The House Collective

things i wish i had pictures of.

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January has been good to us.

We are still waiting to hear from the adoption agency though, and this waiting is wearing beyond description. We anticipate that 2019 will either hold the celebration of long-awaited miracles or the mourning of long-hoped for dreams. We aren’t sure yet; but that is still tiring on the 23rd of January.

But January has been good to us.

We have made some really intentional, difficult decisions. The Breakfast Club is no longer serving breakfast every day. Instead, we take our mornings slow over coffee together. It’s doing wonders for our sanity.

This year, Stephen won’t be hosting OneHouse: Live worship nights each month, but instead focusing on the OneHouse albums and recording projects. This is both a great loss and a great gain.

Flour & Flowers is still baking fresh bread and arranging beautiful bouquets every Friday, but we are no longer offering deliveries. We now have pick-ups available at a local restaurant. My Friday afternoons are loving it.

We’ve shifted around Playhouse and Schoolhouse and The Reinforcers to make it better serve the community and more possible for us. We’ve added one of my favorite ladies into Sojourn Studios jewelry making. Starting next Friday, we’ll have Family Dinner every Friday with our employees and their families.

We’re shaking things out and shifting them around; breathing in the fresh systems and fresh starts. And it’s been good to us.

But there are things I wish I could capture photos of.

I wish I had a photo of Mway Mway on Monday, as she sat across from me with her mermaid drink at the coffee shop, in Christmas fleece pajama pants and a fleece sweatshirt with the Playboy bunny on it. She had just finished an internship at a local salon, and we talked about her goals for this year and the years to come.

She has big dreams and a great heart; she’s also a teenager and we’ve been fighting some battles as of late. There’s been a number of days she hasn’t liked me. But that day, with her purple and blue drink with whipped cream and cereal sprinkled on top (#thisisasia), we laughed and smiled and hoped that our life paths might continue to cross for a few more years to come. I met her at age eight; we employed her when she returned from Bangkok at age fifteen. I hope that I get to be at her wedding. I hope I get to see her proudly open her own salon.

I wish I had a photo of Yin Myo Thoo handing out water to the kids at the door. She told them to take turns–to have a little and then pass it to the next person. Then I heard, “Don’t do that to him! Tell him you’re sorry.”
… “Sorry.”

Nine years later, we’re #winning, even without a photo.

I wish I had a photo of Yaminoo among her friends at church. She’s confident, she’s beautiful. She’s thriving. That little six-year-old is a teenager, with a bicycle and a phone, falling in love with Jesus.

I wish I had a photo of Pyint Soe on Sunday, singing and clapping along during the church service while he runs sound and manages the Powerpoint with Stephen. I caught a glimpse of him last week, and I’m just so thankful for what God’s doing in him. I wish I could capture how much my heart hopes for him.

I wish I had a photo of Thida on Thursday, telling me a story of someone who had misspoken of their family. She was telling me that she told her daughter, “God knows. He knows the truth.” Yes, he does; and it’s beautiful to hear you declare that to your family.

We’re happy to be off to a good start, even without photos that capture it!


in review.

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I love paper. I like writing things down. 

I like writing list after list, and then losing them or sticking them in pockets all over the place. 

Last year at Christmas, I was gifted a beautiful paper planner. I wanted to write all the things in it.

But I also love my husband, and he really loves those online, syncing calendars that we can share. He can always read the handwriting. He always knows where to find it. He runs out of patience my list-writing and list-losing habits. (Which if you know his patience, is saying quite a lot.)

So, I turned this lovely planner into something of a record. I set a few goals and just started keeping track. I wanted to run, swim, and bike through the year. I wanted to read 52 books. I wanted to study Burmese, and I wanted to practice my violin again. 

I bailed on violin. 
I did study Burmese faithfully through the year. (Still.)

I read 54 books. 

