All About the Apple

The kids are still too young for a two-hour production of the Nutcracker at the KenCen, but they are definitely right-aged for the circus. Thus the grandparents invited us to NYC for a weekend punctuated by the Big Apple Circus, which erected its tent in the Lincoln Center square. I had no experience with the BAC, so how surprised was I to find a very intimate single ring with no more than 400 seats, if that. Paba got us ring-side tickets and Zaza threw in some glowing butterfly wands (swords Harry insists, despite the delicate nature of the insect).

The show had something for everyone. Acrobats (whose glittery spandex pants have given me all kinds of Christmas shopping ideas for grandpa and dad), clowns and a slew of dogs, ponies and goats....riding ponies. Very bizarre but very entertaining. Harry was most enchanted by what he calls "the tummies"...that would be the male and female acrobats who spent most of the show with bare midriffs.

He plans to bring his "butterfly sword" to show and tell. I'm not exactly sure how I will explain the bit about the tummies.

Walk the Walk

We adore the Scottish Walk parade (not only is it walking distance from our home, in Old Town Alexandria, but if you dig bagpipes (me! me!), this is the only gig in town. It was also, Paul and I noted, the first time that Harry and Charlotte both enjoyed an event, she's finally reached the age were we're not just bringing her along for the ride.

In fact, it might be safe to say she enjoyed the parade considerably more than Harry....or anyone else for that matter.
Charlotte, as we're quickly discovering, is not one to sit on the sidelines, literally. When a particularly handsome set of bagpipers marched by...so too did Charlotte, edging off the curb and striding down the parade route right after them. Then there was the Virginia Rugby Association. The second she saw the ball, she was off on her feet, in the middle of the road, begging for a throw - and they obliged her! The ball was nearly as big as her.

We were delighted to run into my mother's group and spent the chilly hour with them, oohing and ahhing at the fleet of Scotty dogs and of course debating the collective undergarments of men in skirts. I told Paul, should we ever more to the Highlands, I will gladly take up the pipes.

Hansel & Gretel

Auntie Julie and her mother Norma, a gingerbread house veteran, invited us to try our hand at Christmas architecture. We eagerly obliged, prepared for a few hours of toddler sugar consumption (OK, I ate some too). After plowing through three pastry bags of royal icing and enough chocolate shingles to make Hansel and Gretel proud, we carted our treasure and our totally high children home. We are very proud of Chez Barnes.

A Style All Her Own

Charlotte has been consumed lately with my jewelry, particularly fond of my long chain necklaces. So this afternoon I stole away from my desk and went to Periwinkle where a local jewelry designer I favor was having a trunk sale. And for $16 I bought her for Christmas an adorable child-sized pearl necklace, latched with a pretty ribbon. (Mom got a matching one).

Tonight, however, I was left to wonder how the bauble will look with my daughter's latest accessory of choice - swim goggles adorned with crabs. She had them on for more than an hour, through dinner, to the point where my totally goggle-adverse son was begging to wear them too.

Goggles and pearls. Someone best alert Lady Gaga.

Trumping the Tank Engine

Tonight I received the FINEST compliment I have ever, or will ever, get.

"Mommy," says Harry, as we sip our soup, "Thomas isn't number one. You're number one."

Classically TRAINed

DC's Botanic Garden is generally nice. I'd give it a B-. But come Christmas, well, nothing beats Thomas the Tank engine puffing around the Eiffel Tower and other international points of interest (all crafted from shellacked pine cones and the like).

The annual train display is probably the biggest annual draw (well except maybe for the very rare blooming of the titum arum (AKA the Corpse Flower), the world's grossest flower.

Thomas does not stink.

Santa Cometh

We always relish the first holiday party of the year, given by our friends Shawn and Cassie McLaughlin. They have four children (count em....four) and know, deep in their souls, what makes kids happy.

Each year Santa arrives rattling sleigh bells and singing Christmas Carols (you may recognize him from the Santa Train!). And he sits patiently while no less than 40 kids hop on his lap and reveal their deepest Christmas wishes. Harry, for his part, wants a "Diesel Ten." Charlotte, who last year cried and cried when Santa appeared, was the second in line, storming up to Santa's lap for her goody bag, filled to the top with stuffed anim

als and toys. Mom and Dad also have a great time, consumed as we were with the enormous spread of catered food and spirits and the steaming coffee bar.

Shawn and Cassie....you rock. Let the party season begin!