You know when a recipe includes the instruction “stir like the devil” that it’s going to be good.
My grandma (on my mom’s side, Edith’s daughter) baked and sent my family two tea rings every Christmas since I had memories of carols and presents under a tree. We all knew what treat was inside the box addressed with carefully printed letters that arrived on our doorstep every December.
We never dug into the homemade pastry until Christmas morning. We each ate a slice—or several—as we unpacked stockings. I carefully licked my fingers before pulling out a toothbrush, lotto cards and an orange so I wouldn’t smudge my stocking with sticky cinnamon filling.
For me, the soft bread made gooey by butter and baked brown sugar is the taste of the holidays. So when I learned that Grandma wasn’t planning on baking tea ring this year, I knew I had to step up. (Recipe below.)
One of the best things about baking tea ring is your house smells like cinnamon rolls for days.
Last year Eric and I went to a New Year’s Eve party, where we announced to friends we were having a Peeper. I drank water and checked the labels of certain cheeses to see if they were pasteurized. We left by 11. I had gotten into my pajamas and was washing off my makeup when Eric popped his head into the bathroom and kissed me. “Happy New Year,” he said.
This year, I managed to get Edith to sleep just shy of 10pm, and I followed as soon as I could after that. I woke up when the neighbors at our beach rental lit off fireworks and banged on pots and pans—which is how we used to celebrate the beginning of a new year when I was a kid.
What a difference a year makes.
2013 was challenging, confusing, tumultuous, painful and tiring.
It was also the best year of my life.
May the New Year bring us all happiness, opportunities to grow, adventure and chances to make lasting memories. Oh, and a good deal more sleep.
Happy 2014!
We welcomed the New Year from the Oregon Coast, one of my favorite places on the planet.
The last month was an eventful one for our family. We traveled to New York and then to the Bahamas, marking Peeper’s first plane rides and her first passport stamp. She also went swimming for the first time, took her first subway ride and met some dinosaurs.
The fourth floor of the American Museum of Natural History is my favorite place in New York.
“Trick or treat!” My brother, sisters and I stood at a neighbor’s doorstep. My breath puffed tiny clouds as I eagerly awaited my treat. Would this bowl contain Butterfingers—perfect for trading with my brother—or Milky Ways? Or would it be a dud, filled with Smarties and Good & Plenty.
“And what are you?” the woman, silhouetted against the open door, asked.
“I’m a cheerleader!” I was frustrated at having to answer the same well-meaning question house after house. I had told my mom exactly what I wanted to dress as. A trip to St. Vincent de Paul netted a paneled skirt and Churchill High School cheer top. But I was bundled under a puffy coat, and sweatpants kept my legs warm. My mom had insisted I dress warmly, and no one could tell what my costume was.
I hauled my pillowcase to house after house, pulling in candy that my parents would dole out to our lunches, one piece a day, for weeks to come. I envied the other kids in their clearcut outfits and their plastic jack-o-lantern tubs. “Think of how much more candy you can carry in a pillowcase,” my mom would say, cheering us up.
We made or cobbled together our own costumes every year. We didn’t have a lot of money growing up, and sometimes I felt my cheeks burn at our makeshift outfits—especially when no one could tell what I was among the store-bought Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and mermaid Ariels.
Ironically, for Edith’s first Halloween, I felt guilty buying a costume. Granted, it was from Value Village, but I felt as if I were cheating a little by throwing on a zip-up romper and calling her a ladybug.
I quickly got over my hangups when I saw how insanely cute she was as a ladybug.
As fall progressed, though, I didn’t find the time—or rather I filled the spare moments I had with things like picking up the house, playing with my dog or watching The Walking Dead. (For shame!)
On Halloween, a few hours before we were meant to arrive at a friend’s party, I found myself pawing through my craft bin for my glue gun. While Edie napped I made a last-minute effort to dress us up as a family and we went to the party as a trio of pirates. Granted, the extent of the crafting was gluing a plastic heart to a shirt and sewing in Christmas garland for intestines (Eric didn’t want to be a regular pirate; he wanted to be a dead pirate); most of the pirate-ness came from props. I was happy to do something creative with my hands, though. It had been months since I pieced together from unlikely materials; it had been a while since I made something.
Pirate Edie got tangled in Papa Pirate’s intestines. Oops!
We had a wonderful time. We ate too much candy and squealed every time a trick-or-treater rang the doorbell. Edie didn’t even protest over her skull and crossbones headscarf.
I’d call Halloween 2013 a success. It will be fun to see what Edith wants to be in the years to come. Maybe she’ll carry home candy in an orange pumpkin-shaped bucket or in a pillowcase. I’ll have to wait and see.
I hope to make her costumes in the future—but not because that’s what a good mother does; plenty of great moms score adorable outfits from the store. I want to make them because I enjoy it. It’s good for her to witness me losing myself in a project. When she sees me gaining the satisfaction of sewing scraps into a gorgeous outfit or gluing sequins just so, she will learn how satisfying pursuing a passion can be.
If you haven’t noticed, and the photos of bright foliage on Instagram or celebrations over pumpkin spice lattes haven’t tipped you off, it’s fall. This is my favorite season, and I’m thrilled to share it with Peeper.
For a week or so, Edie refused to nap unless I took her on a walk in the carrier. The habit pushed me outside twice a day and, luckily, the weather cooperated.
Edith is transfixed by leaves, walks in the woods and sunlight.
As she, Finn and I walked the neighborhood and nearby trails, I marveled at how perfect October in Oregon is: the crunching of fallen leaves, the sound of the wind clacking together brittle branches, the smell of burning wood, the warm sun and cool shadows, the orange cast to the light.
Eric and I took Edie to the pumpkin patch, too. My family and I went every year when I was growing up. My mom would stop the minivan next to the field and we’d scatter. Sometimes we would pick apples, too, and the fruit tasted even better when I was standing in the dappled sunlight of the orchard. Other times we would just sample the pie and cider at the check-out stand and fawn over the puppies that always seemed to be for sale.
Thankfully Edie woke up!
At Edith’s first pumpkin patch visit, there were no rolly poly Golden Retrievers, but we did take a tractor hay ride to the field. Hundreds of pumpkins sprawled across the ground, and the blue sky contrasted all the orange beautifully.
Pumpkin tummy time
We picked out our pumpkins, including a little one for Edie. We carved them a few nights ago.
Edie was beginning to fuss by the time we neared completion of the jack-o-lanterns. It was bath night anyway, so we decided to risk an all-out meltdown for the sake of a photo opp. Eric lifted her up and plunked her into the biggest pumpkin.
Edie liked jack-o-lanterns so much she soaked her onesie with drool.
Instead of ramping up her cries, she calmed instantly. Edie smiled for our baby-in-pumpkin photos. Perhaps she liked the mooshy feeling of pumpkin guts between her toes.
That is what fall is all about: Indulging the senses. Whether it’s stomping through leaves, sipping spiced tea or wiggling your toes in stringy pumpkin slime, autumn’s opportunities to immerse yourself in the season shouldn’t be missed.
