New Year's (with pictures!)

Back in October sometime I misplaced our camera. It may have gone missing while I was in St George with the kids over fall recess, or I could have lost it while at our family cabin for Kedar's birthday.  I really have no idea.  It has become one of those mysteries that may not be resolved during this lifetime.  I went to find it one day and it was gone. 

If there is one time of year that is worse than any other not to have a camera it is, without a doubt, the months of October, November and December.  There are no pictures of our three adorable kids in their Halloween costumes.  No pictures of the precious time with family (or the delicious food) on Thanksgiving .  Pictures of our traditional Christmas Eve jammies were not taken and Christmas morning was captured only by the camera on my man's phone.

Needless to say, I've been sad about our camera-less situation.  But, after seeing the chances of finding it get more and more remote, Kedar took matters into his own hands and bought me a new camera for Christmas!  I opened the wrapped box on Christmas morning and screamed.  It was one of those sounds that you don't intend to make but when there is so much excitment on the inside, something has to happen on the outside too.

I AM THRILLED!  (You can tell because I used all caps and italicized that last sentence.)

While we were at the cabin over New Year's I took a slew of pictures.    

 Mr. E

 Sweet Pea

 C Man

The Boys

The crowd at the cabin was much smaller than most years.  There were twelve of us instead of twenty five, but we had so much fun.  Luckily there was enough snow for the kids to sled and snowboard.  And as usual there was an overabundance of delicious food. 

There was also an incredible sunset.  The sky was ablaze with vibrant oranges, pinks and purples, so, I stepped out onto the deck to get a picture. 

I couldn't stop with just one. 

Each moment was more beautiful than the last.

My brother with his sweet twins.

All in all, it was a great way to start a new year.  Great things are happening in 2012.

A Proper Farewell

The holidays are over.  After four weeks off track, the kids are back in school.  This week my goal is to get all of the Christmas decorations put away.  Life is returning to its regular rhythm.  Luckily, before reality found us, we were able to get away for four days, spend some time together and to give 2010 a proper sendoff.

Ending the year in the beauty of nature and the company of my family is one of my favorite traditions.  Each year after Christmas we head up to the family cabin to say goodbye to the ending year and to welcome in the New Year.

We cram into every inch of the cabin and we cram every minute with memories.  

There are snow forts to be made, sleds and snowboards to ride, snowshoe hikes to go on and lots and lots of good food to eat.

The kids love spending this time with their cousins. 

On Sunday, as we were getting ready to head for home Aubrey asked, "Can't we stay here forever?"

May Day

Tomorrow is the first day of May- May Day. Wikipedia says that "May Day marks the end of the uncomfortable winter half of the year."

Well, May Day doesn't seem to mark anything around here.

This is what we saw this morning looking out our back window.

It looks to me like we are still in the middle of "the uncomfortable winter."

I love the little snow caps on the tops of the fence posts in this picture. Well, I would love them if it was December or February, even March maybe. But it's not. It's April 30th!

Tomorrow is May Day, for Pete's sake!

Traditions

One of my favorite traditions that we have as a family is going up to my parents' cabin the week after Christmas. We play in the snow;



sledding, snowmobiling and snow shoeing.


When we are too tired or too lazy to go outside we stay inside playing games, watching movies and eating way too much. This year was no different. We played hard, stayed up late and spent time together.

Several years ago, on New Year's Eve, my Mom sat us all down and presented us with these questions: "What did you accomplish in the last year that you are most proud of?" and "What are you going to do in the coming year, no matter what?" Honestly, when she proposed that we go around the room and each answer these questions, the response she got wasn't exactly enthusiastic. Sometimes it's hard to give questions like these serious thought.

But these questions have become a tradition. The answers that are given as we make our way around the circle in the family room are often simple but are a tiny glimpse of a complex back story. The birth of a baby (or two), the completion of a bike race or the organization of a bake sale may be given as accomplishments from the past year. These answers, as simple as they are, speak volumes to us as a family. We know of the weeks in the hospital before and after the births, we know of the triumph of emotionally conquering on that particular race course and we know of the huge influence for good something as simple as a bake sale can have.

This year Kedar was able to say as his turn came, "The accomplishment that I am the most proud of this year is graduating." His response didn't surprise me but still brought tears to my eyes. The journey was the part that was left unspoken. Twelve years of perseverance were represented in his quiet answer. I was so glad that he had a place where he could say it out loud and have what he wasn't saying be understood.

Hoar Frost

Yesterday, I woke up in the night: Aubrey was awake. She's afraid of the dark lately. While I was helping her get back into bed, I noticed there was a kind of glow coming in through the window. I walked over to see where the strange light was coming from. On the other side of the glass, there was a thick, soupy fog enveloping the world. The light from the streetlights struggled to break through the haze but instead just put off on eerie, yellowish glow.

Later in the morning, I looked out the window again. The fog hadn't lifted yet. It had settled there, low on the ground, like it was planning on making a home in our neighborhood. The feeling of the morning was muffled by the large ominous cloud lying on our lawn. The kids didn't want to get ready, I wasn't motivated either. We all felt stagnant like the air outside.

Finally, after a few hours the fog lifted. The light coming in the house changed from a sickly, yellow-gray to a bright, clean white. I approached the window again, wondering what I would see this time. I was surprised again.

The beauty that I saw on the other side of glass was in such stark contrast to the bleak view that had greeted me earlier that I sharply inhaled. I stood there transfixed for a moment. Every branch on every tree, every blade of grass, even the plastic slide in the backyard was covered in fuzzy crystals.

I realized that as fleeting as the fog had been, this new landscape would be too. As the sun warmed the day, slowly, each crystal would melt and fall from it's branch in a drop of water.


But I was grateful that it had been there at all. It was the desolate, suffocating fog that had made the piercing beauty of the hoar frost possible. Because of the beauty of the outcome, I was glad even for it's predecessor.