@theterrace

I know it’s post season for a Christmas post, but I can’t let the moment go unnoticed. One of the most fun and funniest nights we’ve had all year was our December 16 Christmas Eve with Dad and Mary Ellen. We wanted to celebrate with them before leaving for France, so they came to our house to toast the season and gamely brought dinner so we could focus on final packing and wrapping.

And of course, when I say “gamely,” of course there was quite literally, a game. They brought in bag after brown paper bag, used and assorted from a variety of department stores and shops, and placed them not under the tree, but on the dining room table.

Christmas Eve dinner was a game of White Elephant. “Natch,” meaning naturally, to use my grandmother’s colloquialism. (I have to mention Grammy because her birthday was on Christmas Eve, and because she was indeed always game for something fun like this.)

So we each picked a number out of the proverbial hat—actually just a crumpled but clean brown paper bag brought for the occasion—and in that order, picked a bag seemingly from Macy’s, the Apple Store, or The Paper Source.

The first person to code was Tatum and her bag proffered a lovely looking Caesar salad with fresh croutons that had only spilled a little. Blitz then picked a random bag and found yummy looking orange beef and rice from a Chinese restaurant. She kept the beef.

Marley went next, saying, watch, I’m going to get a hot dog or something. And…bingo! Marley’s mystery bag held a rather cold hot dog from Costco.

Other bags held a gyro, other bonafide Chinese dishes, an entire pizza. It was hilarious! There was some swapping and stealing of preferred dishes, but people were mostly so excited to get their mystery dish that they kept their own. Marley kept the hot dog.

The best non-food gift was made by Clara, who found a box of loose photos in the basement storage room and made a collage for Poppy. It was a thrill to see photos from long and short ago. She’s super creative and loving.

And in other Christmas news, Rob won the contest. You know which one.

Aix…so many words and so little time. We had an aixcellent time, the food was aixemplary, and bring together for Christmas was a joy par aixcellance. Okay, great, thanks—I got that out of my system. Originally, Kevin and I had wanted to have the family visit Delhi for Christmas, but we couldn’t find affordable tickets over several months so we decided to meet in the middle, and Paris had the lowest ticket costs. That was not a hard sell! Then we decided it would be more fun with family and before you know it, it was a full family reunion in Provence.

It’s hard to capture this magical trip in a blog post. I might need more: One for the food alone! Or the art. Or the family time. But let’s start at the beginning, which was Christmas Day itself. Doug said it was one of his favorites ever.

For lunch, Doug provided three beautiful rotisserie roasted chickens—they are small, healthy and hormone free, plus we were feeding Finn plus eight other people—and Mom and I shopped and cooked for the side dishes, salads and baguette. And Mom got a work-of-art bouche de Noël from a patisserie around the corner. Entering it felt like entering an art gallery.

We exchanged presents in our spacious living room area and then kicked back with books, movies, coffees and naps. Just like home—only the windows opened onto boulevards with little French boys playing with new scooters, flower markets around the corner, and our favorite bistro where we dined for Christmas dinner. Mom’s French onion soup is better than theirs, but everything else was excellent. Kevin ate a lot of steak.

Finn’s favorite part of Christmas actually happened the night before, at the cathedral. It was beautiful, old and packed for midnight mass. We were spread across tiny wooden pews that has made guests sit up straight for centuries. Uncle Ron and Hugh, both tall and broad shouldered, could hardly turn in their pew across the aisle. Therefore, it was a rude surprise indeed when Uncle Ron got whacked on the head from behind. He couldn’t turn around to see why. Then it happened again. The most powerful time to laugh is when you’re not supposed to, obviously, and Finn got the laughs. He tried to be discreet, but when one tries to stop, the urge to laugh even more is stronger than will power.

