For Posterity's Sake: Week in Review 98

This weekend has been a bit about catching up, and (for the most part) staying in. Our week looked a bit more like a snow flurry: work meetings with new adventures on the horizon; busy nights; a little boy trying out his walking legs and fighting off a virus that left his eyes matted shut more mornings than not; two adults popping throat lozenges as if they were the peppermint candy of the season; one active girl who began each day by announcing that it was a "decorating day;" and one mama who has officially opened her Christmas gift sweatshop (employees: 1). It's one of those weeks that found me welcoming the weekend's first big snow and its tendency to draw everyone inside and underneath piles of blankets or the glow of the Christmas tree. And, welcoming a moment to reflect with a cup of hot cider and the moments of the week past:

On Sunday, I overheard Audrey tell Jason, "Daddy, I think I'm the greatest girl in the world. Because I'm so special."

Then, she came up to me. "Mom, I'm the greatest girl in the whole world."
"I've thought that for a while," I said.
"I still am," Audrey said.

During lunch, Audrey informed us that there are eleven little people living in her stomach (named the Donners) who get scared when she drinks juice and it falls down her stomach. They have a workshop where they make noodles, but they won't go into the room where they store their finished noodles because they are afraid of getting sauce on themselves. Apparently, when she dances, they dance. When she hangs upside down, they hang upside down.

On Monday, when I surprised her, she said, "You freak-ed me out!"

That night at dinner she took a drink of milk, followed by a dramatic pause. "Oh my! I hear the people in my stomach screaming." (We've had several reports since Sunday on how the people in her stomach are faring.)

Tuesday, she asked me to tell her a story about a banana bird going to visit his Mamaw and Papaw. "Okay, where does his Mamaw and Papaw live?
"Kentucky."

Wednesday, she said, "Mom, you're so smart because you know how to make things. You're so smart because you know how to make a scarf. And I'm smart anyways."

Audrey and Jason were playing hide 'n seek Saturday. It was Jason's turn to hide. He managed to squeeze between the couch and the wall. Audrey spent several minutes hunting, unsuccessfully. Meanwhile, Nate, crawling around the end table next to the couch, moved the window curtains to find his Dad hiding behind them. Shocked by the unexpected find, Nate began to laugh, so long and so loud that his sister finally had to come see what the big deal was.

We did manage to leave the house Saturday night to make a little excursion to see Santa and Mrs. Claus. I was relaying college football scores to Jason on the drive home. "Darn," he said, in response to some news about his alma mater.
"What'd you say, Dad?" Audrey asked. "I thought I heard you say something I'm not supposed to say."

I love waking up to the first big snow of the season and the sense of "hush" it creates across the neighborhood in those early moments before boots meet feet and sleds cut grooves through the smooth surface below. We needed just a bit of hush this weekend, just a bit of the magic of white lights reflected on whiter snow, and even a bit of a little blue sled carving its way through the backyard and the falling flakes. Just a bit.