One of my favorite parts was the ceaseless stream of hugs that he greeted the snowman with on our way to and from chicken chores ever thereafter.
The other favorite part was what he did after one of his habitual hugs on the second day after the snowman was made. I bundled him up and let him loose outside while I watched from the window. He hugged the snowman. He grabbed the snowman's nose. He ate the snowman's nose.
What are friends for? Sacrificing their noses to satiate growing boys' bellies, apparently.
Some of the best parts of motherhood are getting to remember and taste again the goodness of life. Some of the hardest parts will be the reverse, but for today--it's a fresh snowfall, a hushed world, a still morning waiting to be stepped into.
Hall-decking has always been enjoyable for me, but it's even more so when you have a baby old enough to think it's all exciting. I'm enjoying the season so much more this year with a curious, enthusiastic Tadhg bouncing around.
I have very few photos of our decked halls (both in progress and after the fact), but here's the handful I do have.
Tadhg particularly enjoyed making sure the nails holding our stockings were thoroughly hammered. (If they weren't thoroughly hammered then, they are now.)
Christmas lights for the Big Boy's room. (A real thrill.)
Last year I hung this ornament for baby Tadhg. And this year I'll be hanging a different one for baby Peregrine. A lot can change in a year; it's enough to make my head whirl.
This has been the month of learning to play like it's his job. Pippin and Tadhg are becoming endearingly attached to each other. If Tadhg leaves the room in the middle of playing to get a different toy, Pippin cries at being left behind. If Pippin starts fussing after playing on the floor with Tadhg for a while and I pick him up, Tadhg immediately asks me to put him back down again. As much as I lament the fact that I can't give Pip the same undivided attention I was able to give to Tadhg, it's so much fun to see them being brothers.
Facts to remember (in case grown-up Peregrine ever loses sleep at night wondering when he grew his first teeth and other VITALLY IMPORTANT information):
Pippin's two bottom teeth poked through just after he turned 6 months old, and right after that not 2, not 3, not 4....but SIX new bumps appeared in his upper gums. Nothing's erupted, but he's working hard on getting the equipment for meat-and-potato eating. Not that he has much interest in meat and potatoes yet. Tadhg he is not. Offer him pureed baby food, and he barely opens his mouth after the first few bites; even the good stuff, like peaches and sweet potatoes. The only food he likes is whatever he can stuff in his mouth himself; if somebody gives it to him on a spoon, it's not worth eating.
He scooches around like nobody's business, but he still doesn't really have a lot of interest in sitting up. He's able to sit well enough if you get him in the right position, but he'd just as soon be horizontal. He's just begun to get the hang of walking around holding onto people's hands, though, and he thinks it's a pretty interesting trick.
He smiles at strangers, and he grins and tucks his head into your shoulder shyly when anyone makes a fuss over him. He's quiet and thoughtful and observant, and mostly he just likes being cozy and being loved. He's not demanding; he's not dramatic; he's just a sweet little sugar baby.
And here's the monthly glut of the same little baby face over and over again.
And a spotty-mirror selfie to round it off, because when you're a mama that's pretty much the only kind of pictures you get with your babies.
Oh, and a video. Pippin started his enjoyment of this particular Purdy rite of passage extra young.
Growing up, my family unfailingly chopped down our own Christmas tree from a sprawling, unkempt tree farm within a few miles of our house. Some people might think a sprawling, unkempt tree farm is the last sort they'd want to frequent, but those were its biggest draws for me--the two ingredients that separated mediocrity from magic.
Sprawling meant that it was a true hunt for the truly dedicated. Unkempt meant that finding a tree that 1) fit in your house and 2) didn't look like it was balding in awkward patches was an achievement of monumental proportions. We often brought our sleds, and after a long, meandering vertical trek we were rewarded with a glorious downhill slide.
The other asset of this particular tree farm was its rickety bridge over a river filled with rapids. (I mean, it felt like a river filled with rapids, which is the important part.) You had to cross the bridge in order to get to the hill of trees; no way around it. It was deliciously terrifying as a child, every time.
I'm a sentimental creature, and it's for all of these reasons that saying goodbye to that particular tree farm was a bitter pill after getting married. My dear husband, long-suffering man that he is, would have willingly driven 25 minutes to get there if I'd asked (in fact, we did get our tree from that farm the first Christmas after we were married). However, wisdom told me that with very small children in tow, starting a new tradition chopping down a tree from the tree farm at the end of our very own street would be a better idea.
It is not sprawling. It is large, yes, but not sprawling.
It is not unkempt. On the contrary, it is very kempt, indeed.
Each tree is perfectly shaped.
Each tree has a perfect point upon which to place a star.
And with two little people tree hunting with us, I suppose these features might (possibly) be selling points.
Snow was always a tree-hunting necessity growing up, but then we always went just before Christmas when the odds were in our favor. Since I've made my peace with abandoning tradition, I just went all the way. We got our tree just after Thanksgiving on a brisk, but absolutely beautiful, Saturday.
Tadhg (being Tadhg) was more interested in all the machinery they had at the tree farm than in anything else. See that little speck by the Kubota? That's our boy.
We finally made it through the Valley of Motorized Temptation and started up the hill to find our tree.
And find it we did. Quickly. Painlessly. With no delicious terrors, no above average dedication.
Home again, home again jiggity-jig.
This boy slept on me for pretty much the entire excursion, but he woke up to be cute while we were tying the tree on the roof of our car.
Until next year, Manageably-Sized, Tidy Tree Farm. Until next year.