And of course, it’s infectious. The girls, bored, were already fighting their own giggles, something to do with the shape of the chandelier bulbs. Tatum has turned to me three minutes into the mass and whispered, “Mom, everything’s in French.” The fight to be polite and awake—Mom and Doug were also fighting jet lag—was too much. We were probably not discreet when we left after an hour, but at least we could laugh freely in the cold, twinkly Christmas Eve air. And Uncle Ron could replace his hat to his head, that being the source of the whacking by program from the older gentleman who had been seated behind him. I don’t think Finn will ever forget the joy of seeing a grown up get in trouble so surprisingly.

The days were easy and light, at least for me. Kevin and Finn did an incredible hike over many miles in mountainous terrain with beautiful azure views. Finn decided to go for a dip, never mind the freezing cold temperature of water and air. That was a highlight for them both.

My water highlight came in Cassis, a small ocean-front town east of Marseille that had a beautiful beach. My favorite memory of the trip might be watching the kids play on the sand one night. On one side the black, soothing ocean; on the other, a modern light show projected onto ancient stone village townhouses in purples, greens and oranges. There were giant fish swimming across one minute and Ancient Greek motifs the next. Eventually hunger took over so we found a restaurant and ordered nothing but desserts for dinner.

What do you know about Cézanne? I can offer three interesting tidbits. First, for an artist as prolific as he, it’s incredible that he painted entirely from two spots only, the first being a one-room studio and the other being a grassy knoll with a long view just up the hill. Second, he painted some fabulous, huge paintings of women, as they all did in those years, yet he was too shy to use live models. He used a single wooden doll to serve as his only model for all those paintings. Third, his father wanted him to be a banker. May we all follow our own paths.

The week was not so much about tours though, as it was about sitting at cafés, eating, and watching movies. We all gathered around the tv each night and watched a French-themed movie: The Count of Monte Cristo (we then visited the island housing the Chateau d’If), the Pink Panther, Midnight in Paris, for example. They all provided funny or aixciting intergenerational entertainment. And now it’s time to make my aixit.

After years of staying put, and kind of going kaput, we traveled to Paris not once but twice within the year, within a month. (And I went to Pakistan too—a banner year, travel wise.) For the kids, it was their first trip overseas since returning from Indonesia. Paris provided a circle, being our launching pad to the States in the summer of 2018, and our landing point for Christmas 2023.

The weather was just right for France, moody and mostly misty, always overcast but never quite raining. That gave us plenty of opportunities to hole up for Belgian beer or chocolat chaud, depending. We walked a lot in spite of the weather, and one of our best days included all forms of public transportation. We separated near Sacre Coeur at noon with instructions to meet at the Eiffel Tower at 5.00. Hugh and Finn walked (to the tippy top of the Eiffel Tower); Heather took the bus; Kevin took an Uber from the office; and Clara and Tatum took the metro and got lost on the way, to their delight.

We all made it in time to board the tour boat on the Seine for sunset, a glass of wine and a sparkling Eiffel Tower. One of Tatum’s highlights from the trip was her first shower in our Montmartre apartment, from which we could see the Eiffel Tower glimmering in the low-hanging sun. We were situated directly across the street from Sacre Coeur, giving us an amazing view from the sofa.

Paris at Christmas is so glittery. We walked from the Musée d’Orsay through the Christmas market at the Tuileries Gardens (catching a few amusement park rides and a winter picnic along the way), to the showy shops along the Champs Elysée. “Are those real?” Finn asked, seeing the Gucci, Dior, and Galeries Lafayette store windows. The winter window art reminded me of Saks Fifth Avenue at Christmas, all magical landscapes for the imagination.

One of our most fun evenings was much more down home, when the kids ate take out at the new home of Oscar and Elsie, good friends from our Jakarta group who moved to the area near the World Bank office and the Arc de Triomphe in August. After kir and cocktails, Kevin and I ate out with Tash and Andy and remarked on the absurdity of finding it easier to get together in Paris than in DC, where working and schooling a few miles away makes regular get togethers difficult. (We sprout and worked at their house upon arrival.)

