A Very COVID Christmas.

We found it right at dusk, after temper tantrums, wrong turns, giving up at least twice, and more muttered curse words than I cared to admit. It wasn't precisely what we were looking for, but it would do. 2 hours and 20 minutes after having left the house on what I thought would be a quick run out to test what Ford calls his new "sleigh" from Grandpa, we finally found some snow.

And I don't know if it was a metaphor for this entire year, with its twists and turns and frustrations and unexpected joys, or just a stroke of good fortune. But when we finally happened upon Lost River State Park around sunset and found not only a couple miraculous inches of snow, but also enough moonlight to make it sparkle (and not a soul with whom we had to share), we felt like we had won the lottery.

It was a beautiful end to a Christmas week that had been one for the recordbooks. It had included football and park-hopping,

a very-Barcroft Santa in a Lincoln,

this much excitement over our own "Santa's workshop" and COVID Christmas shopping,

and a very-2020 work party.

We took our first real leave in who-knows-how-long and spent a couple days at a ski resort we had never heard of 

which boasted one of the world's shortest and iciest runs

but also a really terrific kinderschool

at which Finley managed to twerk on the carpet ride while on a snowboard (not to our surprise), and Ford finally got his yearned-for and totally unnecessary "ski sticks."

We also froze to death in the pool, but wore tank tops in the lift line. 

It was quite a getaway. We made it back in time for me to turn into a completely insane person, decide I had not done enough preparation for our first solo at-home Christmas, and- in addition to baking everything in the house, with mixed results- drag the kids to Cabela's on Christmas Eve (among other stops on my frenzied Christmas shopping tour.)

And Christmas was magical, even without the family and friends we missed desperately; complete with Belgian waffles and matching PJs and so many cups of coffee 

plus a run in to the city to see the National Christmas Tree, because I am an insane person,

and Christmas dinner with the extent of our "Barcroft bubble." For which we dressed, inexplicably, like this.

I feel like Finley spoke for us all, by the end of the day.

We survived COVID Christmas, all of us, so cheers! We hope everyone managed some joy.

Fake Snow and Spaghetti Slurping.

I am typing this with nine fingers, having lost at least the tip on of one in the name of valuable family cultural traditions- these had better be good damn lefse, Jayne- while catching up on work because the telework tag team effort is real....

But we are surviving. Barely. We have even managed to pull off "Polar Express" cocoa (revered family tradition, for obvious reasons) in Christmas jammies,

a very-2020 trip to see Santa (look out for lame Christmas gifts by way of framed photos of said event, everyone)

and some Christmas shopping.

Plus our usual jam, park hopping, even if the weather has turned unexpectedly traitorous.

But at least winter weather means snow. Theoretically. We trekked out to Wisp (and I played hooky) for opening day, and for the kids' ability to do this:

even if it was manmade snow, and 55 degrees out. Still, the tubing run was epic

the magic carpet ride was a predictably steep learning curve,

and hot cocoa was absolutely required by the "sub-arctic" (not-even-freezing) temps.

In other news, we also ate all the pizza on the MD/ WV border (Finley-Ford style, by which I mean half sausage, half pineapple...),

all the sausage casserole at Aunt Michelle's at brunch the next day (with a side of minecraft)

and Beat Navy!

And because that wasn't cause for celebration enough, Ford got promoted at swim school and demanded his dinner at Pistone's. I'm not even sure how this became a thing (I blame Grandma), but it's adorable. If not inexpensive. 

Finley told me she wanted lobster for her next promotion, and she had better become the next Katie Ledecky. 

Which is doubtful, but we're all reaching in the 2020 holiday season. Hope you're all well, finding joy, and maybe even slurping spaghetti noodles.

Grandma Jayne's Very Sad Last Week.

We made it to December! And we all felt just about like Ford because of it.

Jayne's- terribly sad- last week was a flurry of park-hopping

(this one in Potomac made all Ford's Chief Brody dreams come true),

Christmas cookie baking,

drive-thru Christmas lights (which they apparently do not have in North Dakota, but which are ridiculously gaudy and rambunctious here).

and Christmas letters inspired by COVID and gingerbread houses inspired by- apparently- a yearning for Type 2 diabetes.

Thank goodness I didn't take any tear-laden photos of Finley's 6am goodbye to Grandma at Dulles this morning. It was heart wrenching. Instead, I snapped these of her and Ford rebounding on the Billy Goat Trail (having been bribed with donuts),

and of their always-a-team-player Dad lifting everyone's spirits by squeezing himself into a two-story slide at the Adventure Park.

We have had a great six weeks, and it's time for us to barrel into the holidays doing what everyone else is doing: games in front of the fire while frantically last-minute Amazon prime-ing Christmas gifts and guzzling wine. (Not pictured.) 

Cheers!