Tales of Me and the Husband

snow!

Snow by Bing Crosby & Danny Kaye & Rosemary Clooney & Vera Ellen on Grooveshark
saturday night after dark it began to snow.  the snowing-after-dark is always so exciting because you get to wake up to it.  how much will it be?!  how much will fall while we sleep??!  you can tell, before even getting out of bed… it’s here!  the light coming in the windows gives it away immediately.  it’s brighter.  we got a good couple inches.  so, after a breakfast of fried eggs and toast, out we went.  it took a good fifteen minutes to get parker ready as i prayed that he wouldn’t poop in his diaper as soon as i got the last lace tied and last zipper zipped (would i even have been able to tell through those thirty-two layers?).  he didn’t!  the little lad waited until the sledding was over–thanks parker!  lindsey made snow angels, we sledded down our little hill, steve snow-blowed the driveway, and we took a walk in our neighborhood.  you’ve got to get out right away.  that’s when it’s prettiest.  before the wind blows the inch of snow off the pines and before there are tracks of other snow-discoverers everywhere.   as you can imagine, our yard doesn’t last long undisturbed.  footprints and sled prints happen fast, so you’ve got to catch it while you can.  

the story of a train table.

this year i went round and round with what to get parker.  i didn’t want to just spend a bunch of money and throw toys at him that i hoped would keep him occupied long enough for me to check my email and get dinner ready (though, the thought was tempting).  i wanted to get him toys that would really stand the test of time.  now, i know that sounds dramatic, but i’m serious.  i knew that things like a tugboat or some puzzles would provide some entertainment, but i wanted something that he’d really use.  use and love and continue loving for a long time.  i’ve seen those train tables before but wasn’t sure he was old enough to really enjoy one and get the whole trains-on-tracks thing.  but then we visited a toy store to get some presents for william and lindsey and they had a train table there all set up.  he couldn’t get enough of it.  surrounded by walls of colorful toys, the train table kept his interest the entire time we were in the store.  i mentioned it to steve and he thought it’d be a better present for the following year.  i wasn’t convinced.  we visited the store again for some more christmas shopping and once again, the train table was where it was at for parker.  so, on christmas eve when we had a family breakfast out and stopped by the store once more, i looked at steve like, “look!  he loves it!”  then i saw steve eyeing it and measuring it with his own feet.  yessssss.  we went home, steve and nathaniel drove to lowes, and they bought the supplies to make parker his own.  steve spent a good chunk of christmas eve in the garage, building it with william alongside, his trusty sidekick, and even had to hurry back to the store for an unforeseen supply just before they closed for the holiday.  i checked in a few times over the few hours they were down there, brought them hot chocolate (the garage was cold!), and watched it become the train table i’d envisioned.  once parker went to sleep, they carried it up and all four of the older kids set up a scene with the tracks and trains we already had.  i couldn’t have been more excited.  i knew parker would love it, and, more than that, it was such a special gift to him made by his dad.  well, christmas morning came and parker and nathaniel were the last ones down.  parker spotted it immediately and could not get out of nathaniel’s arms fast enough to get to it.  right there, my christmas morning was made.  and honestly, he was even more excited than i’d hoped.  i thanked steve a million times, but here’s one more: thank you so much.  it was so special.  and now, every time i hear parker playing at it, my heart grows a size.  i spy on him around corners as he tinkers at it, moving trains around and accidentally knocking down tracks (he’s getting the idea slowly!).  i just love it.

i still may stain it, or paint it some other color.  i’m not really sure.  part of me doesn’t want to do anything to it!  i don’t think i’ll permanently paint grass or water, but maybe buy felt to make shapes that can be moved around it.  any ideas?

longer days are on their way…

{top : c/o tailor & stylist // hunttales10 for 10% off!}
{cords: anthro, old}
every year, i’m surprised at how quickly we reach december 21.  it feels like i’m just getting over the shock of, “IT GETS DARK SO EARLY!” (that quote was definitely tweeted by the shit girls say people — a funny twitter feed if you’re in need of one.) when we’ve reached december 21 and just like that, our days are longer.  or they’re starting to get there anyway.  i think it’s too soon to say spring is coming since boston hasn’t even had its first legit snow fall of the year, but anyway… you get what i’m saying.
this christmas has been so wonderful.  i’ve enjoyed the christmases of the the past several years, but often found myself still wishing for a little of that the magic that christmas held when i was little.  i think this year, i gave it up entirely and lived vicariously through my kids.  a much better choice.  they’ve still got the magic.  
christmas recaps to come!  and now!  a cup of licorice spice tea for me!

