Growing up, I vividly remember the excitement of Christmas Eve. New jammies from the elves. Sprinkling reindeer food in the front yard. Carefully arranging cookies for Santa. Laying in bed and listening for jingling bells or a merry “ho ho ho.”

True that Sam is still a bit young to really get Christmas, but it still felt very magical this year.

The first thing he saw when he came down the steps and turned the corner: his beautiful new kitchen.

He immediately grabbed the wooden spoons, as expected.

And he didn’t let go until after breakfast.

Lucy followed the lead of the bigger dogs and tore into her gifts.

Raw hide bones, chew ropes, squeak toys. The golden girls were in heaven.

Sam took time to explore each new toy. A tractor full of farm animals, string beads, a basketball hoop, books.

The bigger kids were quite excited, too. Cookbooks, calendars, sweaters, scarves for the girls, and socks for the guys.

Mom got slippers and a sherpa throw, and Dad got a new coat and gloves.

And we all enjoyed the box of chocolates from Dad’s hometown.

Peanut butter or coconut cream?

Auntie Laura and Uncle Stevo got a new sled for Sam. Perfect timing, too, considering the snow started to fall later that night.

We sipped mimosas while the egg casserole baked. We tried on our new scarves and flipped through our new books.

Yes, it was a magical Christmas, and I know it will keep getting better.

We hope your holiday was as merry as ours!

Christmas this year was less about presents and more about family.

It was less about giving gifts wrapped in pretty paper and more about hugs and kisses.

We stayed up late and ate chocolate, and we laughed despite our broken hearts.

We discovered simple joys: a cardboard box and bubble wrap, wooden spoons, blue tape mustaches.

We dug our hands into sugar cookie dough and let messes linger longer than usual.

We clinked our glasses together and felt genuinely thankful for the opportunity to spend another holiday together.

The kitchen was constantly crowded. Piles of golden dog hair collected in every corner. And our squealing toddler tried his best to be louder than the Christmas music.

But there was a warm glow in the fireplace and snow on the ground, and it was exactly what we wished for our first Christmas in our new home.

We sincerely thank you for your compassion during this very sorrowful week. Thank you for your hugs (virtual ones included) and for sharing words about Lauren that we will forever cherish. Thank you for your cards and emails and messages and for wearing purple on Thursday in Lauren’s memory. We are grateful for each and every one of you.

It’s impossible to communicate what we experienced in Connecticut this week. The teary greetings at our aunt’s house where the kitchen table was covered in whole hams and casseroles, and the living room was full of fruit baskets and flowers. Where the phone rang every 10 minutes with another reporter requesting to speak to her. Where Lauren’s Halloween hat still hangs from the coat rack and the note to her mother remains on the countertop: “Good morning. Fresh coffee. {smiley face}.” Where framed photographs of Lauren and her brothers sit atop every surface, and the cupcakes she baked on her last night sit on the dining room table. Where her Christmas gifts are wrapped and stacked neatly in her bedroom. At times, it was just too much. And so we retreated to the back porch to take deep breaths of the cold December air.

We visited the Starbucks where Lauren worked for over four years. Inside were dozens of vases of flowers and a poster with messages to Lauren from her colleagues and her customers. In fact, we were able to meet a few of her customers. One woman said Lauren always asked about her daughter by name and wanted to know what book she was reading. And a gentleman, a retired schoolteacher, said it was obvious how much Lauren loved her kids.

The following day we went to Newtown. Our caravan of cars was escorted by a state trooper to within a block of where the tragedy occurred. The firehouse where the survivors congregated has become a memorial to the victims. It is closed to all media, and so it is a sight that you have not seen on television or in newspapers. And it is unreal. There are 26 Christmas trees, each with a beautiful angel on top. They are decorated with handmade ornaments, and gifts and candles are arranged underneath. We gathered around Lauren’s tree and held hands and prayed. And then we sang “Jingle Bells” because her boyfriend, Tony, believed she would like it.

From there we drove down the street to the town square where crowds of people have paid their respect. Where flowers, stuffed animals, and notes are stacked as high as four feet in some spots. Where live, mellow music wafted from a house lit up with the words: “Faith. Hope. Love.”

