A blog not known for its photos

 Please note:  any photos of snow on this blog are strictly for the 'enjoyment' of the Texan branch of the family.  Your covered palm trees could never stand up to this!  A unique sort of character is built under these sort of circumstances.  I'm just not sure as to what the nature of that uniqueness is.

 These shots were snapped on my 36th birthday as I cleared the BBQ of snow so that Dave could grill some steaks.  Really.  I had also just come back from sawing down a Christmas tree from the property behind our fence-line.  Please don't be impressed by this; the tree was not much more than a sapling and didn't win out against the one that Grandpa Mike brought from the farm.  Jacob told me that I should re-plant it.  I think I will just hide it.  Isaac had to be pulled on a toboggan through the snow as it was almost past his waist.  In adult measurements that's just to my knees.  I am 5'6 feet tall.

 Always the tired-out birthday shot.  Joe looks like he has cake-envy.  Ben looks offended and Isaac might just be picking his nose.  Thank God for Jacob and Hannah who have been trained well in the art of posing for pictures.

 This was the do-something-weird pose.  Why it looks not much different than the last photo I am unsure.  Ben and Joe look like pouty-faced GAP models:  you know, well-dressed with a mixture of world-weariness and hunger.

 Despite 36 years under my belt, at times, I still look 12.  Isaac is at the glorious age of 3.5 years when all household birthdays are magically his own, and gifts still don't matter much.

 This was Jacob's attempt to film the birthday song and the approaching cake.  He was unable to find the video function and managed a series of still photos.  If we print them out, place them in a book and flip the pages super-fast (while singing Happy Birthday), we will be able to re-create the video effect.

 Why does she put up photos like this?  Because I have begun to out-source my photo taking.  Thus, whatever I find on the iPhone is what you get.  Consider it an attempt at Impressionism.  In this case, someone took a photo of Dave late at night flooding the rink at the school.  This rink is his baby and he tends it well:  shoveling, flooding and maintaining.  His reward?  Our kids get to tramp through the woods to the holidaying school where they can play hockey as much as they want.  Truly Canadian.

This is Sarah on Boxing Day.  I got down on one knee to take a photo of her with the jewelery that she insists on wearing with most outfits (even the snowsuit).  However, she interpreted this as me asking her to also get down on one knee.  Perhaps this is the start of toddler-catechesis; one can never start genuflecting too early.  And on that note, I obtained a uniquely Catholic injury at Christmas mass.  While genuflecting with Sarah on one hip, I majorly strained one of my quad muscles directly above my left knee.  36 years are catching up.  Pain in the service of piety.

Just one more thing

 This grainy photo of Sarah is really the only reason I titled this post, Just one more thing.  Because doesn't she look like she has just one more thing to tell you?  Before you get excited:  no, we have no news around here.  We are officially celebrating the first day of winter holidays.  Celebrating is not the operative word; more like, Mommy has gone into extra-bullying-get-the-house-clean-my-birthday-is-coming-(and-Christmas-too) mode.  Sigh, will I ever grow up?  Anyway, the house is clean, the relationships are reconciled and it is really a perfect storm when her birthday, Christmas and hormonal ups-and-downs coincide with her tired husband's first day home from work.  In kindness and un-kindness should be added to the marriage vows.  Who knew Dave's path to holiness would coincide perfectly with the week before Christmas.  Every.  Single.  Year.

 So, what about Advent?  Well, this is the first year that I feel as if I inched a little bit closer to celebrating Advent with the family.  I realised that my inability to prepare for Christmas, other than buying and wrapping gifts, centred around the lack of anywhere to put the Advent wreath.   So, one night as I sat in bed pretending to read, I began to think about my 'need' for a side table in the dining room.  A table that would perfectly compliment the wall colour, the dining-room table and my mood.
I decided to pray about it and - ba-da-bing-ba-da-boom- a voice in my head said,
"The dresser."

"The dresser?"  I asked.  

"Yes, the dresser,"  said the voice.  

"Do you mean that dresser?" I asked as I eyed the tall, natural-wood, IKEA dresser bought shortly before the birth of the twins.  

"Yes, that dresser,"  responded the voice.  

"Ahhh," I said, "I see what You are getting at."

"Did you doubt?" said the voice.  