Merry Christmas from the Hunts.

This year’s Christmas card.  It came together–too last minute–but was luckily in the mailbox to its various destinations at least a week before Christmas.  Success in the end.  The picture, taken by my  good friend, was a a quick, just after the Thanksgiving feast, shot.  There were a lot of outtakes, bad ones, and this one ended up being the best of the bad.  (Fault is not my friend’s — these Hunts are a large bunch to wrangle for a good shot.)  Still, we’re under no illusion that this is the family picture to end all other family pictures.  One of these days…  Anyway, the letter is really the best part.  Written by Steve who I declare to be the best Christmas letter-writer of all, you’ll find it below.

Also, a little Christmas video below too.  And a song!  Gosh, so many entertainment avenues in one blog post.  But now, we’re done.  

The happiest of holidays to you and yours.  

Orchard House (Main Title) by Thomas Newman on Grooveshark
Dear Ones All,
Merry Christmas and the happiest New Year to you and yours.
Where should I begin? It’s been a few years since our last Christmas letter and, no doubt, the fault is mine. We’ve received yours (my wife reminds me, almost patiently); indeed, we’ve gladly strung your pictures above our mantle. An update, therefore, seems in order. If that weren’t enough, my festive wife told me to “write the letter”, and to “do it tonight or sleep on the couch”; alas, I sit and write. 
Speaking of sleeping on the couch, Parker—now 17 months!—continues to take up an inordinate amount of space in our bed. Now, it’s not simply his size that finds me relocating in the wee hours, rather it’s more his incessant flailing about, his ungodly night sweats, his blood-curdling screams. When he sleeps, he’s sort of like an octopus, but with knees and elbows. The child should work for the CIA’s Sleep Deprivation Unit. You see, as modern, blue-state liberals, we “co-sleep”. We talk about the “cry-it-out” approach the same way some talk about those who would kill baby seals with a club. Of course, if you’re unfamiliar with “co-sleeping”, I think Dante may have referred to it when describing one of the levels of Hell in The Inferno (who knew that Mr. & Mrs. Dante were “co-sleepers”?). Clearly, teething is a major design flaw in humans. Why can’t babies be born with a full set of teeth? And no, frankly, I don’t care how such a simple solution might impact the breast-feeding experience of mothers. Ladies, it’s not all about you! Now, don’t get me wrong, I love the little guy and he’s cute as can be. He’s toddling and playing hide-n-seek, and piling trucks on our dog Gracie (why?), and just generally impressing everyone with his winning smile, good-natured personality, and enviable hair. But let’s see what these same people think when they’re enjoying his company, say, between 2-5 AM. 
Lindsey is now in 5th grade. She’s funny, dramatic (“angst-y” might be more accurate), and loves to sing. If you tell her to take out the trash, she turns your request into a song, complete with three verses and a chorus. But then she forgets to take out the trash. I love the fact that she loves Taylor Swift and that the two of us got to chase Justin Bieber’s limo down the street in NYC last summer. Lindsey’s also becoming quite a clarinet player. We went to her 5th grade band concert recently. You might think me biased, but she was clearly the best one there. In fact, I wished all the other musicians (I use this term loosely) would have just gotten off the stage and let her play. After listening to their insufferable children play, the other parents would probably agree with me on this. I can hear the parents chanting next year already:
“Who do we want to listen to? Lindsey! 
Do we want to listen to our own kids? No!” 
You find this scenario incredible? You weren’t there. 
In 7th grade, William has headed off to the BIG school now. “Will”, as he’s called by his friends and teachers (awkward, right?), is still a dreamer; he’s about the sweetest, most cuddly soul you could ever imagine. Parker agrees and is pretty much glued to his hip; the two of them could toot about the house all day. Up before the sun, William makes his breakfast, his lunch, takes care of Gracie, and heads out to the bus, rain or shine, without even a whisper of complaint. If I’m doing an oil change, cleaning the garage, snow blowing the drive-way, William’s there. I love that about him. Now that I think about it, he’s more like a Labrador Retriever than our actual Labrador Retriever. He’s been blessed with his mother’s good looks too. True story: I had to take William to school late one day a few weeks ago. When we were walking the halls to the office, the bell rang. All the students poured out of their classrooms. Being several steps behind “Will”, I heard several young ladies: “Oh, my god, its Will!! Hey, did you guys, like, see Will?! Hi, Will!! Will, where ya going?” Suffice it to say, I now keep a big stick by the front door.