Lauren’s funeral service was on Thursday morning, and at least 1,000 people walked through the doors of the church to express their condolences. Many wore purple, Lauren’s favorite color. The governor was there, along with a group of teachers from Sandy Hook who had seven other funerals to attend that day.

Lauren’s friends spoke very beautiful words about her — about her thoughtfulness and selflessness, about how she remembered both big and little details about others, about her angelic nature, and about how we know she held the hands of those little children and ushered them into heaven.

Following the service, we gathered at the historic Fox Hill, where Lauren was part of the catering staff for many years. Again, every person we encountered was nothing but generous with their kind words about our cousin.

And when we said goodbye to family, the hugs felt a bit tighter and lasted a bit longer.

Now we are home, and we are still trying to process our emotions. And while we don’t feel like baking cookies or wrapping gifts or singing Christmas carols, we know Lauren would want us to find joy in these moments and to hold our family extra tight this holiday season.

She would want you to embrace your loved ones. To find 15 minutes in your busy day to call a friend. To send a card to someone on Halloween or just because. To thank your barista for knowing your name and remembering your order. To hug a teacher and express your gratitude for educating and nurturing and protecting our children. To smother your kids with kisses. And to be a persuasive voice for peace on Earth.

From Emily

Nick and I had a rare moment alone yesterday — on our drive home from my parents’ house. We left the kids with Nana and Poppy and headed west to tie up a few loose ends and pack a suitcase before we leave for Connecticut today to attend the memorial service of his cousin, Lauren Rousseau, one of the victims of Friday’s horrible and tragic school shooting.

He asked yesterday if I thought writing is therapeutic. “Absolutely,” I replied. “It’s why I write.”

I write to preserve memories and emotions, stories of our ordinary days and events that change our lives. And there are few events that have caused such pain, that have left us so heavy hearted, than what occurred last week at Sandy Hook Elementary School where Lauren was a teacher.

Lauren was compassionate and thoughtful. She was the type who gave personalized gifts and sent Halloween cards. She always checked our blog for new Sammy photos, and was one of the first to touch base after we brought Lucy home.

On Thanksgiving Day this year, she told us how thrilled she was to finally have a full-time teaching position and how, after months of substituting at the school, she was proud to know the names of almost every child. She also introduced us to her boyfriend, Tony, that day, and it was obvious how happy he made her. When we stood in a circle and held hands and shared what we were thankful for this year, Tony said, “I am thankful for Lauren.”

And, yes, I am thankful for Lauren, too. I am thankful to have been part of her extended family. I am thankful she had the opportunity to do what she loved. I am thankful that the last time we saw her, she was in such a happy place.

It’s difficult to string together words that can adequately express our disbelief and our sorrow. But we also want to attempt to capture what we have felt over the past three days. We sincerely thank you all for your thoughts and prayers, your comments and messages and phone calls and texts, and your show of support for Lauren and the other victims. Please hug your family extra tight today — your children, your parents, your cousins.

{Our Wedding, 2009. Photo Credit Robert Winton.}

From Nick

Lauren was just three months older than me. Of all my cousins, we were closest in age. And so we shared all of life’s milestones — birthdays, holidays, graduations.

{My First Birthday, with Lauren, 1983.}

Lauren was just 30 years old when she was so suddenly taken from us.

{Thanksgiving, 2006.}

{Thanksgiving, 2009.}

I found out on Friday afternoon that the elementary school all over the news was the school where Lauren was just recently hired as a teacher. She spent years working odd jobs — as a caterer and at Starbucks — before she landed the job she dreamed of doing — educating and guiding young children.

My initial reaction to the news was shared by everyone across the country — shock, disbelief, sorrow. And I thought how this would affect Lauren and her future. But I never imagined she could be one of the victims. I didn’t even think that horrible thought after hours passed without hearing from her. I found comfort in every other possible scenario — she left her phone in the classroom as she rushed her children to safety; she was with her boyfriend and would call my Aunt Terri any minute. I incessantly checked her Facebook page, each time with the hope that she had checked in and reassured everyone she was shaken up but okay. But as day turned to night and the magnitude of the tragedy became evident, hope started to fade.

