Let's Fly!

 Right after I took these photos, something happened that I will remember for a long time to come.

I have the best little travelers on my hands.  Our flight was delayed, an unexpected and welcome surprise.  We needed coffee and a minute to stretch out and regroup before loading the plane.  It was December 23rd at LAX, you can imagine the crowds and the utter extremes of emotions that are circling the air - (Airports + Holidays = Chaos + Emotions).  I kind of revel in these situations honestly - it is kind of thrilling and magical and electrifying so long as you have a safe spot to watch it all go by.  So, Chris scouted out a good spot next to the charging station (how awesome are those things?!) to spread out and have a snack.

Once we were all set up, Chris went and got in line for Starbucks. The girls and I were sharing some crackers, when a good looking man with a back pack, a trimmed beard, a green flannel shirt (basically a Christmas Card model for the airline) came over, hunched right down to our level and said, "Excuse me Miss, can I buy you a coffee?"  I think I was a little stunned because I wasn't quite sure if he was hitting on me and this was a pick up line, which would have been pretty odd considering the situation (wedding ring, kids, busy airport), or if I looked haggard and tired like I needed a coffee, which also would have been weird because I was smiling, taking pictures, and pretty in control of things.  Either way, I didn't say anything much and just smiled and replied "No thanks, but that is very sweet.  Merry Christmas." ... and he then he added, "No Problem.  I have three kids and my wife travels alone with them sometimes and I know how your hands get full and I thought you may need something for yourself while you wait.  Merry Christmas."

I love people.  Merry Christmas indeed.

I introduced Chris to him after my coffee arrived.  They shook hands and nodded in masculine acceptance and fatherly/husbandly solidarity.  It was a moment for the books.

In my previous post, I wrote about the connections that parents have at Christmas time, case in point.

A Christmas morning at Home before the Christmas Morning Afar

 We fly to Park City today, so Santa came a couple days early because he knew we would have limited space on the plane to bring toys home. Thanks, Santa, we appreciate you knowing how helpful this will be.

Santa and parents around the world have such an intimate relationship this week.  I feel so connected to both the spirit of the North Pole and to all parents that are going so far out of their way, staying up late, buying into the magic and glory of Christmas,  all to orchestrate the best possible morning (or night) for their children's wondering eyes.  Whether kids are enchanted by or skeptical of Santa, all parents seem to bond together in this quest to fill their house with spirit and belief.  Cheers to parents and to kids and to Santa.  I feel connected to all of you today. 

A few pictures of the Avenue C Christmas Morning on the 23rd.
Excuse the fuzzy pictures - no time to edit - must catch a flight in 2 hours.  Whew!

Christmas Tree Hunt

 

Chris, along with most people I would assume, claims his favorite holiday as Christmas without hesitation.  He always makes sure however, to specify that it is the whole season that makes his heart swell, not just December 25th.  If you know my dear husband, you probably also know that he sings Christmas songs all year around. Seriously though, Chestnuts are roasting in March and Santa Claus is coming to town in July .  He is the one guy who sees the decorations go up in Target and the carols start in Starbucks and says joyously, "Finally!" Mind you, this starts in SEPTEMBER nowadays right after they put away the back to school supplies and everyone else seems to say "Already??" even though it happens every year.  Although I used to be irrationally righteous about not wanting to start celebrating Christmas until after Thanksgiving, after years of watching Chris rejoice for months beforehand, I have given in and put my silly principle away.  Celebration is celebration and I will not squander opportunities to share in the glory of festivity any longer.

So while Chris will still hold the spirit for months longer than I can stomach, I DO love, truly adore, the search for the perfect tree.  It may be my favorite part of Christmas honestly.  We have yet to find the perfect tree lot and have been trying different ones out each year, but we do end up with happy tree-hunting babies and beautiful happy trees in our living room.

Here are some pictures of our hunt for the perfect 2016 tree.  I think we found a beauty and she is all dressed up for a grand party!

MORE Christmas Tree hunts here (2014)  and here (2012)!

 

The pictures make it look like it is drizzling and/or a fire blazing behind us.

Neither of which is the case.

 

Cheyenne is an amazing older sister.  She is a leader, a support, a true friend.  She can't however, for the life of her, stop laughing when Avalon does something like put hay in her mouth or avocado in her hair.   This only makes Avalon rejoice in these habits all the more.

Only in So Cal do you wear a hoodie with bare feet.  I am always caught with a sweater, a scarf and flip flops (if I must wear shoes) all winter.   A girl after my own heart.

november girls

Apple Farmin' in Oak Glen... A Fall tradition

Not being a tradition seeker myself, gypsy blood and all, it is rare that besides general places themselves, details rarely stick around year to year.  I am much more likely to sway my tribe to new things than rely on old comfort spots.  

Chris is amazing.  I mean, in so many ways, but the fact that he somehow encourages and embraces the change and risk in sailing out of the harbor (wind sailing so to speak:)) and yet still has anchored me enough so that I can enjoy the comfort... this is a balance that baffles me.  

Balance seems to be his superpower these days.

So without specific intention, apple picking and all the farming feelings and folk of Oak Glen has become a tradition in the Fall for us.  And, I kind of love it - both the place and the events, but also the fact that its tradition.  I am warming up to this idea that same can be good, that there can be great contentment in comfort.  The swallows adventure in far off places I'm sure, but they return to Capistrano still, don't they?

We start the day at Apple Annie's where the service is classically quaint and the apple pies weigh more than my first born.  They have awesome soup and chili in bread bowls and extra salty thick cut fries.  But when we asked for a side of avocado (basically its own food group in our household - spoiled Californians, no shame), they looked like we asked if they could whip us up a creme brulee fresh from the south of France... so there's that... But we love you anyway Apple Annie, avocado or not.

There are pictures from last year on this bench.  We didn't know Avalon very well then, but she took up a lot of space in my tummy and made it so there was no coffee with my pie. Welcome to Oak Glen, sweet Avalon, and welcome back COFFEE with pie).

Their faces in this one are priceless.

Cheyenne's smile.... sigh....

How long do you have to do something to make it a tradition?  With my limited experience, I would say if I do anything the same one year to the next, it counts... But what about you traditional friends?  Is it 3 years? 5 years?  How much of the experience has to repeat itself to claim the "Tradition" title?  Can it just be the place, or does it have to follow a similar itinerary?  And, is there a difference in saying "annual event" vs. saying it is a "family tradition?"

I'm new at this.  I want to be good at it.  Kids like tradition.

I think I got this one though - Three times, same place, same restaurant, same aggressive goats AND same time of year...

Here is 2013  AND  Here is 2014

Perfecting the Flat-Hand Feeding Technique...

 I lived on a ranch when I was about Cheyenne's age, and in adulthood refection, I think that experience had a more profound effect on my childhood than my whole elementary school experience.  I mean, if nothing else, it has created a love in me for cows that runs deeper than any playground or kickball game.

Because babies cry...

Unless you are Cheyenne.  Cheyenne never really cries.  It is a mystery we don't ask about.