We missed Brooks so much, and had even picked the charming Montmartre area because we thought he would love it, having never been to Paris or Europe before; but he had the opportunity to get cataract surgery and of course had to take it. But we did get to meet up with Hugh, since he just completed his teaching program in Edinburgh—so that was fantastic. Especially since we had to update our photo in front of Versailles. It’s been a minute since we’ve been there, maybe about 40 years.

Clara’s highlight of the visit to vanity-making Versailles occurred in the spectacular Hall of Mirrors. They were secretly following some cute guys, but then they realized they were not as secret as they thought. Tatum tried to hastily make her egress, caught her purse on a door handle and tripped. Discretion went out the gilded window. My favorite thing about Versailles was seeing a gorgeous dresser in Princess Adelaide’s room and discovering it was actually a commode.

The last important thing to note about Paris was Finn’s highlight, which was “eating food.” No food in particular, just all of it. It worked out well for all because we rarely finished our dinners and he rarely didn’t finish them for us. Parfait. But he didn’t touch the escargot, which Tatum not infrequently ordered. The warm chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream was also a regular order. It’s a good thing we were on the sixth floor of the building at the top of many steps up the Mont of the Martre.

Getting Finn to celebrate Finn is a quixotic climb. Even getting him to acknowledge he was born is challenging. He continues to be modest, to say the least, and anti attention. So we mainly celebrated the 15th birthday with a low-key family affair. Tatum couldn’t be there because of school but joined by phone. Kevin was still in town for the autumn-winter interlude, so that was lucky; and of course Poppy, Grams and Blitz are always up for a celebration and a chance to cheer on Finn. Also, great luck, our friend Noelle from Jakarta via North Carolina, was visiting.

Finn is a hard one to shop for gift wise because he’s very minimalist. The best gift I could have given him would have too been to clean out the kitchen junk drawer—the only thing we argue about is whether we actually need two spatulas when we could get by with one—but I don’t have it in me. So I got him the next best thing I could think of: a large recycling bin. He not infrequently goes into the woods of his own accord to pick up broken glass and other recycling. Thankfully, he loved it. He loved Blitz’s harmonica more (Clara loves it less).

On the other hand, Finn is not hard to feed, in the sense that the boy likes to eat. It’s not hard to find food he’ll appreciate. The quantities are occasionally a problem to keep up with. In honor of his love of all things pure, he had a vanilla cake with vanilla icing—and cherry chocolate chip Hagen Daaz.

After some coaxing, he did eventually agree to all a couple of friends to see a movie at the mall with him a few nights later—but they were not to know it was in honor of his birthday. Matthew, Finn Sullivan and Finn saw the 1980s classic “Die Hard,” which I had the joy of sitting through as well because teens are not allowed to see an R rated movie without an adult. I tried to be as inconspicuous as possible and sat in the farthest possible seat.

He’s getting better every day at jump roping and is getting excellent feedback from teachers about his performance at school. He found the first book he loves (aside from Dairy of a Wimpy Kid), called “Can’t Hurt Me,” a memoir by David Goggins. He’s most favorite creature on earth remains Bali. He is hard working, disciplined, responsible, kind, minimalist, fun and occccccasionally aggravated by those less so than him (i.e., Clara and me). He’s 15 and focused.

Clara turned 15! Theoretically, anyway, since we have continued the tradition of giving each twin a birthday that does not compete with the other’s or Jesus‘s cake day—so Clara’s birthday this year was on December 1.

With besties Georgette and Marley, we had some fine dining at the famous Martin’s Tavern in Georgetown, staying warm and dry on the patio with the help of heaters. There was discussion and speculation about JFK’s proposal to Jackie there a few decades ago. I also feel connected because Senator Kennedy had his own facto favorite spot in the restaurant.