Just before 11pm, after reading a public statement from Lauren’s father, Gil, and after hearing he and Aunt Terri had been “assigned” a state trooper, I suspected that my worst fears might be realized. I made the decision to drive to Dover to be with Emily and Sam. My aunt got final word at 1am that Lauren was among the 26 souls taken that day. I was already awake when my mother (Terri’s sister) called me at 7:30am, in fact I’m not even sure if I slept that night.

A million thoughts raced through my head. Why!? Like Columbine, Aurora, Blacksburg before it, this pernicious act made humanity seem so inhuman.

This thought was quickly counterbalanced by the outpouring of love and support, from family, friends… the nation.

Emily and I drove home to Greensburg on Sunday, to pack a few things for the trip up to Connecticut. I walked in the front door and on the countertop was Lauren’s Christmas card. “Here’s to a super-fantastic, super-enjoyable Christmas and New Year,” it read with a picture of her beloved cat, Laila.

I will always remember Lauren as the quirky, thoughtful cousin, someone who always put others before herself.

I have never seen her so happy than when we saw her just a few short weeks ago on Thanksgiving. She was beaming. She had achieved her dream of teaching, and she had sweet Tony by her side — someone as equally carefree and caring as her.

In the past, these tragedies unfolded like a piece of fiction. I felt little connection to the stories emerging as the media frenzy ensued. In a way, I am still hoping to wake up from this awful dream. And to continue to share in all of life’s milestones together. But that is not possible anymore. There will be an infinite solitude in those milestones.

There is a void in my life, and in all of the lives of those who knew you. We love you, Lauren.

{All of the Cousins with Grandma. Our Wedding, 2009. Photo Credit Robert Winton.}

Yesterday I shared a few of our favorite things — toddler tested and approved.

Today I am sharing Sam’s wish list — things he (we) hope to find under the tree on Christmas morning.

1. because the kitchen is his favorite place: Melissa and Doug Wooden Kitchen + Accessories (pots and pans; fruits; veggies)
2. because he loves to make music: B. Parum Pum Pum Drum + Melissa and Doug Piano
3. because we’ve entered the cars and trucks fascination stage: Green Toys Dump Truck
4. because his fine motor skills could always use tuning: Wooden Stringing Set
5. because he can never have enough bedtime story books: The Goodnight Train; Goodnight, Goodnight Construction Site

‘Tis the season to share a few of our favorite things.

1. MegaBloks
2. Little People Airplane
3. Tool Bench
4. Tommee Tippee Explora Drinking Cups
5. Stacking Rings (Ikea)
6. Books: Chugga Chugga Choo Choo; Little Blue Truck; First 100 Words; Baby Colors
7. Circus Tent (Ikea)
8. Nesting Blocks

Now it’s your turn. What’s your toddler into these days?

I’m exhausted. And in love.

We brought Lucy home on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, and the first two days were challenging, but happy ones. Nick and I shared responsibilities and split our attention between our two kids. Nick slept downstairs with Lucy — sometimes on the floor with one hand inside her crate. And he took her outside every time he caught her sniffing and pacing, or at the top of every hour — whichever came first. We sat on the floor together and watched Sam and Lucy play tug-of-war and chase each other around the living room. It was entertaining, and it was manageable.

Then, on Tuesday, Nick returned to work. And school. And left me alone with the wild ones.

I thought solo-parenting Sam was hard. How about a Sam who now climbs onto every surface within reach; sticks his hands in the toilet; dumps every block and every toy out of its bin; and screams at the top of his lungs if he doesn’t get his way. Then add Lucy to the equation. A Lucy who chews on cabinet corners and the legs of our kitchen table; picks up her water bowl with her teeth and dumps its contents onto the floor; uses our living room rug as her personal toilet; and escapes every barrier we build.

Sam and Lucy and I (barely) survived three days on our own. The house is still standing, and I consider that an accomplishment. Sam may have attempted to drink from Lucy’s water bowl, and Lucy may have eaten Sam’s puffs after he dumped them on the floor. I may have chased Lucy around the yard after she squeezed through the fence — in my socks with Sam on my hip, and I may have had to call for reinforcement when Lucy pooped in her crate — and proceeded to run through it.