My favorite author of the year: Fredrick Backman. He’s followed by Jim Wallis, for what he believes and how he presents it so well; and Rainbow Rowell, for writing truly fun fiction.
My favorite autobiographies: Madeline Albright & Ruth Bader Ginsburg. 
Most terrifying read: Fascism: A Warning by Madeline Albright. Even more terrifying, actually, than Night, a memoir of the Holocaust by Elie Wiesel.
Most surprisingly genius: A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles. And all of Fredrick Backman’s work. Every single one is charming, even if you at first think its horrifying.

I ran 405 kilometers. 
I swam 77 kilometers. (Most of those were in an 18-meter pool, so that’s about 4,277 laps!)
I bicycled 773 kilometers.

And thanks to Stephen’s great ideas to keep records of other things (on the computer, in organized charts and graphs), we know other things about 2018.

The Breakfast Club served 8,791 meals!

Flour & Flowers—just from January to September—baked 815 loaves of bread and rolled out 5,170 tortillas. They sold 248 pans of cinnamon rolls. At the end of the year, they each took home 5,000 baht (about $158) in savings, in addition to their weekly salaries. 

For all my railing on paper and records, it’s pretty cool to see! I love seeing the books I read, remembering all I learned. It’s good to know that I could run across Arkansas on I-40 in a year if I needed to. It’s good to know that I could swim across Lake Balaton—in Hungary, in a year—if I needed to! I like seeing how all those crazy Fridays played became huge amounts of bread and savings accounts. I like seeing how all those 5:30am wake ups fed oh-so-many kiddos.

Here’s to 2019. 

52 more books. 
52 verses memorized with Stephen. 
Hopefully 104 more runs, 156 more swims, and 52 more bike rides!

languages schlanguages: still.

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We are still learning Burmese.

STILL.

Language is an emotional rollercoaster. I want it so badly. I can’t seem to grasp it some days, and it can make me angry or defeated or heartbroken. Other days it can make me feel like I’m on top of the world and can conquer anything. My brain can make sense of that today, and it couldn’t before? BOOM. I’ve got this.

Every thing you learn new, you realize the hundred more you can’t quite yet say. You see the ten mistakes you made in three sentences while you were just trying to say something simple. Or you realize the tiny portion of the song on the radio you can actually grasp. But then you chat with a friend and time goes by, and you hardly notice.

It’s so natural. And then all of the sudden its just so impossible. 

I’m the most disorganized learner when it comes to language. I don’t have a record of notes. I have notebooks here and there, often unfinished, sometimes with loose themes at the beginning. (The themes are always lost by the end.)

Stephen is the most organized, driven learner I’ve ever encountered. He has found system after system to break himself down, conquer every weakness, and tackle every challenge. He has the biggest file of notes, all sorted perfectly. He has apps, audio files, books. (I will note, I have all these things. I just couldn’t find them at this very moment. Or the next few.)

Last week, we started lessons with a new teacher. Our teacher of five or six years recently returned to Burma (but showed up in my dream last night!).

Honestly, our new class was pretty discouraging. I could try to explain why, but I’ll just say she was very unimpressed. I just left broken, wondering if I’m saying any of the things I mean to and if we’re accomplishing near what I thought we were. I was in tears and wanted to throw in the towel.

The next day we had a bible study over tea with the jewelry ladies, and I followed along. I felt like I knew what we were talking about, could comment and join. We shared stories and perspectives. At the end, two of the Burmese ladies said I really knew a lot and was doing very well.

Rollercoaster, you see?

Language is also a bit like a Magic Eye. Remember Magic Eye? Sometimes you look at it, and you see chaos: tiny little images, swirls. Nothing of significance. Overwhelming. Often frustrating.

But if you wait long enough, look hard enough, and give yourself a significant headache: you see something really beautiful.

(This is such a good analogy, I can’t even handle it. Wait, look, pounding headache; and there it is.)

But the cool thing about both language and Magic Eye is that you can also un-see it. (Not many things in life are like that; too many of us know.) I can step back from Burmese; I can choose to listen or not. I can choose to see swirls or statements.

And we’re still choosing every day, to study. Stephen still has his notes perfectly sorted, and I still have a few random pieces of paper on my desk of the new words Thida & my new teacher taught me this week.

