The Hawk's Nest

To You

I don't know if the fact that Sam's birthday falls on the day after Christmas at all factors into his humility, sense of humor, or overall generally easy-going disposition.  For many years, we rode the coattails of JC's birthday -- as two perennially exhausted parents are permitted to do -- allowing the Christmas festivities to bleed into the following day.  No big parties, no taking down the Christmas tree to hurriedly put up birthday balloons.  

This Christmas was no exception.  I don't exact remember what we did for Sam's birthday, but I know it was nothing special.  And that's okay.  More importantly, that was okay with him, too.  We almost didn't have a birthday cake.  After eating dessert every night for a week, we asked ourselves do we even really need a cake?  The answer that came back was, resoundingly, yes, of course we need a cake.  

But the bakery at the Cheney Safeway didn't have a cake when we needed one.  What they did have were slices of different types of cakes, German chocolate cake, traditional birthday cake, Oreo cream cake, unicorn funfetti cake.  We bought them all.  And turned them into the cake smorgasbord you see below.  

Since arriving in the States, the two boys plunged headfirst, deep, deep, into American football.  With temperatures outside in the single digits, drifts of snow piling up to nearly the house eaves, and the sun setting at 3:30 in the afternoon, this was a welcome distraction.  

We cheered the Seahawks -- now, our home team -- the hardest.  And daydreamed about going to a game.  Elise knew I already had tickets in hand for the New Year's Day match-up against the Jets at Lumen Field.  But we painted the possibility of going to a game as wildly unattainable.  Tickets were too expensive and unbelievably rare.  Going to a Seahawks game in person became a fantasy, a pipe dream. 

So, when we surprised Sam and Peter with Seahawks tickets for their birthday, they were not just surprised...they were floored. 

There is a lot to unpack in Peter's reaction, a deluge of complex emotions unwinding, a dam bursting, a torrent of gratitude and so, so much more.  Such was 2022.  

A Snowman Named Parson Brown

A New Bird to Sing a Love Song

We stole away from Sri Lanka in the middle of the night to enjoy holidays with Elise's parents in Spokane. Neither Elise or I fully appreciated just how cold it would be and how much snow would be on the ground, the polar vortex that descended upon the Lower 48 from the Arctic not withstanding. We had done a good enough of a job cobbling borrowed coats and boots together to afford the kids the opportunity to play outside if even for a few minutes or as long as the single digit thermometer readings would allow. 

A House Made Entirely of Treats Deep in the Forest

The days were short, and the nights were long. I had never had much difficulty overcoming the insidious pull of jet lag -- like a temporal tide playing tug-of-war over your body and spirit, pulling at you from both sides of the world, two separate dimensions each on the other side of the planet -- and the lack of sunlight didn't help. The first few days were spent under cloud-filled skies, the horizon line lost between rolling hills of fallen snow and the swirling grey sky. At night, we'd stare up at darkness as though peering from the bottom of a lightless sarcophagus. The cold didn't help much, either. Exercise did, though. And despite the frigid cold, Elise and I took shoes and ran. 18 degrees the first time. I ran in zero Fahrenheit the next. Always fighting Old Man Winter, browbeating him into submission.  

Most activities were moved indoors. And indoor activities prioritized. 

Sam's free-form, non-conforming gingerbread house which didn't follow the instructions at all.