She wanted to have her hair highlighted as her birthday gift, so she went to a salon—just like when she turned six!—and at first she loved it but then it turned into Angry Penguin, as displayed in her kitchen art. Overall, though was a joyful juvenile.

She is doing well in her classes but doesn’t like school very much. She has a shoulder injury that requires rehab, so she’s low key on her tennis and lacrosse practices these days. She asks a lot of questions—again, a lot of “why?” questions, just like when she was 6!—but with more gusto these days. Favorite clothes include slippers, pajamas, baggy jeans or sweatpants, hoodies (hood pulled up half the time to cover the despicable hair), and small earrings. Poppy always makes her laugh. She loves to create a vibe in her room with candles and essential oils and music, dislikes being in photos, and is very excited about going to France for Christmas. She probably mostly looks forward to being 16.

I haven’t posted in such a long time, and I’ve been trying to plumb my little spirit to figure out why. Perhaps the combination of adolescent outrage at uncurated photos and news about them shared; a sense that the inside of my mind is like a swirl cone from the rundown boardwalk ice cream shop and sometimes I can’t think straight; living back on plain old home territory rather than a novel overseas landscape; when I’m working, it’s impossible to find space in the day or night to think another thought, even one as small as a half paragraph; and having quick ways to share news and photos on my phone ensure I have a lifeline to my parents, daughter and loved ones already…these obstacles conspire to stop me from pausing to gather my thoughts and share them. I need to seat myself in a mindful-moment corner and stay put. However, sharing the inside of the melting swirl cone may be a reckless idea because I can no longer provide any quality assurance.

Regardless, the end of the year always provides a good nudge to pause, reflect and look foward. So in that spirit, I will try to take stock of this year in this and a few subsequent posts, sharing events and changes to our lives in no particular order. I’m reading “Junkshop Window,” a collection of essays by family friend James Patterson, and love the idea of pulling out the junk, dusting it off and seeing whether any of the rubble might be treasure–or might be considered treasure later. I see my kids pouring over our printed collection of old posts from when they were little to reconstruct disappearing memories and construct their identities. Maybe a sporadic review of the year through a rear view window will help them remember this transitional year.

A key transition for all three of our pigs, as their aunt and uncle presciently called Tatum, Finn and Clara, was the move to new schools. Naturally, they continue in three different schools just to vex their mother. Boutique school shopping…it’s appalling, but here we are. It’s like it’s as ordinary as deciding between cheese grits, heuvos rancheros or yogurt parfait for breakfast. I can’t believe we became one of those families. For the record, we never intended that, it just kind of unfolded that way.

It seems like two of three of the pigs are happy in their boutique mud, metaphorically speaking, and one less so. Tatum is in 11th grade at a boarding school a couple hours from home, close enough to have overnight or weekend stays and far enough to have all the independence and social time that boarding school provides, which is fabulous. There’s a high proportion of international students at the school, including a roommate from Gautemala, and that makes us all feel right at home. Tatum has a pretty serious courseload included pre-calc, physics and AP world history, and it seems to suit her well. She’s on the volleyball team and I’m grateful I’m not required to drive her to Connecticut or Calcutta for games, like some of my friends have to do.

Finn continues at his small private school but moved from the middle to the upper school, which brings new responsibilities and freedoms. New responsibilities include more demand for time management and self-advocacy skills; new freedoms include a more infrequent requirement to be in school uniform. Homecoming this weekend shines a light on the hilarious, painful awkwardness of uneven maturity levels at the start of high school. Some kids are not ready to go at all–why stand around in too-tight dress shoes when you could be watching a Marvel movie at home with popcorn at the ready?–some are going with a date, and some are going in the amorphous pack that provides the cover of anonymity. It’s good to see the kids don suits and dresses, usually reserved only for Bar Mitzvahs or Christmas Eve services.