Still.

christmas pajamas.

by Filed Under: kelli, on the house, photos 1 Comment

Every year or two I have a favorite carol: a verse or a line; something that sticks out to me, tangibly enough to grasp and ache for.

This year, it’s one of the lesser-sung verses of Joy to the World.

No more let sin and sorrows grow
Nor thorns infest the ground
He comes to make his blessings flow
Far as the curse is found
Far as the curse is found
Far as, far as the curse is found 

As we left for our camping trip on Christmas morning, we drove by Zwe in his new Christmas pajamas. 

I find pajamas nearly every year for the youngest kids. There is a shop that has them—fuzzy, fleece pajamas, often in Christmas patterns, for about a $1 a pair. I can’t pass up that deal, particularly in the coldest months of the year when the littles need all the warm clothes they can for their bamboo homes. 

Really, our neighbors don’t wear pajamas. Did you know pajamas are a thing of development? I didn’t, or at least I’m not sure I would have identified it that way until we moved here. Wearing them seems to be just another thing to wash by hand; another hassle and thus unnecessary. I’m not sure; I could be wrong. I do know that explaining pajamas to our neighbors for English class has been next to impossible. It isn’t a thing in their world.

The kids just wear them as an outfit. But I buy them anyway. 

I think in my mind, it’s like a prayer for them: a hope that someday they’ll have Christmas pajamas. That someday, they’ll celebrate Christmas as a family, and they’ll live a life where they open up a new pair of pajamas on Christmas Eve.

In just one picture of our community, even a beautiful one like this, there is so much story for us. We know the stories these families hold, at least in the past eight years. We know when Zwe got here to Mae Sot, when he moved in with his grandparents and cousins. We remember picking him up across town with a small bag of things, an infant then.

All the families, all the stories: they all carry loss. Some more than others, but all of them carry the curse, the brokenness of sin and sorrows. 

And yet, for this community in particular, we are hoping for His blessings to flow through. We are hoping for HIs goodness to stretch as far as the curse in found in every household, every family, and every story. We hope for Christmas to be celebrated, for families to be whole, and perhaps someday for there to be Christmas pajamas waiting under a tree.

a thank you.

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Late after the Collective Christmas meal, I found a friend crying in the street. Her three-year-old daughter played next to her, and I sat down with them both to see what was wrong. I asked my friend, but she shook her head; then I asked the little girl, now in my lap, “Do you know why mommy is crying? What happened?”

“Daddy hit her. He drank a little too much and he hit her. Mommy doesn’t like that so she’s crying.”

It’s terrifying how much children understand.

I asked the mom if this was true and asked a bit more into the situation. Her mother-in-law had stepped in; he had left angry, and she was nervous for him to come back. I invited her in to sit in our house for awhile, or to sleep if she wanted; I asked if there was anything I could do. She said she wanted to just wait. 

I told her we’d be up late that night—we had so, so many presents still to wrap—and that I’d leave the door open. I told her to come if he was angry or tried to hit her at all. I told her to run with her daughter, but if she couldn’t, to just come herself. I said I really didn’t think he’d hit his little girl—he really does love her and despite this story is a pretty great guy—and we could send Stephen to get the little girl if she got to our house safely. Then I prayed for her, and told her again to come if she was scared at all; the door would be open.

We checked on her house a few more times that night, and finally closed the door after midnight. We then opened it back at six the next morning—back at wrapping presents.

That morning, I passed her in the street as I returned from another house, and she grabbed my arm. She said thank you. She thanked us for leaving the door open, and said he came back calm. I reassured her she could always come, we’d always help, and that we could give her a key if this happened more. And she just said thank you.

I don’t think a mother has ever thanked us for situations like this, where we did this or more. Mostly, that is due to culture: the shame the situation creates, the losing face. I can’t say I ever expected it or even knew it wasn’t there. I wasn’t waiting for a thanks.

But she said thank you. And it meant the world to me this Christmas.

our christmas 2018.

