White Christmas

I don't know about your weekend, but ours contained Christmas, a nasty cold, America'sMost Smartest Model and snow. With Caleb's nephews needing to be home in Chicago on Christmas Day ( the roadtripping could prove most perplexing to Santa), we had our family Christmas a couple of weeks early, converging in So. Ill for a weekend of baked goods, catching up and general dotage on that sweet baby. Harlow scored a new wardrobe and now officially owns more clothing from H&M than her mother. I scored a miserable cold that kept me quarantined in our rental cabin with reruns of The Hills and FBI Files (how's that for a combo) to keep me company. After a particularly rough night - me with the mouth breathing and she with the general inconsolable shrieking - Harlow woke up fresh faced and angelic only to quickly morph into snotty, sneezy crankster. So Caleb now has two demanding, phleghmy babies to deal with. The unexpected gift was that we woke up to a world blanketed in snow. We're not talking anything impressive by Chicago standards, but it was enough that it covered my boots and would most definitely spook the Shelby County school system. We made a quick trip so Harlow could meet her great grandmother for the first time, and as we headed back south towards home, the sun burned brighter, the snow melted into memory and we desperately searched for a Christmas song that did not contain the words "baby," "please come home" or Miss Amy Grant singing them.