Jordan, as most of you know, is a HS Senior. But the thing is, before he was a Senior, he was a relatively discontented HS Junior. Something had to give. Pulling some strings, I was able to get him into the college full-time as a home-schooled student. This has worked out better than he (or I) could have imagined. The young man needed a better challenge, a change of scenery. He got both. Now nearing the end of his first semester, he’s doing really well in Physics, Calculus, and Philosophy. On any of these subjects, you wouldn’t want to debate him. His worst class? Religion. Go figure. He’s also grown about a foot since you saw him last. In any case, we’re really proud of him and his accomplishments. He definitely marches to the beat of his own drum—I like that about him—but he’s the kind of guy who will gather other marchers about him at some point too. Let’s just hope they don’t burn the place down when they get together. Now, about the picture we sent: some of you may have noticed that Jordan doesn’t look that pleased to be part of the process by which this astonishingly bad photo was produced. Even if that were true—and it is—that’s not why he looks surly. The reason for the “when-will-this-be-over” look relates to a case of Bells-Palsy, which left half his face paralyzed. Seriously, you can’t make this stuff up. The most recent update has him almost smiling (think “Two Face” at the end of Batman) and, for the most part, not dribbling liquids down his face when he drinks. He’s going to be fine and he’s a pretty good sport about it all.
Nathaniel is away at College. “Away” is a relative term. In fact, I’ll have him in a class again next semester and he’ll be doing some work for me then too. He’s in his second year, studying Business, Economics, and Philosophy and truly loving the college life: the Count Dracula-like sleep schedule, the intramural sports (like all 14 of them!), the eating mac-n-cheese at 3:30 AM, and the fact that the college, like virtually every other college these days, has two girls for every guy (finally, a biblical paradigm for dating). Yet not all is perfect in his “I-get-to-spend-four-years-at-summer-camp” world: the truth is, he’s broke. But since he hopes to get into Finance at some point, it’s probably OK. Anyway, even though I try to give him his space, it’s nice seeing him on campus from time to time. Sometimes he even pops over to my office just to chat. And one of these days, we said we’re going to play some catch on the quad in between classes. I would think that’s about the coolest thing ever. In any case, he’s turning into a fine young man.
Bridget continues to take over the blog world. She’s a gifted writer—yes, I’m also sorry she’s not writing this letter—and a creative photographer. The two make for a fine combo in the blogosphere (what a hideous word!). Given her sleep deprivation, her industriousness is remarkable. She’s like the woman described in Proverbs 31, but she likes to wear short skirts. I confess I like that too. When she’s not taking care of Parker, and the rest of us, and the laundry (you can only imagine!), she continues to whip up some of the most amazing meals. She buys organic free-range beef, cage-free eggs, and fair-trade coffee, meaning of course that, like Nathaniel, we’re broke too. Our marriage moves into its seventh year soon—Dec. 22nd—and we’re still reasonably happy with our respective decisions on that subject. Happy Anniversary, Bridget! What more could one want? 
As for me, I’ve recently been awarded tenure and promoted to full professor (details which, I’ve learned, mean next to nothing in the grand scheme of things). Having published a couple of books over the last few years, I’ve got another coming out next year. I’m saving all my royalties from these projects to take the family to McDonalds over Christmas break. In just a few nights we’ll be gathering as a family to watch “It’s a Wonderful Life” again. As I finish this letter, I’m thinking of the scene just before George finally meets and dances with the grown-up Mary Hatch over the swimming pool. You know, the scene with all the chaos in the Bailey House, Harry marching around with the fine china on his head, and Ma Bailey complaining about her nerves. I can’t help but think that scene describes my life pretty well. Good heavens, I’m Ma Bailey. Even so, we’re all hangin’ in there, even if it’s only by our fingernails. Maybe you feel this way sometimes too. Cherish those moments and those you love this Christmas season.  We’ll try to do the same.  
Love to you and yours, 
Steve, for the family    

it’s not a christmas song, but it’s a christmas message.

this guy is goooood.

a reader (thank you fran!) 
shared josh garrels with me.
and i cannot get enough
his lyrics, his message…
(click his name to read his bio.
it’s pretty interesting.)

he self-produces his own albums, and
released the below one as a free download.
who ever does that kind of thing anymore?

so, while it might not be a christmas song,
it’s a christmas message.

enjoy your weekend!