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In addition to all the community traditions, we still managed to squeeze in a few of our own personal traditions!

We swim laps regularly at a local hotel where we have a membership to use their pool. This year, they built the biggest gingerbread house I think I’ve ever seen! I was super impressed at their detail, and just the monstrosity of it. So impressed, in fact, I told friends they should stop by and see it with their daughter. Stephen didn’t think it was quite amazing enough to recommend others to “visit,” but he did agree to take a selfie with me!

After delivering presents on Christmas Eve, we went home to make our traditional foods: Stephen’s family rolls, scalloped corn & stuffing, sweet potatoes, truffles, egg nog. (I cheated and served a rotisserie chicken from these store.)


We had a lovely meal {very} late on Christmas Eve–after passing out hundreds of presents, making all of our traditional foods, and packing for our annual Christmas camping trip!–and enjoyed sitting around the tree with a Christmas book.

Early Christmas morning we finished gathering things into the car and headed out to a new campground. It was absolutely beautiful, and a very relaxing way to spend Christmas and New Years.

We had friends join us in the middle for a couple days, which provided fun company and they captured some great photos. Thanks to Jason Harvel; all the spectacular photos are his

And now we’re back, ready for 2019!


the collective christmas 2018: three.

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After our Christmas meal on Friday, we spent all day Saturday helping to make OneHouse Live :: Christmas Carols happen that evening. I didn’t snap any photos, but it was beautiful. Stephen did an incredible job and had a number of carols, all in a collection of local languages. He had singers for English, Burmese, Karen, & Thai; and it was lovely to hear as we gathered around candles. Some of our community teenagers came to join, Pyint Soe ran sound as Stephen led, and it was just beautiful. 

Sunday welcomed in our church Christmas: hundreds of people, five loads of people from our community. Music and dancing, the Gospel, a meal, and a raffle! It’s an event, to say the least. 

A few favorite moments: Stephen being a proud community dad, going to the front to take photos of the kids’ dancing. And the kids seeing him, beaming with pride, and missing a few steps.

One of the sweetest husbands in our community came along and was sitting just in front of his wife and I. I love that she kept having him lean forward so she could straighten his shirt. The woman next to him, who we didn’t know, had a hard time with the raffle. Perhaps she didn’t quite get it; perhaps she couldn’t read her numbers? I’m not sure. Either way, every time a number was called, she’d lean over and ask him if that was hers. He’d politely say no, repeat her number to her, and smile. Every time. This is through hundreds of plastic bins, fans, blankets, a rice cooker, bicycles: so many raffle numbers. So many times. He kept smiling, friendly as ever, and I was shaking with laughter behind them. 

Some of our neighbors won in the raffle. And Stephen won a fan! 

In the midst of all these Christmas activities, we spend our days at the market, secretly trying to buy hundreds of gifts. We sneak them into the house and fill our side with piles of gifts and wrapping paper. 


This year was the best yet for gifts, too. It gets easier the more we know the kids; and the more we accept the discrepancies. We are getting better at abandoning fairness for friendship—who we know best and where the deepest relationships are, we get them better gifts that suit them. We do know them and know what they’d like; that’s a part of friendship! For those we might know by name or perhaps from a medical emergency, we find a more generic gift. Sometimes unfairness is hard to embrace, but it makes the gift giving much more fun.

For those families we know really need more, we give more. We use Christmas to provide extra to the families that are struggling the most, giving them new toothbrushes, toothpaste and soap, warm and new clothes for the constantly growing kids; and making sure the parents, too, have enough to wear.

This year, we did blankets for all the families. Previously we’ve given toiletries: toothbrushes, toothpaste, laundry detergent, soap. But in many ways our community has stabilized. We still included these things for some of the families we know really need them, but every family received a blanket.  

Some families received just a blanket. The families we know well–a little over a hundred–each received a bag of gifts with their blanket. Inside was a gift or collection of gifts for each individual.

There were many highlights this year. First, we didn’t “forget” anyone (people we don’t really know, but they “know” us) or have kids (again, from a few streets over; they’ve heard of us) come to the door begging for gifts. That’s a big, big win.

