It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like . . .

Well, we've been plugging along at a nice pace in recent weeks as the holidays are ramping up, and I've got a moment now before the football awards ceremony to dump my iPhone pictures here. After a nice Thanksgiving with Grandma and Grandpa and the local cousins, and fully recovered from the various illnesses, the kids and I launched the holiday season right here in Vienna at the Church Street Holiday Stroll. We parked at our own church and walked along historic Church Street - I had always wanted to go into the Freeman House, a restored pre-Civil War house. The kids got to see real Confederate army uniforms and weapons, marvel at furniture and dolls that were 200 years old, and eat penny candy. Then we crowded in to see Santa arrive on a vintage fire truck. I swear, it was like Mick Jagger had arrived. I totally got caught up in it. The kids roasted marshmallows, and we went to the old Vienna train station, where there were two ticket windows, and I explained to the kids that until 80 years ago or so, our president would have had to buy his ticket at a different window and sit in a different waiting room. The mind reels. But it was a great night and is bound to become a tradition. There have been pajama days at school, and visits from Mrs. Claus, and all sorts of excitement. On Saturday, Tim and I took the kids to Colvin Run Mill. It was built in 1801 and is so gorgeous. More Confederates, singing carols around the campfire, more roasted marshmallows. (Speaking of Confederates, a quick aside: Today Chase was asking me the difference between ACC and SEC football. And I had no idea; I knew what SEC stood for but thought ACC had something to do with American, rather than Atlantic, and had to look it up. And obviously I was wrong. But Chase said, "Well we're American right? Not Southern?" And I got to remind him that we're American by birth, and Southern by the grace of God.) Anyway, Santa was holding court in a little side room of the mill with a roaring fire. Chase of course was far too cool to sit on Mr. Kringle's lap. Which was probably best for Mr. Kringle. We had dinner at an Irish pub in Great Falls, which was full of sorry-looking Northern Virginia parents like ourselves, with badly-behaved children who had been eating candy canes, hot chocolate and marshmallows for two days straight. It was at this point that Tim decided he could no longer tolerate Cole's ragamuffin hair. So the next morning, he shaved it all off while I was downstairs chatting on the phone with my Mom. There's no question the boy looks better, and really quite handsome, but I almost started crying. Then we headed to Grandma's for her second annual gingerbread house decorating extravaganza. Where the kids made a little neighborhood I'd love to live in. And no one vomited. It was a great weekend, except for the part where I yelled something to the effect of "You kids better be durn glad it's not Christmas today or you'd be getting NOTHING!" Pure magic.