We had a sweet Christmas here at the Hoagland house. On Christmas Eve, the girls were worn out from our trip to Fayetteville (I literally couldn’t get Caroline to wake up from her afternoon nap; despite patting her, talking to her, pulling her fingers out of her mouth, and opening and closing drawers) so we gave up and skipped the Christmas Eve service we had planned on attending. We did host two dear friends for dinner that night. The girls slept in Christmas morning so we lazily made our way down to open presents and fix breakfast. We were joined for Christmas breakfast by my parents, aunt, cousin, and more presents. Ben’s parents drove down for a quick visit that afternoon (which the girls loved) before we had a Christmas dinner at my parents house with more family and friends (and presents), celebrating the advent of our Savior.
The girls soaked up all the excitement. Caroline’s favorite game this week was wrapping up toys and books in left over gift bags for us to open. I’m required to act very surprised and give her a big hug. I take advantage of the hug part to get some extra snuggles from that busy girl. I also love that she gets such a kick out of “giving” the present away.
Margaret is walking (almost running) like crazy. She had been taking 5-6 steps here and there. Now she’s seriously trying to figure it out. As a therapist, it’s magical to watch. She’s intrinsically motivated to learn. She doesn’t need persuasion or praise. She even quickly progressed herself from waking with her hands out to holding items of varying weights. It’s like I can see her wheels turning when she slowly approaches the threshold between carpet and hardwood. She sees the difference and wants to master it, trying it again and again until she succeeds.
Margaret also keeps trying to dress herself. When she finds a sock, she lifts it to her foot. She keeps draping Caroline’s discarded clothes around her neck. Either she’s trying to wear them like a shirt, or she’s taken note of the scarves I’ve been wearing to Christmas gatherings.
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