Despite previous intentions for last month to be the only time, we were housebound this weekend with Cold #2. We still kept to our planned festivities, but scaled them back so that our orbit never ventured too far from the tea kettle and the steeping jar of fire cider.
We had a few guests from out of town…
The Chestnut-Backed Chickadees have returned from the foothills and mountains for the winter.
I’m lucky to have caught this little sweetie at all, since the pinecone turned into a tilt-a-whirl. Can you imagine having your hands tied behind your back, gripping only with your feet while spinning, and getting your breakfast by pecking at something with your face? Three seconds on the spinny bucket seats at the playground and I want to hurl.
And one of my very favorite seasonal visitors, the Townsend’s Warbler.
Meditate, if you will, on the goodness of Bird Butts…
Anyway, where were we? Ah yes, putzing about the house…
Sunday it was the great cookie bake.
Sara, the hat has become quite perfect, after all.
Nearly Fool Moon in Gemini.
We trekked out to visit Santa at Tom and Jerry’s Christmas House, but they aren’t fully set up for the season yet. Still, we were able to get our dose of twinkly lights. Shane, who dropped in on our cookie baking, told the kids as they teetered on the edge of sugar crashing, that the quieter they were, the more the lights would sparkle. This may be the only time in their small lives that this type of B.S. will work.
The kids love Shane so much, and hogged him the whole visit. As we were streaming out of the house, Shane and I were able to have a precious 5 seconds to connect. We laughed as I whined, “He was my Uncle Shane first!”.
As we drove home, Fern started in with Whine #482. (Someone had tied her dress sash in such a torturous way that the knot apparently punctured her spine.) This whine was right on the tail of Whine #481 which was in regards to
having eaten cookies all day broken candy canes. The whine counter gets reset every morning, so that should give you an idea of what kind of day it had been.
Suddenly, as we began our descent from Noe Valley back into the Castro, the whine transformed into a faux screech. An Oh-No-We’re-All-Gonna-Die squeal. This was the signal for the rest of the family to join in on our tradition of screaming in pretend terror whenever we go down a steep hill in SF. Uncle Shane, who was in the front seat with me and a tiny bit alarmed, laughed as he said
Never a dull moment in this family.
And then he started screaming too.
How was your weekend?