A story of an Advent Calendar.

Every year the same Christmas decorations are hauled up from the basement in their gigantic blue Tupperware containers (can they be called that or have they graduated to a new word when they’re way too huge to hold your lasagna leftovers?).  And every year they vomit every Christmas decoration we have all over the house and every shelf and chair and table.  And every year I take a few and carefully put them back in the containers when no one’s looking where they will go back to rest in the basement cause it is Christmas overload in this house if they’re all out and everywhere and, folks, it ain’t a good Christmas overload.  So, like I said, some get put away, just some, but never this one.  This Nativity Advent calendar always gets taken out, hung on the basement door, and remains out until Christmas is over.  You’re thinking, “Well of course!  Of course you’d put this sweet Nativity Calendar out!  ‘Tis more “reason for the season” than any of the others!”  WRONG.  Here’s why.  Two words: William and Lindsey.  (Three words?)  Every year without fail (seriously every single year) they cannot come to an agreement on who puts which ones up.  It seems so simple to Steve and I.  One person gets odd numbers, one person gets even.  But, I suspect William, who is up earlier than Lindsey, takes advantage (early bird catches the worm!) and puts more up than he is allowed.  This is fitting for William.  He can be a bit of the “might makes right” mindset and thus rotten to his little sister.  Yes, sweet William!  And then Lindsey, seeking retribution, puts all of them up when he’s not looking (happened tonight) and then William, noticer-of-everything-misser-of-nothing stands in front of the calendar and places then back in their pockets until the appropriate corresponding day arrives.  A battle of the wills.  It is preposterous, the whole thing, and I might burn it next year.
But here’s why we probably deserve this nonsense: we lost the baby Jesus.  Of all the pieces.  

parker at 17 months.

well, this is about the most delicious age yet.  yet how can i keep saying that and expecting you’ll continue believing me?  i’m quite sure i’ve said that at 3 weeks, 3 months, 6 months, 9, 12… so on.  but really, it’s delicious.  i want to eat you on the daily.  your thighs, your bum, your cheeks.  i kiss your lips about fifty seven times a day, sometimes you’re cool with it, other times i’m stealing them which i figure is my right.  you look at me, really trying to understand what it is i’m saying, “parker, would you like an apple?”  “parker, do you want to go get the mail with mama?”  “parker, do you see the truck?”  you get so much.  it’s remarkable.  in fact, the other day daddy asked you if you wanted to make coffee with him and you ran right over to the coffee maker.  when did we ever tell you that was the coffee maker?  you just knew.  your communication is still limited (in fact, often, you do this thing where instead of attempting the word, you do this nasal-like sound with the appropriate amount of syllables.  it’s totally random but really funny.)  when it’s time to nurse at naptime, you’re practically giddy about it.  sometimes you start to laugh and begin nursing with a huge smile on your face.  and sometimes you take both of your hands, and put them on either side of my face while nursing.  it makes me melt.  but then other times you claw at my chest and nearly do gymnastics while nursing which doesn’t work well and that makes me less melty.  every evening when dada gets home, you run around the first floor, find his slippers, and bring them to him.  i’ve told him this is a little bit like training a dog (what’s next, the newspaper from the front lawn?) but after doing it so many times together, you have come to expect it.  dada’s home, now slippers!  you play hide and go seek.  you dance almost any time you hear music.  you run and your whole body moves in the cutest way as if it takes so much effort to do so, arms swinging back and fourth so purposefully.  you’re always climbing on things–chairs, boxes, stools.  you love blueberries, pears, eggs, sweet potato, cauliflower, clementines, and any sort of cracker (sometimes i have to tell everyone to hide the things they’re eating so you’ll eat what i’ve actually put in front of you).  you have the craziest bed head when you wake up and your hair is so long at this point that it is in my face and mouth when we cuddle in bed.  i’ve trimmed it a couple times, but teeny trims.  you love trucks, cement mixers, horses, dogs and the books about those things are your favorite.  in the past month, i swear, you got about six teeth at the same time (really, i think it’s six).  what is the count up to now?  i think it’s 14 or so?  and how are we coming upon a year and a half?  it seems that this past six months since your birthday have flown by.  so much faster than the first six months felt.  i still call you a baby, but are you one?  do i need to call you a toddler?  (i refuse.)  i keep a journal for you because sometimes i feel so much but you’re not old enough to get it.  i want you to have it one day.  it’s a good outlet for me.  if you’re reading this one day, know that you are so loved, cherished, adored.  you brighten our lives every day.  we cannot get enough of you.

