Three Days at Disneyland: A Photo Journal of our Vacation

Day one . . .

Day two (which also included a tornado warning). . .

Day three . . .

(The most rain Southern California has had in, like, 180 years. And to think, we were there. For all of it.)

*Disclaimer - Above photos courtesy of my crappy little point-and-shoot.

I really mean it,

I think I'm really going to do it this time! Go private, that is. I know that several months ago I threatened the whole private blog thing, but then a friend from high school threw a wrench into my plans (thanks, Brett!). But now I'm back to thinking I need to do it. So . . . if you left me your email last time, you are safe. If you didn't and you still want to have access to my blog after I go private, then please leave your email address in the comments or just email me. You have until Wednesday, January 27th, for that is the day I shut out the world!



Baby, it's COLD outside!
{photo taken by Haylie}

Overheard in the kitchen tonight:

Adam to Matthew: "Did you know that all of mom's hair is falling out?"

Matthew: "What?!"

Adam: "Brooke told me that mom's hair is falling out."

Matthew: "Duh! Mom's hair isn't falling out. It's just all turning white."

The sad truth is . . . they are both right.

house

My parents have lived in the same house since 1957. It is a great old house, built in 1913, with so much character. It's even on the state's historic registry. I grew up in this house and so it holds so many memories for me. My brothers and I have tried to talk my parents into moving into something smaller and more manageable for them, but my mom refuses to leave. She raised her children in this home. She grew old with my dad in this home. She knows it would be much too difficult for her to leave it. So there they stay, in this historical home full of solid wood doors, leaded glass windows, and workmanship that is now almost impossible to find.

My mom loves Christmas. She has so many decorations and her Christmas village could easily fill two rooms. She loves her Christmas tree, full of Victorian doll heads that she painted herself. The heads hang on little motors that turn in circles so that the viewer can see all sides of the head. We sometimes make fun of the "spinning heads" on the tree, but we can't imagine it any other way. Those spinning doll heads are SO my mom!

Here are my mom and dad in front of their tree. You can also see the tole-painted (by my mom, of course) piano. I spent many hours on that piano from the age of 8 to 18. Her two rocking chairs sit across from each other, covered in needlepoint that she stitched herself. On one side of the room you can see the framed embroidery hanging on the wall that she, again, made and entered in the Utah State Fair so many years ago. On the other side of the room, her framed needlepoint roses hang by the piano. You can also see (to the left of my mom) her tole-painted carousel horse sticking out from behind her. A large Victorian doll sits atop that horse. The wooden file cabinet (bottom right corner) sits next to my dad's organ and is filled with all of his organ music, most of it from the Big Band era. My mom loves to listen to my dad play the organ. And he's good. Really good.

You can see the love my parents have for each other.

This picture tells a thousand stories. I love this picture.

thank you, mr. clause

As usual, the jolly ol' man was kind to me this year. . . he brought me this. I think it took me 2 hours to stop shaking after I opened it. And then I had a horrible night's sleep that night. I lay awake. . . thinking about my new camera.

Then I slept. . . and dreamed about my new camera.

Silly, I know.

Actually, a little pathetic.

Nonetheless, here are a couple of first shots.

I didn't realize how dry Matthew's lips were until I was editing this pic. He told me they are always like that. I guess I need to look at my kids more often.

This is the face of a boy who does not want his picture taken. Adam is never one to hide how he feels.

the polar express

The train was wrapped in an apron of steam. Snowflakes fell lightly around it. A conductor stood at the open door of one of the cars. He took a large pocket watch from his vest. "All aboard!" the conductor cried out. "Well," he said, "are you coming?" "Where?" we asked. "Why, to the North Pole of course," was his answer. "This is the Polar Express." We took his outstretched hand and he pulled us aboard.

Waiting for our 5:30 p.m. departure to The North Pole.

Complete with elves and all. This elf, Peanut, asked us all what we wanted for Christmas, jotted it down, and promised to pass it along to Santa.

The conductor punches our tickets.

The train was filled with other children, most in their pajamas and nightgowns. We sang Christmas carols and ate chocolate chip cookies. We drank hot chocolate as thick and rich as melted chocolate bars.

Outside, the lights of towns and villages flickered in the distance as the Polar Express raced Northward. We traveled through cold, dark forests, where lean wolves roamed and white tailed rabbits hid from our train as it thundered through the quiet wilderness.

As we climbed mountains so high it seemed as if we would scrape the moon, we read one of our favorite Christmastime stories - The Polar Express.

Finally arriving at The North Pole, Santa boarded our train. He marched over to us, and pointing to Adam said, "Let's have this little fellow here. Now what would you like for Christmas?"

Adam knew he could have any gift he could imagine. But the thing he wanted most was not inside Santa's giant bag. What he wanted more than anything was one silver bell from Santa's sleigh. He gave Adam a hug and told the elf to cut a bell from a reindeer's harness. Santa stood, holding it above him, and called out, "The first gift of Christmas!" then he handed it to Adam.

Soon the train gave a sudden lurch and started moving again. We were on our way home.

Our journey had come to an end. When the train reached the station, we sadly left the other children. We stood and waved good-bye. The conductor cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "MERRY CHRISTMAS!" The Polar Express let out a loud blast from its whistle and sped away into the dark polar night.

He's baaack!

Wow, two years went by fast. Click here.

(BTW - the sign means "Welcome, my little cabbage." Apparently, it was a joke between Brooke and Brady in 9th grade!)

Dutch Christmas

In our house, my kids have it pretty dang good - they get not one but TWO Christmases (kind of), thanks to their grandpa (Opa, as he is affectionately known) being born in Rotterdam, Holland. Thus we celebrate "Sinterklaas Day" every December 6th.

Sinterklaas lives in Spain during the year. I have no clue as to why he lives in Spain and not Holland-seems like a bit of a traitor to me.

Anyway.

In December, he arrives in Holland by ship along with his helper Zwarte Piet (Black Pete) who is Sinterklaas' helper (Black Pete has a dark and creepy history but we won't get into that here - my kids could be reading this!). Sinterklaas and Zwarte Pete travel on a white horse to all the children's houses on the eve of December 5th where the children have set out their klompen (wooden shoes), either outside or by the fireplace, filled with hay and carrots for Sinterklaas' horse. If the children have been "good" that year then Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet fill the children's shoes with goodies. If they've been bad, they get sticks and coal.

Apparently my kids were okay this year as they ended up with lots of Dutch treats and NO STICKS! *woot* Thank you Mr. Sinterklaas and (creepy) Black Pete for filling my kids with more sugar!

The children always get a "chocolate letter" in their shoes. Adam checks out his "A".

"M" for Matthew :o)

Thanksgiving is next week and I'm just now posting Halloween pics. Lame, I know.

official bed-head poster child

The results are in. Announcing the winner of the highly competitive "bed-head contest." Congratulations Adam, this morning you officially took the prize!