"No, it's just that I didn't think you cared about interior design."

"Not interior design, my precious daughter.  More like your bank account.  And your husband's pay cheque."

"What about a carpet?"

Silence.

 Long story short:  I decided that the next day would involve a colossal movement of furniture while Dave and the kids were off at school.  Of course, I had my "helpers".  Isaac and Sarah can be wrangled into picking up light objects off the floor and moving quickly out of the way of vacuums, dressers and couches.  As long as they are fed and watered.  Thus, the next morning, after breakfast, off-to-school and the requisite load of laundry, I began to work.  Fortunately the dresser was available for use; some neighbours of ours gave us a used bedroom set (involving a larger dresser) that has been sitting in our garage since they drove it over in July.  I began to push and shove, sweep and vacuum and stand back as the living room and dining room came into Advent-readiness.

 Finally, I had somewhere to put the two wreathes, the thurible, my grandmother's petit-pointe and a few other ornaments that I deemed appropriate for the Advent season.  Lest I forget, the Jesse tree ornaments found a home as well:  no, not a tree, a mini clothesline.  Salvation history with a laundry theme; gives new meaning to airing one's dirty laundry... (And, wow, is there a lot of dirty laundry!)

 This tiny nativity is one of my favourites.  It was a gift from Isaac's godparents bought on their annual pilgrimage to Rigaud, a shrine halfway between Ottawa and Montreal.

 The angel candle I never want to light so as to avoid a horrible melting angel adorning the Advent table.  I am slightly uncomfortable with such an image emblazoned upon the minds of my poor impressionable children.  I haven't had incense since I bought the thurible five years ago, but it makes me look like I know what I'm doing when it comes to the Domestic Church.  That's all on the Advent front.  On to other matters.

 Like Hannah using apps on the iPad that I don't know how to use.  This app is called, Sarah wished for a sister and got another Hannah.  Wouldn't that be nice?  Now that I look more closely, I realise that this app could also be called, Sarah wished for a pig and her hands became Wilber.  Hmmm.  Tell me that you can see the backside of a pig, too?

And this: this is for Uncle Nathan, a man who has never experienced weather that turns one's hair white, freezes one's nostrils together and takes the breath clear out of the lungs.  I wear black in mourning.  Sammy, amazingly, wears the exact same outfit in both 30 below and 30 above.  What a dog.

Many Posts in One: A Photo Dump

 We'll start with Ben.  A mild eye injury caused by Joe and his mini-stick:  crazy-glued at the hospital.

 If you have no teeth, you might as well have stitches.  It's a rough life.

 Cheeky.

 The Santa Claus parade:  Jacob played St. Joseph and refused to wear his winter hat; he was freezing when he arrived home.  Joseph played a little boy wearing a Santa Claus hat. The others were too shy to be on public display.

 Finally, photos of Joseph and his inclusive birthday cake.  After this shot, Dave said, "No.  Better smile."

 So, he gave a better smile.

And an even better one.

 These three boys spend many an evening watching the Ottawa Senators on the iPad.  Hannah made a schedule for Ben which he keeps in his drawer and checks daily to see if there is a game that night.  Once the game is over, he marks the score and draws an x through the date.  Such dedication.  (And another neon wall in our house.  The paint was the previous owner's decision; I tend to go for neon greens.)

 Pardon the many photos of the blog author, they are for my mother.  Pardon the slightly pregnant-looking tummy - I blame the way I am standing.  This is the wrap dress from Old Navy, Mom.  It looked better in person.  And, no, I don't dye my hair black.  I say that because when I saw this photo my first thought was that I look like I dye my hair.  Rather, it seems to be getting blacker as I age.

 Why not throw in a What I Wore on Sunday?  Same skirt as another post; same boots; Reitman's sweater from before Isaac's pregnancy.  I tend to mark the date of my clothing according to which pregnancy it was bought either before or after.  Thus, when I still regard "Ben's shirt" as new, I know that I might need to go shopping.

 Amber earrings bought in Sitka, Alaska at the Russian-American store while I was on NET in November of 1999.  (They are turn-of-the-century!)  I rediscovered them last year in a jewellery box in the basement - lucky find.  The necklace was my parents' Christmas gift from last year, also amber.  (I am having no problems teething...)

