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School in the mornings, play in the afternoons, writing at night after everyone else has fallen asleep, so the days pass here. Our days have found a new rhythm that quite resembles the old…well, except for the sun. The new kitchen and dining room get lots and lots of delicious morning sun. I love nothing more than to sit in it and bake my poor bones, made frigid by five years spent in one of the snowiest, cloudiest, rainiest cities in the States. I’m not sure when I’ll ever be warm again. We’re heading to the National Zoo on the Metro today to see Cyrano the giant anteater. I wonder if he likes sitting in the sun, too?

The walking path was covered with seed pods. The kids thought they looked like alien faces. They found a squirrel’s nest that had fallen from a tree and poked it with sticks, looking for life. Most everything along the path was brown and grey, except for bright green patches of moss at the base of some trees, and the river itself, colored green by long ribbons of algae that quivered in the current.

One packing problem specific to LP owners: I keep getting distracted by all the eye candy. I’m a sucker for album art. Check out the LPCover Lover blog for more awesome album covers.

“We are cups, constantly and quietly being filled. The trick is, knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out.” — Ray Bradbury, on writing Writing is one of the most important components of our homeschool. I want my children to enjoy their journaling, narrations and compositions, and in my experience the feel of one’s notebooks contributes to the overall appeal, or lack thereof, of the work at hand. The standard, black and white marbled covers of their history, science and language arts notebooks not only threatened to make dull work out of a task that should be meaningful and pleasant, but also threatened to trigger one of my migraines. I covered them up with bits from my fabric stash: hers are covered in a petite Japanese print, his are covered with a bold graphic Ikea print. Their notebooks are now personalized, soft, comforting, ready to receive.

I use a sharp paring knife to remove a cone from the center of each cooled cake, the last step before filling each one with creamy, delicious, Fluff-based guts. Out of the corner of my eye, I see half-filled moving boxes in the living room, waiting their turn. Then the oven timer rings: the pizza dough is ready to divide and shape. At this rate, by the time this house is packed and ready to go, I may no longer be able to fit into any of my jeans.

This night I watched a man at the bar stroke his wife’s hair over and over again. I watched women and men stumble around the makeshift dance floor in front of the band. I watched my husband strain to hit some high notes while nailing most of them. I crouched in corners behind my camera. If life was a spectator sport, I’d be world champion.

I made a world for them. When I couldn’t find the perfect bunny house for sale, I glued wood and moss and stone, late into the night. I crafted grass, and a pond, and a path between the two bunny families. I felted rugs and bowls, sewed tiny curtains and pillows. I released my love into each piece, working as they slept, and with every stitch I sent thoughts to my little ones: ...

Last night I had such a vivid dream of the beach house in December: huddling against the bitter wind blowing through the uninsulated front wall, trying to coax water to flow through frozen pipes and out the tap. The winter will be long.

We’ve decorated our tree (suffering only a few ornament casualties) and had a jolly Saint Nicholas celebration, with our favorite sour cream coffee cake taking the place of the Dundee cake of old. We are reading our favorite Christmas stories. When the kids are at school I am quite busy crafting presents in between bits of “real” work. So much to do yet.