But for every moment I wondered “what were we thinking?” there was a moment like this.

And this.

Toddler squeals. Deep puppy sighs. Belly rubs for both as they lay side-by-side on the floor. The way Sam giggles when Lucy licks his face. How he claps his hands and wants her to chase him, and how he collects her toys and piles them in her crate. How she slides across the kitchen floor when fetching her ball and lays on my feet when I’m cooking dinner. Just when I’m thisclose to losing my patience, I’m smothered in wet puppy kisses and toddler bear hugs.

It’s a crazy kind of wonderful.

Dear Sam,

Since you turned one, I have been reluctant to call you a toddler. But this month there is no denying it. You are independent and opinionated. You test your limits. You are busy and always babbling. You are a toddler.

Your daddy and I agree that this is our favorite age so far. (Though I think we’ve probably said that every month.) It seems as though you learn something new every day. You stack your megablocks and build towers. You make your airplane “fly” and your cars “vroom.” You “roar” like a lion and “snort” like a pig. You put small objects into holes (like pipe cleaners into a spice jar) and put together simple peg puzzles. You do somersaults (and by “somersaults” I mean you roll around on the floor and then clap for yourself) and dance (and by “dance” I mean you bounce and sway) whenever you hear music. You try to put on your own socks and shoes and wear Mommy’s headbands and necklaces. And you sit still just barely long enough to paint or color a picture for our refrigerator, or to watch an episode of Elmo’s World.

You are still incredibly fascinated by tools — from your plastic drill and hammer to the real tape measure and stud finder. Poppy spent a lot of time with us this month, building a bookcase for our office, and you are his little shadow. You imitate everything he does — from measuring blocks of wood to painting the cabinets to sweeping up the dust. And when he uses the drill or nail gun, you watch in awe.

You accompanied us to Lowe’s several times this month, too, and you really believe that place is your personal playground. You climb onto every sheet of plywood and through various levels of metal shelves. You “reorganize” the bins of gadgets, much to the dismay of the employees, I’m sure. You demand to touch every knob, every can of paint, every piece of rope. Trips that should take 20 minutes turn into hour long adventures.

You are also fascinated by anything with a lid. Whether it pops off or twists off, you will attempt to open it — usually with your teeth. You can now easily open your container of puffs, your lotion, our spice jars. One morning, while having breakfast with a friend at a local diner, I allowed you to play with the plastic containers of creamer. Well, before I could stop you, you tried to open it with your teeth, punctured a hole in the top, and the creamer exploded all over you, me, and our friend. There was nothing to do but laugh. And then clean up the mess.

You certainly keep me on my toes, bud. When I try to empty the dryer or dishwasher, you try to climb into it. When I want to fold clothes, you want to throw them all over the room. While drying my hair in the morning, you proceed to empty out all of the contents of my bathroom cabinet. If I’m swiping my credit card or signing my name with a pen, you scream until I let you “help.” You want to turn off the light switch. You want to stir the pancake batter. You want to climb the stairs. And now if I try to lift you and you don’t want to be lifted? You make your arms limp and collapse your body. I don’t always give in, and I try to reason with you. But let’s face it. Sometimes we lose our patience, sometimes there are meltdowns, and sometimes they’re in public. But you know what? I would not want it any other way. You are assertive and persistent and are exploring your boundaries. It’s all part of growing up, little man.

You may be a bit wild at times, but you are also still such a love bug. You wrap your arms all the way around our necks and squeeze so tight and it’s amazing. You also give great big bear hugs to your little friends. Sometimes they love it, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes you chase them with open arms, and sometimes you both topple to the ground. But I think it’s awfully cute, and I love that you’re so affectionate. And when you stand at the top of the stairs and yell “Mooooom!” or “Daaaaad!” with a huge grin on your face, my heart melts just a little.

You caught another nasty cold this month, and I just hate to hear that hoarse cough coming from your room in the middle of the night. We tried everything to help you sleep. A cool mist humidifier, vapor rub on your chest and feet, even a bit of medicine. And every night I attempted to clear your congested nose with the ball syringe and tissues. Thankfully, I think you are the only toddler on the planet who thinks the ball syringe is funny. In fact, when you see it, you lay down on your back and giggle. Even when you’re sick, you’re hysterical.