Clara and her friends tend to wear sweats and slippers to school, the opposite of getting dressed up. Yes, slippers. It seems that in the post-COVID era, many adults are just so surprised and happy to see teenagers standing upright and in public that all pretense of a dress code is being politely overlooked. It’s slightly disconcerting that Clara think that’s something more than pajama pants is getting “dressed up” for church. However, the public school system’s shrug at the pajama pants and slippers approach is better than the “you’re good as long as you’re genitals are covered” approach of Tatum’s previous private school. (For the record, by slippers, I mean extremely overpriced Uggs, which are the status symbol of choice in this high-end catchment area. We balance this with nothing by thrift shop clothes from ankle to head.) Clara is getting almost all As, math being a small exception, and has plenty of friends, but I have never once heard her be glad to go to school, alas. She would rather clean the bathrooms while dressed up than go to school, it seems.

Having three high schoolers is a new chapter indeed. I would take it over three middle schoolers any day of the week, even as a slightly embassed boutique school shopper.

You know that feeling you get right before you step onto an elephant’s back to go for a ride? You know, definitely intrigued and excited but tinged with trepidation? That’s how I felt at the beginning of Thanksgiving break. I was waiting to hop on the back of the break, which was to be myself and five teenagers riding through 10 days of possibly beautiful, possibly choppy waters.

In the end, Kevin was unexpectedly able to come home and then our household doubled in size overnight. Usually it’s just Clara and Finn and myself humming along through our days relatively quietly (unless Shaggy is playing loudly, which does happen, especially when we do dishes), but all of a sudden three people became seven. Kevin arrived from Delhi and Tatum arrived at Dulles via shuttle, with two friends in tow. Daniela and Roberto are exchange students from Guatemala enrolled at Tatum’s school.

We had a fun week. We tried to mix in various kinds of cultural events, which includes attending a bluegrass concert at the Kennedy Center, visiting George Washington’s Mount Vernon, a service at the National Cathedral, and going to the mall, as in, shopping mall – what is cultural all depends on your perspective. One distinctively cultural moment occurred on the highway by Tyson’s Corner, normally 15 minutes from our house, where we sat without moving for an hour as a result of Black Friday mania. We never did get to the mall but while trying to crawl back home, we picked up another friend from school and navigated a Free Palestine protest. There was a lot of time for bonding and comparing playlists.

As far as food, we dined out, ate home-cooked meals, dined at Poppy’s and Grams’, wait our turn at Comet Pizza, had brunches, and made pumpkin pecan pie and GOP bars. And, to our delight, we also had a home-cooked Guatemalan meal thanks to Daniela and Roberto, and with special thanks to Daniela‘s mother on the phone from Guatemala. (Is this a good time to share that I still call my mom for help with cooking?)

A big part of the blessing of any holiday is just having a break from normal life, and I think all the kids, Finn and Clara included, were happy to not be in class, to live in pajamas, stay up late, watch movies on TV, play ping-pong, and sleep in. We also trotted with the Hathways for the Turkey Trot. And despite all the educational efforts, like visiting monuments and bookshops, a highlight named by most of the kids was just hanging out with Bali the dog. Nothing like free fur therapy.

We had extra friends over for Thanksgiving dinner, Rochelle and her boys, and we all shared cooking opportunities. I made most of the sides like garlic mashed potatoes, my mother’s stuffing, green bean casserole, hot rolls, and so forth, and Tatum made a delicious, sweet potato soufflé. Kevin mastered the meat: turkey in the Traeger. His favorite and now well-used word is “spatchcocked.”

I was thankful to have all the Tomlinsons in one place, at one table. The metaphorical elephant in the river of Thanksgiving break gave us a pretty smooth ride, and a beautiful view of some very cool young people. And no one fell asleep on the elephant, not even Finn—just on the sofa after football, as we’d hope.

P.S. Speaking of rides, Tatum is getting in her driving hours in now that she has her learner’s permit. I would say, passengers beware, but she’s super cautious. So far so good!

