories.  Who gave to me a passion for always learning more.  Happy Father’s Day, Papa!

xo.
Christine

An Old Glass

I have been feeling kind of homesick for Vienna lately.  Probably because my parents just got back from there, and I haven't been in over five years.  And my parents, sweet wonders they are, brought back treats from my second home, and I love them (my parents and the treats).  But, you know, they also remind me what I'm missing.

Visiting would not be the same, of course.  The last time I was there was for my grandmother's funeral.  But I wasn't there at Christmas to pack up her things.  And I haven't been back to stay in a hotel.

Yesterday I took out a glass of hers.  One that I kept from her home after she was gone.  I gently touched the edge, it felt so delicate.  And I remember telling myself, Be careful, Christine.  You would be so sad if this broke.  And I was.  Careful to slide an ice cube in, to set it far away from the girls' wobbly reach.

It sat in the sink over night, and today while I was putting away a pile of clean dishes, a bowl fell.  It broke the glass.

I am disappointed and a little sad.  But I know the things that I have of hers, while precious, are not what I need.  They will not bring her back to life.  They will not pay for a family trip to show my daughters my birth city.  They will not make my memories stronger.

But, it does almost feel like I let her down.  Or a memory was almost lost.  Which is why I can't bring myself to throw the broken glass away.

This pull between the logical "it's just stuff" and the emotional "it's a part of us" is what I struggle with.

Even though glasses and necklaces and dishes are just things, I struggle with remembering this and instead feeling like they are a part of me.  A part of my grandmother.  A part of our past.

Sometimes, it's just hard to say goodbye.  Even to a broken old glass.

*****
Linking up with Heather and Elaine.

2011 Comes to a Close

Our year in review.

Hope turned 3

Sisterly Love

My Little Irish Ladies

Paige turned 1

Bears at the zoo

Happy Father's Day, Daddy

4th of July Parade

Popsicles on a hot day

School started

Visited my sister in New York

Thanksgiving

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays

Today I am linking up with Jessica from Four Plus an Angel and Ashley from My Front Porch Swing for

The Obligatory Giving of Thanks Post

Today, I am thankful.

I am thankful for family, friends, and health.

However, if I am being honest, I do not always remember to be thankful.  I find myself feeling overwhelmed and stressed.  I get caught up in the unimportant things of life, instead of focusing on how full and blessed my life is.

So, as most people this week, I am trying to consciously meditate on what I am thankful for.  And of course, that includes my family, my friends, and our health.

This year, I also feel thankful for who I am.  For where I come from.  For all that makes me, me.  Of course there are always things I would like to change about myself, or am working on changing.  There are things I would like to do differently, or better.  But this post is not about that.  This is about me feeling thankful for everything and everyone who has shaped me into the person I am today.

My parents

My parents, my relatives, my ancestors, they make me who I am.  My strong grandmother who raised my father as a single mother.  My strict grandfather and step-grandmother, who instilled the importance of Austrian etiquette in us.  My sweet maternal grandmother, who I have but a few memories from before the nursing home.  And my cranky maternal grandfather, who would have adored Adam.  Their parents and grandparents before them.  Their lives, their traditions, their legacies, have led to my life.

My friends, my cheerleaders, they make me who I am.  My first boy friend from childhood, whose backyard was attached to ours.  The first family friends, with two little girls close to my age.  My elementary school friends, who hold such a deep place in my heart, I will never let them go.  My middle school friends, who weathered through that awkward time of life with me.  My high school friends, who have scattered across the country and are turning into beautiful adults.  My college friends, my work friends, my mommy friends, who have supported me and my insecurities into adulthood.  These people I love and care about, who love and care about me, have led to my life.

I am who I am, because of the experiences I had.  Some good, some great, some terrible, some wonderful.  I try to be thankful for them all.

Today, I am this me, because of my husband.  The quiet boy who fell in love with me on a bus in Ireland.  Who made me laugh, and made me love, and made me realize what life I wanted.

Today, I am this me, because of my daughters.  Who gave me the gift of motherhood and unconditional love.  Who snuggle me, who kiss me, who love me.  Who continually teach me the important things.

So many people, so many places, so many experiences, have made me who I am.

So today, and always, I am thankful.

Memories of Phyllo Dough and Baking Apples

I love the Wednesday before Thanksgiving.  That's right, the day before the actual holiday.  Of course, part of the reason I used to love it was that after work was done (or school when I was younger), it was the beginning of a break of four days in a row.

But that's not really why I still love it.  The Wednesday evening before Thanksgiving holds one of my favorite traditions from my family.

My Viennese father and Paige

When I was growing up, the night before Thanksgiving was reserved for a family gathering of apfelstrudel preparation.  (Apfelstrudel is an Austrian specialty. Apfel is German for apple, and strudel, well, I think strudel is strudel, right?)


My dad lugged our heavy box tv into the kitchen and rearranged the bunny ear antenna.  We watched a holiday program while we worked.  My sister, dad and I were recruited to peel and cut apples.  My mom worked with the phyllo dough, rubbing oil, rolling in apples, and baking to golden perfection.


We worked all evening, or at least that's what my childhood memory recalls, making strudel after strudel.  Even though this was our Thanksgiving weekend tradition, the strudel was not made to be enjoyed on the food-filled holiday.  Each strudel was wrapped in foil and frozen, to be given out to and enjoyed by family friends throughout the holiday season.

Winter in Vienna

The funny thing about this being one of my favorite traditions, is that I never actual enjoyed eating the strudel.  To those of you who do not already know this about me, I am not a fan of cooked apples.  I love raw apples and applesauce, but I do not like apple pie, apple crisp, homemade applesauce, or anything made with apples that have been cooked or baked.  There is just something about the mushy texture and flavor.


(Even weirder still is that I can enjoy every part of the baked apple product -- the crust, gooey filling -- but the actual apple.  Anyway...)


Adam and I have not continued this tradition with our own family.  Partially because we have two young girls who can't yet be recruited to peel apples.  Partially because it just doesn't work with our schedule.  And partially because I don't eat the apfelstrudel.  (I'm not usually one to make things I don't eat.)


But as we approach Wednesday, and I think of that happy tradition, I wonder if someday we can incorporate it into our new family.  Because, even though it's a lot of work, even though I don't eat it, that memory, and that pastry, is part of who I am.  And who doesn't want to pass that on to the next generation?





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Linking up with Mama Kat