And then there were just perfect little moments. When we gave San Aye her family’s blanket, she smiled broadly and said she’d told Mway Mway that’s what she hoped for this year because she really needed one. 

When we went out to a group of families that live in the field behind our house, the kids came running out to the car. Really, they just know our car (it’s pretty loud, and they can see it coming on the road) and always come running to say hi. But when they saw the presents: the biggest smiles. And Lin Tet Oo came in for a big hug.  

In one house, they said thank you for the gifts, and we started walking away. Just around the house we heard paper rip open and a four-year-old girl squeal, “A new shirt! A new SHIRT! It’s beautiful!” 

At Thida’s house, the boys were comparing their shooter marbles and talking about how they’d play together. Kyaw Gee immediately got started on his off-brand Lego set, and Yedi gushed over her “Y” necklace—a friendship set with her best friend, Yaminoo, having the same one.

It’s uncommon to open gifts in front of people, so the older girls took their gifts with a thank you, and then slowly, subtly make their way into the house while the younger kids open their gifts at the outside sitting area.  But then adorably, just a few minutes later, the older girls come running out smiling, holding up their treasures with huge smiles and thank yous!  It was really fun to see them love them and feel like we really did a good job finding things they’ll love. 

It should be noted that with all the late night wrapping, early morning wrapping, and lots of coffee in between—plus my giddy joy at their liking all the gifts!—I nearly fell off the bridge returning from Thida’s house! It was really close—scarily close—and would have left me with a number of broken bones on Christmas Eve. So we’ll just note that as the Christmas miracle 2018!

Really, this Christmas felt pretty miraculous. It went so smoothly, and had very few lows. It can be hard to host an epic Christmas, in a poorer community, with friends and acquaintances alike.  It can be a lot for us and wear us out. But per the season, God was really gracious to us. He’s been gracious, despite some really challenging things lofted our way. We’re thankful for the miracles he’s sent our way, too.

the collective christmas 2018: two.

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Our meal this year was the most Burmese yet: we did it birthday style, like a birthday party for Jesus! We had mohingya, per community request:a traditional fish soup with noodles, often served at birthdays, and one of Thida’s specialities. She’s famous for hers, and it’s the best I’ve personally ever had. (I actually like hers, and I haven’t had any other I truly enjoy. That will be more understandable as you see what is put in it.)

We went to the market on Thursday to purchase 30 kilos of fish, one kilo of fish paste, a box of fish sauce, 100 kilos of noodles, ten kilos of green beans, quite a few kilos of onions and garlic, five kilos of cilantro, five banana stalks, five kilos of limes…lemongrass, turmeric, curry, salt, MSG (you can’t win at everything!)….and six bags of fried bean chips.

That evening, they started a pot of whole fish, all the fish paste, and lots of spices. That boiled in our yard for a few hours, then was set aside until morning.

The next morning we started before seven.

The fish were peeled or whatever was needed to get the meat out, which was all put into the woks.

We chopped banana stalks, boiled them in the sauce/liquid from the fish, and then added into the woks.

We chopped onions, adding half into the woks and leaving half as toppings. We chopped garlic, adding half to the woks and frying up half as toppings.

We chopped lemongrass, and added a whole lot of it into the woks. We chopped cilantro, another greenery (I couldn’t sort out what it was despite multiple conversations and dictionaries), limes, and green beans, all set aside as toppings.

Chili was cooked to be added later as a topping, and the pans it was cooked in are still making everything in them very, very spicy—a week later!

The woks were stirred together, adding water and more spices and sauces. It simmered for three to four hours.

We picked up the noodles, made and cooked fresh in the market, that afternoon. Each bowl is filled with noodles and sprinkled with pieces of fried bean chips, then set at a place at the tables. Here, a person can add their choice of mohingya: adding their own soup, adding any combo of crispy chips, green beans, cilantro, unknown greenery, chili, fish sauce, limes, onions, and garlic. Stephen and I prefer less liquid; the whole community prefers a lot. He searches for good pieces of fish; I love the banana stalks and onions. We both snuck inside to get more crispy chip pieces. I love adding lots of green beans and a bit of lime; Stephen adds chili. 

