midnight eleven

Weird. Is a weird word.

1. I just microwaved my hot water bottle in a pitch-black kitchen. How does my brain remember that three minutes and start habit when my eyes aren't helping at all?

2. Mum's finally read Twilight. And liked it. Liked Edward.

3. This is my three hundredth post. It feels like more.

4. I image-searched mountains and an orangutan came up instead.

And that's it. I know. An even number. I'm sorry.

{h} o. m. e. for christmas

One of the happiest things about coming home was the much-anticipated O.M.E. reunion. We've laughed, we've cried, and when the blizzard reached epic weather proportions, we set out to reenact our very own version of Shackleton's Antarctic adventure (we even got to be rescued).

This Christmas was magical. The lights, the snow, the friends, the family---but nothing so beautiful as the traditions, new and old. Christmas Eve we shared our HIGHS + LOWS over fondue and candlelight. We rhymed lines for our rice pudding and danced the Snoopy dance in full Nativity costume next door. Siblings piled into one room for the long night, sharing secrets and daring our greatest Would You Rathers. I felt ten years old all over again.

In the morning, we ate orange rolls at the round table. We'd opened such beautiful, thoughtful presents and the kitchen smelled like cinnamon. Someone hopped up to add some music to the scene. And then we were all crying.

Well, I was crying. Then O. Weeping, actually. Regina Spektor's The Call? Absolutely requisite for life. It fills you with childhood, with friendship, with memory and hope. It reminds us of New Zealand, it reminds me of Wales. Everything I feel in my most nostalgic moments are tied up in this simple song; I hear Truth in every line. And there we were, a mess of tears and laughter, a Christmas gift I will never forget. We listened to it again and again, and I still can't shake that feeling of perfect peace, surprised by joy.

That night we met in the middle, boots laced up tight and scarves wrapped up twice. We took our usual route, the loop through these streets that have taken us through every new season these past years; through dramas and traumas and life. 19th East was empty, the long stretch of Yale desolate. The wind blew harder, the snow fell faster, and I've never been so happy---our new Christmas song truer than ever before.

All you can do is try to know
Who your friends are
As you head off to the war

Pick a star on the dark horizon
And follow the light

You'll come back
When it's over
No need to say good bye

queen lucy the valiant

welcomed into our home
christmas morning

LUCY PEVENSIE RHONDEAU

one pound, seven ounces
nine inches
grandchild of a champion*

My brother has this look of wide eyes and open mouth that he reserves for moments of pure, abject terror. And while it doesn't show up all that often (you're a total stud, D), it sure got our holiday off to an exciting start.

He flung her across the floor, unknowing. "It's alive!!" he shouted, the be-ribboned tote dropping to his feet. I'm sure every pair of eyes matched his; us girls had no idea of the surprise mum + dad had planned. But our second's panic was replaced with an instant love---Lucy hardly had to prove her place in the family at all, winning hearts with the simplest nudge of a nose or a hesitant hop across the room. And while I think O would rather the rabbit not pee on her jeans---or her jacket or her face or her bed---this Mini Rex (Regina?) is here to stay.

Oh, Lu. We so love you.

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*pedigree chart upon request

ahem.

{completely unofficial + inexplicably prolonged hiatus from blogging.}

back after all the cookies are out of the oven and the last present's under the tree. promise.