 And, Sarah!  No Sunday post is complete without a Sarah outfit.  Isaac's godmother, the mother of four well-dressed young ladies, sends me bags of age-appropriate clothing for Sarah.  These boxes excite me to no end and I wake up in the morning excited at the prospect of dressing Sarah.  This dress is especially meaningful as our god-daughter wore it to Isaac's baptism.  What goes around comes around.  The shoes Sarah is wearing were Hannah's and hold a special place in my heart.  We bought them at Sear's shortly before Jacob's first eye surgery at 18 months.  My good friend, Jaclyn, babysat Hannah during the day-long surgery and it was the first time that the twins were apart.  We had bought the shoes hoping to distract Hannah with clothing and start a life-long fetish. I remember that Jaclyn said that she took Hannah for a walk and little Hannah would alternate between pointing to her shoes and asking for Jacob.

Mother and daughter dressed for the second Sunday of Advent.  Enjoy the day.

Seven Un-linked Quick Takes

1.  I have a photo of Joseph on his birthday and I promise to post it soon.

2.  Speaking of Joseph, he has entered that stage of vocabulary in which, upon encountering a new word, he uses it with frequency and tests it out in daily conversation (and in a variety of settings).  His newest word acquisition is addicted and its variants, addictive, addiction and addict.  Here are two examples of this word in daily parlance:

A.  Walking past the table where Jacob was reading while eating his breakfast, "Mom, Jacob is addicted to reading.  Seriously."  (Seriously is a close second to addicted.)  I should note that his remark about Jacob's reading was accompanied by raised eyebrows and a look of disdain as if he wished to tell me that I should have done something about his brother's addiction a long time ago.  (It's tough living with incompetent parents.)

B.  While out on a walk with me, Sarah and Isaac, Joseph weighed in on Sarah's cries of, "Mommy!    Mommy!" as she struggled through the snow, "Mom, our baby is addicted to you.  Seriously.  But I know why."  He waits for me to ask the cause of Sarah's addiction, then he launches into his explanation, "Well, you see, it's because when we got her she was just with you and so she spent the longest time with just you and so she is addicted to just you."  This time he shrugs his shoulders in resignation and trudges on through the snow leaving his mother and her addiction-creating behaviours behind.

3.  Heck, why not three takes about Joseph.  This boy is a bear when he arrives home from school.  And I don't mean a cuddly teddy bear.  I mean a hairy, scary grizzly bear!  Sometimes the scariness starts part way down the street where I can see him collapsed on the sidewalk in some sort of fit brought on by a sibling walking a few feet in front of him.  I used to walk down the road, meet him and cajole him home.  Now I yell, "Get off the ground and don't drag your backpack!"  (I am not addicted to being nice.). Anyway, I have realised that the poor boy's problem is hunger, blood sugar that plummets as he rounds the corner on our street and spies the driveway.  He arrives home at 3pm and by 3:24 he has already eaten three boiled eggs, one massive bowl of cereal and ten crackers topped with cheese.  By the time the food is digested and has circulated its way through his bloodstream and into the mood-altering part of the brain, Joseph is able to quit tormenting Isaac, stop breaking down into tears and come out of his room.  The transformation really is quite amazing.   The exact breakdown of personality vs. blood sugar still remains elusive to me.

4.  My friend Jenna came to visit the other morning with her two young sons and her very new baby. Upon arriving at the door, she passed the car seat to me and I grabbed little Anna and placed her on the floor out of harm's way.  Isaac was quick to notice this tiny little girl and proclaimed, "It's new-Jenna!"  Charming.

5.  The temperature went up to 8 degrees yesterday and took most of the snow with it.  It was magical.

6.  This post has come entirely at the expense of a large bag of mixed beans spilled all over the dining room floor.  Distracted little ones come at a high price.  The soundtrack to my blogging has been the tink-tink of lentils as they hit the floor.  Seriously addictive.

7.  And seven.  I'm looking around for number seven.  It's Dave's staff Christmas party tonight.  These things used to excite me because I got to dress up and look pretty.  Now my joy is essentially derived from not having to make supper for the kids:  it's Kraft Dinner or pizza when there's a babysitter.  Not having to make supper changes the entire landscape of the day.  Foreign lands beckon to me filled with boxed food and free time.  My passport is rarely used.