This is what a good bowl looks like to our neighbors. (Ours look pretty different.)

As we set up tables and chairs, they started in Burmese tradition: kids & lesser-friends tables outside; then adult & important-persons tables inside. This is one of my least favorite traditions: the dividing out of VIPs, serving them more and better and whatnot. I had discussed this with Thdia before, so as they made plans together, I reminded her and explained to everyone else: we wanted everyone together. We loved everyone equally, so we’d all eat equally. We wanted all the tables on the same “level” and with the same service. Thida remembered, explained that this was important to us, and we went with it. Overall, this was a success; but I will say they just couldn’t resist when our church came—VIPs in their mind—and they pulled out our ceramic bowls from the kitchen. They were forced to sit on the same playing field, but they just couldn’t serve them in plastic!    

We started serving at three o’clock in the afternoon, as the first kids returned from school. For Burmese birthday parties, you set out a few tables to serve at, and people come to eat, stepping into a free spot. Once finished, you clear out for someone else. We had tables and chairs for about thirty, but easily served near five hundred. I honestly have no idea.

There were a few things I loved about this years meal. First, it felt really Burmese: we had balloons to decorate, music—a shuffle of English Christmas music and Burmese pop—blaring from a speaker, people in and out everywhere. We had no fights or stampedes or food hoarding.

We served our church, who all came to join and prayed for our community. 

Most of our dearest friends came initially, from three to four; then word spread to all around. By six, many of those we know best were still around for the party, and we had so much food still. By the end, our dearest friends ate three to four times! We still ended up inviting a nearby children’s home to come eat—another twenty to forty?—and ultimately sent home extras in the community at 8pm!

Thida and I were in the kitchen around five, when we hadn’t even finished one wok of soup. She exclaimed how excited she was we hadn’t run out yet, and said, “God is blessing it!” She seems to see Jesus more clearly than I do sometimes.

Later that evening as we cleaned, she said it just never ran out: they’d serve bowl after bowl, hundreds of people would come, and the wok would have the same amount in it. I told her a summary of the fish and loaves of bread, and how it never ran out and they had extras, even feeding thousands. We said it felt the same. It was a really beautiful conversation. 

And for me, significant in this way: years ago, when we first started working in this community, we always marveled at how much it felt like we were living out the gospels. It was almost word for word, which was both encouraging, but also sometimes made decisions easier: we knew which way to go, we could see how God was in it. The past year or two, at some point or pattern I can’t identify, we faced so many decisions I just wasn’t sure about. Things felt so grey at times, where we weren’t sure where God was in it or how to give him glory or how to handle a predicament. At this point, and a few others in the past week or so, God was gracious to give us conversations or moments of clarity, confirmation; moments of grace.

This year, I loved the meal, the feel of the evening, the success of it. I love that people ate to their full. I love that we saw Jesus in it. I love that we also saw ourselves, just encompassed in this community: it was a Burmese party in all ways, but it was us, too. It’s weird how that happens slowly, until you realize suddenly, as if it just fell upon you. But you also like what you’ve found.

Please note: Nearly all photos in this blog are credited to Mway Mway. I realized after uploading them all that I forgot her watermark, so I’m going to give her credit here for very nearly all of these.

the collective christmas 2018: one.

by Filed Under: house church, kelli, on the house, photos, playhouse, schoolhouse Leave a Comment

It was our best Christmas yet, in so many ways.  

Do I say that every year? I hope so. Mostly, I think we’re just learning more and more each year; learning what to expect, learning Burmese culture, learning our best friends, learning ourselves. 

I’ll start with my favorite photo this year: just a day after we returned. I was meeting with Thida to create our Christmas plan–we certainly needed her help! And the kids wandered in to find our Christmas tree, which we’d just set up the night before. As the best tree on the block, and it draws quite a lot of awe!

