at the family kickball game

we aren’t the first picked for the teams, but we look good in gray.

seriously, the typewriter was a cool gift.

Christmas Favorites

the anticipation

the $2 fishing pole keaton bought at our neighbor, chuck’s, garage sale.  It was the first thing he picked for his dad to open.

the hugs

the {unexpected} light aqua vintage typewriter

the homemade aprons from mom.

going to church together to worship and remember what this day is all about.

the 24th

Christmas Eve never seems to have enough hours.

There is so much to cram into one day.

I always start off the day by going to the bread store to get my bread bowls for soup that night.  I brought two helpers along with me so they could smell the heavenly bread store smells on this Christmas Eve’s morn.

Then the traditionalists that we are, we went for mexican food for lunch.

This was, of course, just a  precursor to the next holiday-ish activity:

SHOOTING!

Who doesn’t go shooting on Christmas eve????

On the way home, Weston insisted we must make homemade cookies for Santa.

We just have to.

So we did.

(I was hoping to let this one slide by and make do with an already made goody for the jolly guy…but the boy was so emphatic)

We round out the evening with creamy chicken noodle soup in bread bowls, reading Luke 2, opening new jammies and watching the old B&W version of A Christmas Carol. 

It is one of my favorite days of the year because it is so full…of  us.

the boys build a house

a gingerbread house, that is.

at first glance, it seems a fine little house, obviously adorned with only the candies and cheap fondant that came in the kit.

and a little powdered sugar. 

but…

at second glance

you see what I like to call

ingenuity.

yes, indeed

ingenuity and powered sugar take everyday and turn it to exceptional.

(the budding geniuses)

three favorite hawaiian memories

[our sunday drive & figuring out the self timer on the camera]

[taking the restaurant advice from the valet.  JIMBO’S…looks so scary…tastes so good]

and lastly…

[the lonesome swing out in the middle of nowhere, just begging for a swinger]