{past monthly parker updates}
{top picture by sara colket}

my elf on the shelf is alive!


how do you make a gif at gickr.com

i had this picture on instagram and facebook and a 
couple people suggested he looks like a little elf on the shelf.  
so, i made him come alive.  there!
there’s not a whole lot happening on the blog this week 
because i was smacked with the world’s worst cold
(but definitely something more… fever, chills, all of it.)
i’m on the mend, but still feeling pretty crappy today.
thank god for steve who’s brought me chicken noodle soup
glasses of water, vitamins, and taken care of parker while i’ve been 
pretty much bed-ridden.  
yuck!
here’s to this being the only sickness i get this winter.
i said it!

lately.

the world post-friday looks awfully grim.  doing a blog post, putting makeup on, even celebrating christmas… well, it all seems futile.  i’m trying to find hope, peace, and prayer.  lord, i’m trying.  but knowing that moms and dads are thinking about funerals instead of christmas mornings, knowing that these sweet little kids had their hair brushed and their moms help them put their shoes on for school that morning… just before violence visited them… if i think too hard about it, i can hardly breathe.  but my pain?  god, my pain is nothing compared to theirs.  i don’t know how, as a parent, you look ahead to the next many years of life, having lost a child.  your child.  it’s too much to bear.  i write this through tears that have been falling since friday.  what must they be going through?  and for what?  the most senseless of acts.  sometimes this world is just too much to take.  moms and dads of newtown, you are constantly on my mind, in my heart, and in the prayers of “lord, help us” that are rising up.  
i know i’m not the only one who is feeling this tragedy.  i read this quote the other day and perhaps you’d like to read it too:

you must not lose faith in humanity.  humanity is like an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty.  -gandhi

Love + loss.

This is the post that I published last week.  At the time, I called it, “Some thoughts on step parenting.”  And then I took it down because it just didn’t feel right.  Thing is, a lot of the post wasn’t about step parenting in particular.  A whole chunk of it was about Shannon and loss and the kids.  And how, in a way, it’s all coming full circle as Parker nears the age Lindsey was when she lost her Mom.  It was a special post to me, and one that I didn’t want to throw away simply because some of it didn’t sit right with me.  So, here’s the rest of it, edited down.
~~~~~~

Parker’s less than a year away from where Lindsey was when Shannon got sick.  He’s one year away from where Lindsey was when she died.  I have always been able to rattle off the ages of the kids pretty quickly.  (In fact, Steve’s usually looking to me all dumbfounded when someone asks how old they are.  I think Moms are just better at that.)  Their current ages, and the ages they were when she passed away.  It’s an integral part of the story, and strangers who hear the story inevitably ask, “How old were they??” 

Two.  Lindsey was two.  I’ve always known it but been, I don’t know, detached from it?  Or not quite as aware of a two-year old as I am now.  What they’re like, how often they cry or laugh, need their diaper changed, need their Mom.  Of course, Parker’s not two yet.  But, I can imagine, a little bit, what he’ll be like this July.  How little he’ll still be (to me, anyway), how often he’ll need to be fed, picked up, kissed, how he may still want me to rock him to sleep at naptime, how I’ll know, better than Steve, how to scramble an egg for him just right (Steve took issue with this: “Parker loves my scrambled eggs!”), or what his favorite foods are.  The idea of me not being around?  Well, it’s unthinkable.

Just this morning, Steve and I were sitting eating hash browns and eggs and, like it had just occurred to me, I said, “He’s not that far from where Lindsey was when Shannon died.”  Steve said, “I think of it nearly every time I change his diaper.”

I have been told that Shannon was utterly content and peaceful, right through her last days.  I have to attribute this peace to none other than God himself, because I don’t know how someone can be that way knowing that there is a huge possibility they’ll be leaving behind what they hold most dear.  Steve has said it was remarkable.  I imagine that it was.

I’m afraid it’s too easy, eight years later, to forget the loss they suffered.  To remind yourself of their past, their pain… I don’t do it enough.  It’s something that undoubtedly marked them, particularly the two older boys, forever.  I cannot begin to fathom the ways.  How will we ever really know?

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