The December Photo Project is easily one of my favorite traditions each year. It’s starting in just three days, and I have been so excited to pull out the camera daily again. (I had been taking a photo a day—not perfectly but quite faithfully—since August 2010, but I recently gave myself a break from the dailies.)
I have been so eager to begin, in fact, that I already have draft entries—complete with links to my photos from past DPPs—for each of the first 25 days of December. It looks like I didn’t have a camera for 2005 (I can’t remember why), but I have participated since 2006. Apparently, I wasn’t as committed the first two or three years, but for the past two years at least I have posted every day, even if some of the shots were, well, lacking.
One thing I love about the DPP is that it is pretty much impossible to plan what shots you will actually come up with. Every year I have dreams of Pinterest-worthy pictures of my kids catching snowflakes on their tongues and pretty, twinkly lights bokeh. But sometimes, you know, you just take a shot of a random toy at 11 pm. That’s okay too. This year feels particularly mysterious: perhaps Baby Girl will stay put as long as she’s supposed to, or perhaps I will post for several days the view from a hospital bed?
In any case, it’s a fabulous project, a great little time capsule each year. If you haven’t already, sign up here. You know you want to.
As cute as this pic of my little consumers perusing the Target special edition toys sale flyer may be, it pretty much sums up the opposite of what we’re trying to teach our kiddos. Perhaps it’s this year in particular, specifically because we’re anticipating the arrival of our little one (less than six weeks!), that I’m feeling claustrophobic with all the stuff already in our house, but I have been on yet another (or maybe continued) decluttering/simplifying/organizing tear. Call it my version of nesting.
Saturday we conquered the basement. I’m pretty sure it hasn’t been that clean (and organized!), well, ever. We took two full van loads of stuff to the People’s City Mission (the Pretty City Mission, as Simon calls it) and filled up our recycling and garbage cans to overflowing. I commented to Jason that it was remarkable how much stuff we had down there—and how good it feels to get it all out—and he replied that it was pretty disgusting actually. I agree. I don’t have before and after pictures; I think it’s something you need to see in person to get the full effect.
I’ve really appreciated Simple Mom‘s series on planning a peaceful Christmas. And I’ve already simplified even more by skipping task 3, order and organize sending Christmas cards. I keep thinking one of these years I’ll feel grown up enough to start sending Christmas cards, but turns out this isn’t that year.
I’m *this close* to feeling done enough for now with the decluttering. With the exception of everything in Jason’s office, I have now gone through everything in the whole house once. I can already tell that things need to be gone through again (and again and again)—I’m looking at you, pantry. Jason told me this morning that I can clean today but that after today he’s putting a moratorium on the cleaning/decluttering. He says he needs me at 100 percent for the holidays. I hope he’s taking into consideration that 100 percent at 34 weeks pregnant is about 40 percent or less. Also, now I need to start baking.
Simon has always had quite a bit of hair. And it’s pretty crazy most of the time. It makes for some of the best bedhead ever, and, well, for better or for worse his hipster hair (bottom left) has kind of become his signature look.
Lately, Simon has mentioned a couple of times that “someday” he will shave his head like Daddy does—“When I get a little older, maybe,” he explains. Last night he was curled up next to Jason on the couch and said, “I will shave my head when I get to be a kuhdult [adult].” Jason said that sounded like a good idea. Then Simon added, “Yeah, when I grow up to be a daddy, maybe we can share the shaver [clippers] between us daddies.”
Jason didn’t have the heart to tell him that when he grows up to be a daddy he’ll live in his own house with his own family. I, of course, am not-so-secretly hoping that he will live close enough to actually making sharing the clippers practical.