Big House in the Little Woods

Three weeks ago, we signed our lives over on this lovely hilltop house we are now calling home. For the first four nights, one or all of us woke up at 3 am, confused as to where we were, why it was so dark, and what that mysterious sound was (the wind). For the better part of a month I've been schooling myself in the workings of woodstoves, trying to figure out what combination of wood volume and air input will leave me live coals and a warm house in the morning. The Husband has been relishing his Alaskan roots, sledding down the driveway and splitting wood. The kids rollerskate in the basement and take turns on the swing we installed in the living room. The dog is still incredulous at his newfound freedom, though he has stopped exploding out the door at breakneck speed each time we go to the woodpile. And we all are slightly stunned by very basic, but to us wondrous, things: there are two bathrooms, the kids can go outside on their own, there is so much natural light. That helps balance the fact that the septic system is so new the gases are still "settling," the house is so open that a person in the upstairs bedroom can hear someone talking in the basement, and the round house is, well, quirky. (Though considering the quirks we were dealing with downtown, these are decidely minor.) First off, it is round (duh). Have you ever tried to fit square furniture (which most of it is) into a round house? If only I could find a furniture maker specializing in trapezoids…and then there are the mice. I opened the cabinet to put something in the garbage the other day, and a lovely little specimen crawled up my arm before I screeched (I know, I'm so ashamed) and threw it to the floor, where it disappeared into one of the numerous holes I had never noticed before. I set out a variety of traps and caught two right away, in these sticky jobs that are like giant mouse flypaper. Unfortunately they didn't DIE right off, and what exactly are you supposed to do with not nearly dead mice? Let's not think about that any more, I'm all out of hard liquor. On Christmas morning, the Biggie crawled into our bed and said she'd seen one scurrying across the floor (she was up sneaking peeks at all the presents from 12 to 4:30), and just now I heard suspiciously loud lumbering-around sounds underneath the kitchen sink. I kicked the cabinet a couple of times, but they didn't stop—and I confess I didn't open the door to investigate. When did I become such a weenie?

Christmas morning was amazing; both the kids really get it now and they were ecstatic about every little thing. There was much concern that Santa would not know we'd moved, so extra lights were set up, directional letters were sent out and a smorgasbord was left to tempt him and the reindeer. Santa did not disappoint, though the remote control car he left for the Biggie is being played with more by the Husband, and the dollhouse family he gave the Wee One has mostly seen time strung upside-down on the ferris wheel he made. (President of cutting edge technology start-up…and Tinker Toy Engineer.) The present frenzy was done by 7:15 and then we lay around all day, fat and lazy with Christmas Bloat, eating cheese spread and crackers and candy and turkey and bread and cranberry sauce and gravy and sweet potato fries, drinking coffee and eggnog and cocoa and cider and wine. We ended the day watching "White Christmas" (thank you, Meredith in Seattle, for turning me on to this!) in the little isosceles triangular TV room. GOOD TIMES.

Today is my birthday, and I got up at 4 am to have some time on my own (and to commune with the mice) before the bustle begins and we head back east to celebrate the big family Christmas. We won't reveal what birthday it is, but let's just say this is probably the last year I can safely say I'm in my early thirties. That is fairly sobering but I love that I can remember my parents being my age now, and I can see Christmas through my kids' eyes and those of my parents, if that makes any sense. Becoming a parent is all about continuing the cycle of life and revisiting your youth, perpetuating the weird little holidays traditions (Wispride, anyone?) to ensure they outlast you and thus becoming, in some small sense, immortal.

Aw, I'm just messing with you. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, everyone! Thank you for cards, family letters and well wishes, I love them all. Let's hope 2007 brings peace.