Charleston offered a lot of great food and great views and we really loved getting time with Brooks. One of our favorite restaurants was Poe’s Tavern on Sullivan Island, an…unsullied beach, if I may say. We had the great fun of meeting up with Finn Sullivan on his 14th birthday at his dad’s restaurant, one of four, where the fried oysters were amazing. Charleston is a town for foodies, for sure. Tatum and Finn T. tried escargot at one nice French place. (Clara was a firm no on the snails.)

Other highlights: Going to the beach with Bali on Sullivan’s Island; walking Bali with Uncle Brooks; getting bagels at Folly Beach; seeing Presley and eating at Waffle House; watching The Patriot (Tatum cried, like me) and eating Finn’s delivery birthday cakes; the carriage ride through Charleston and the ghost tour; seeing where the show Outer Banks was filmed (Clara); the amazing weather; Maison restaurant; getting ice cream; hearing Kevin say he could retire in South Carolina; Tatum having a scream in Prohibition restaurant to win $10 from Finn (a highlight for Finn), and watching The Grinch then taking a nap on the sofa with Clara.

It was also a treat to visit the Baughns in Taylor, SC, and meet their pets. Maybe we too need a barking gecko. Rock wall climbing was a big hit. Tatum’s hiking and packing experience paid off: She won a bet with Kevin that she could climb the hardest (inverted) wall and made $100 for it. One never knows how hard work will pay off.

So here we are, in the Merry Twixtmas, the time in-between, the pause between the whoosh before Christmas and the ramping up activities to reimagine and resume life in the new year. I love the pause. This year brings particular need for it because I need a minute to catch my breath and reflect on the last week, not to mention the last year. Let’s take food to describe the pace. In the last week, the following eating has taken place:

• Homemade-by-Tatum, ash-covered cinnamon rolls in a pot previously scrubbed out by a dirt-covered broccoli scrub brush, cooked within an improvised oven of coal from a cooled fire that Tatum got up early to make using juniper branches she collected from the Utah wilderness specifically to make this breakfast for Kevin and me.
• Pistachio-cherry macarons as big as a dollar coin and as delicate as a snow crystals, eaten underneath the original portrait of Abraham Lincoln that hangs in the State Dining Room of the White House–the same room from which Thomas Jefferson worked and Lady Diana and John Travolta dined before dancing.
• Perfectly roasted prime rib covered in herbs and slow roasted in a smoker and three-hour potatoes prepared by Kevin; Mary Ellen’s pistachio and pomegranate salad; and our traditional long-simmered French onion soup for Christmas Eve dinner.
• A greasy Eye Opener burger with bacon, cheddar and a fried egg (Finn), homemade potato chips (Heather) and a hazy IPA (Kevin) in Moe’s Crosstown Tavern in Charleston, sitting within a ring of tvs and video games, while discovering that tag is a professional sport that can be mesmerizing on tv.
• Burgundy escargot in a parsley butter sauce, bucheron tart with carmelized onions, fois gras with apple butter and and brioche and steak frite in a peppercorn-cognac sauce in a French restaurant that advertises “comfort accompanied by transcendence” in foodie Charleston. Tatum liked the escargot, Finn ate it, and Clara’s plate remained unmarred.

Keeping up emotionally with these experiences was almost as challenging as keeping up physically. I was grateful for the “hip dip” Tatum dug out for me under the juniper tree before the ground froze solid, appreciative that Mary Ellen had sheer panty hose to loan me for the White House Christmas party and that Tatum knows how to create a smoky eye, and entertained by watching the children’s reaction to escargot. It has been a good week. And I didn’t even mention the Golden Grahams for breakfast.

Wishing you a chance to chew on life slowly this week, whatever’s on your menu.