We started the festivities with a movie night. On Sunday night–just a couple days after getting back into town!–we pulled out the projector, opened up some cookie tins, and blared Home Alone in our yard. We didn’t have a Burmese translation or subtitles, so we’d just shout a translation over the parts that seemed confusing. 🤷🏼‍♀️ Either way, slap-stick humor is funny in all languages.

It was the best kickoff we could have imagined! Hearing the adults and kids alike laughing their hearts out was amazing. 

My two favorite moments: About twenty seconds in, as the thief is in the house entryway, pretending to be a police officer, Thida says to those around her, “I don’t think he’s a real cop! I think he’s faking!”
Yeah, you’re going to get this just fine. ☺️

Then, Kevin uses the trick repeatedly of playing the movie in the background to scare off people at the door, “I’ll give you to the count of ten to get your ugly, yella, no-good keister off my property before I pump your guts full of lead…Keep the change ya filthy animal!” Same trick; repeatedly, folks. And they all laughed their heads off every. single. time. I loved it. 

We even had guests join us in the street. Look closely and you’ll see a grown man sitting in a stroller he pulled up as a chair. We know how to throw a party!

On Tuesday we had storytime after school. Thida read the Christmas story from the Jesus Storybook Bible, and we crafted our own nativities.

It was chaotic and lovely! The kids left with nativities and fruit.

There are reasons we don’t use glue often, though. There was also a nativity glued to our motorbike seat, and a few on our inside walls. Glue stick works better than you’d think. 🤦🏼‍♀️

The next day we sang a few carols in Burmese and played games, including a disaster of Bingo. That was the low point and I might be permanently finished with the game…but “pass the present” and a few other simple games were a big hit! Either way, beyond the singing, it was far too chaotic for photos. We all survived!

And then we were off to the market to kick off our Collective Christmas Meal!

surreal, but nice: seven.

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And while in France, we felt we just couldn’t pass up Paris! We headed to the city just a few days before our flight, so we could bunk up in a tiny little AirBnB flat and enjoy all the classic tourist activities and the Parisian streets in between.

Of course, the Louvre. Having been deprived of regular museum visits for nearly a decade now, I absolutely loved this. We were there when it opened, stayed until it closed, and loved it.

They had a special room–can’t remember the name now!–but they had pieces you could touch. It was pretty full with kids on field trips, since it was of course the easiest place for the teachers to manage! But there was also a man with his wife. The man was blind, and his wife described the pieces as he felt them. And this was perhaps one of my favorite moments.

And the Eiffel Tower. (With my husband who graciously takes photos with me using apps I’ve learned about from our neighbors!) I honestly expected this to be a bit of a disappointment and was pleasantly surprised. It was incredible and beautiful to see.

Notre Dame was stunning. We we warned for the lines, but arrived early enough to walk right in. It was lovely to see, but even more lovely to sit.

My favorite statue inside of Notre Dame was this one. It was donated by a Christian organization in China, in honor of a martyred Chinese Christian. It’s a statue of Jesus, with a Anglo-Saxon boy to one side and a Asian boy on the other. I love it for many reasons, some probably more obvious than others.

Just around the corner from Notre Dame was the very best bookstore I’ve ever been to. Since we already had a carry-on full of books, we sadly bought none. But I loved our afternoon there enough that it deserves a photo!

And the Sacre-Coeur.

We also showed up here earlier than most (perhaps we’re a bit morning folks, used to 5:30am breakfast service!), and caught part of the early morning mass. We loved it.

And, the flagship Apple store in Paris, which just opened in November. We visited that, too.

While I can’t say I get too excited about Apple store visits, this was a stunning building they renovated. It was four or five floors and really beautifully restored.

Christmas markets were set up all over Paris, so we trekked through those for most of our dinners and enjoyed all the classics: pretzels and raclette and hot chocolate and macaroons and other things we don’t know the names of. So much good cheese!

For a once-in-a-lifetime trip we never guessed 2018 would hold, it was far more incredible than we could have imagined! Surreal, but nice.