You also had your first diaper rash this month, and it was miserable. Your poor tush was fire engine red, and you flinched and screamed every time I tried to wipe it. This called for butt paste and lots of naked booty time, and fortunately, it cleared up in just two days. But it physically hurt me to see you in such pain.

Aside from the cold and rash, you’re sleeping better this month. I truly hope the night terrors are behind us. Also, there were a few days that I deliberately skipped your morning nap, and you did just fine. In fact, you slept for almost three hours in the afternoon! I have to admit, it was glorious. I don’t think we’re ready to officially make the switch, though, because you often get grumbly and snuggly around 10am every day. So unless we’re out and about and busy, I still put you down for a morning nap.

You still sleep with three binkies, Mr. Ribbit, and Ellie the Elephant. We also added a stuffed giraffe to the mix this month. Your bed is turning into a zoo! Your new favorite nighttime story is “the choo choo book,” and Mommy already has it memorized.

Eating habits have improved this month, too. You’re back to eating almost everything we put onto you plate, unless it’s broccoli. Breakfast is your biggest meal of the day. It’s not unusual for you to eat a whole banana and a whole waffle and a handful of berries and still sign for “more.” You’re drinking a lot more milk now, too, which makes momma happy. We switched from soft nipple sippy cups to hard ones, which may have helped. And it’s amazing how well you do with utensils. Though sometimes you request that we (or anyone at our table) put the food onto your fork. You’re also now sitting in your booster seat at the big table, and you love it.

Also? I think we’ve created a chocolate monster. It’s not surprising, though, considering the size of your mommy’s and daddy’s sweet tooth. If there are brownies or chocolate chip cookies sitting on the counter (which, let’s be honest, there often are), you demand to have some. Shiny foil wrapped chocolate? You can’t take your eyes off it. And you love to help me bake. I sit you on the counter to watch the stand mixer work it’s magic, then give you a lick from the beater. And when I was making pumpkin mousse and whipped cream for our Thanksgiving Day dessert, I set you on the floor with the bowls and spatulas, and I think it was your most favorite morning ever.

Buddy, you are growing so fast. I swear you get a little bit taller every day. You can now easily reach the door handles and the kitchen table, and you can climb onto and off of the couch. I no longer have to roll the cuffs of your pants, and you are nearly too long to lay on your changing table. I suspect you weigh about 22 pounds now. You are still wearing size 4 diapers and size 12-18 month clothing. You have six teeth and two more on the way.

I love love love being your Mommy. There is no place in the world I would rather than be.

– Your Mommy

We brought home our second baby on Saturday. A four-pound ball of soft blonde fur. Faint patches under her eyes. Paws that she hasn’t yet grown into. A super sweet demeanor. Meet Lucy!

The drive home from Littlestown was mostly uneventful. Poor girl got sick about five minutes into our trip, but then curled up in her box next to Nick.

Occasionally she jumped out and into Nick’s lap to look out the window. And Sam could not take his eyes off her.

We stopped for our first break after about two hours. I snacked with Sam in the front seat while Nick tended to Lucy in the back.

And then Nick took the driver’s seat because I felt it was my turn to bond with our new little girl. But, wow, did I have my hands full. Sam wanted me to focus all of my attention on him and did not want that wet puppy nose anywhere nearby.

So we stopped again for a second snack/sanity break.

Four hours later, we were home. And the first 20 minutes were total chaos. Lucy pooped on the rug twice. Sam dumped his puffs all over the kitchen floor. There was a lot of yelling from our first born and licks and little nibbles from our fourth family member. But eventually we all settled down. We ordered pizzas and popped open a few beers and got to know one another.

It was a wild and wonderful weekend. More to come!

We have so much to be thankful for this year. A healthy son who makes us laugh every day. A beautiful home. Direction in his career and comfort in my decision to stay home. A supportive family. New friendships and cherished old ones. We are so fortunate.

We hope your Thanksgiving was as bountiful as ours!