I wish I could say it was the morning devotional or the jazzy Christmas playlist that slows me down, but it’s really just the fat cat sitting on my lap. Who wants to disturb the cat? So, finally, a moment of stillness on this sunny-cold early morning to pause. Why is it that Advent, the season of magical twinkly lights and kindness to strangers, so peaceful on paper, is also the season of overly stuffed to-do lists that lead to scurrying like the proverbial mouse running from that fat cat? There are two sides of the paper, I guess.

The to-do lists are like Finn’s ideally packed carry-on backpack. When Finn was about six, he wanted to pack his own bag for the plane. It looked…problematic. It held a stuffed animal, some snacks, large but high-quality headphones, a hardcover book, and–a basketball. And possibly a pair of watershoes. These are all useful items, they just don’t all fit. He is now, at age 13, practically a professional packer, but yesterday, when he packed for a trip to Florida with his friend F. Sullivan, he packed all of the same things, swapping only the stuffed animal for his iPhone. He literally asked if could take his basketball. And a pump.

So this is what my holiday to-do lists look like and you will see it is also overly stuffed and lacking cohesion. I have “send research questions for flooding data set (Pakistan),” “start application for Tatum,” “tip the mailman,” “prep for Board meeting,” “deliver Christmas cards to neighbors,” “find ribbon for wrapping,” “sign Clara up for spring tennis,” and “buy themal underwear” in the same column. Don’t even ask about the other column.

The thermal underwear is for sleeping in 11 degree weather. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, 11 degrees. Kevin—happily back from Delhi last week for the holidays—tried to back out of it last night: “Hon, if Tatum’s done with the program, can’t we just pick her up and come home?”…even though the intent of this visit is to go see and live in her world, even if just for a day. And a night, a cold, very cold, night. She has been doing this for 8 weeks all day, all night, a foot and a half of snow notwithstanding, and she has talked not about the horrible freezing cold but about the stars. So I think we can be brave enough to do this for one night. And honestly, I’m so excited to see her night sky, to see her, to see the stars in her.

Tatum doesn’t need us to pick up any Christmas or bithday presents to give on her behalf because she is making them, she said. She missed Clara’s birthday celebration, which was a small dinner at the house with Poppy’s Pea Soup and take-out Indian food on the menu. Clara’s requested cake was chocolate with vanilla icing and Christmas decorations on top, and the Ben & Jerry’s Phish food ice cream was an added bonus. She got ice cube trays from Poppy & Grams, overpriced Ugg-brand house slippers (apparently to wear to school), her ears double pierced, and, with Tatum’s persuasive advocacy, her nose pierced. Ugg. She looks as gorgeous as always, she just now has a little extra…sparkle.

Clara can now say she’s older than Finn, becuase he hasn’t had his family birthday celebration yet, so he’s 13 and she’s 14 for a hot second. For most of his life, he has liked to say that he’s “a minute taller” than Clara, since he has generally ranged from a half inch (age 2) to about 5 inches (age 12) shorter than her. This year, the reversal began its journey. Finn is officially taller than Clara. But he is still 13.

The trip to Florida is Finn’s birthday present, way better than the do-it-yourself-robot box I would probably have gotten him, which would sit in the giveaway pile by spring break.

Thanksgiving break was extra special this year because it also included a birthday party, this one too big to squeeze into the dining room at home. Doug organized a party for Mom at the Lake Temescal Beach Chalet, with catered food, the Bobby Young Project band, pretty flowers, and enough wine to keep Sonoma’s wineries going through the next half year. So many of Mom’s friends came. I can share my little speech about her in another post, but the gist of it is that she has so many good friends because she is such a good friend. Rob organized a slide show of our beautiful, funny, accomplished, stylish, always-game mom and there was some epic dancing and conversation. It was my first chance to meet the newest Wallace, King Arthur, which was very exciting. Seeing my cousins was the best. Mom’s Thanksgiving stuffing was also the best.

A lot of bests to be thankful for as we deepen our walk into the Advent season. Here’s hoping that thermal underwear arrives in time for the walk.