Soft Evidence, December
a Christmas-heavy catch-up!
December Deets & Honourable Mentions
I swear we lost half of December to sickness, half-stripped wallpaper, car breakdowns, deadlines, and general meltdowns (mine). I was so sure I would be clutching at straws for Soft Evidence, but as it turns out, we really rallied in the last week or two—so I have lots to tell you about!
Starting with 24 hours in Dublin: highlights include lots of Baby Guinness, lots of cosy, twinkly pubs, lots of second-hand book shopping (a moment of silence for the lack of abundant second-hand bookshops in Belfast!), and a good long mooch around the National Gallery—where I spent about an hour getting misty-eyed at every single entry for the AIB Portrait Prize + Young Portrait Prize (running until 15th March FYI!). An hour spent here is cheaper (and maybe better, in my case) than therapy, I promise.
Last year we took 24 hours together on the 1st/2nd of January, and while it was so cheap it might as well have been free, and it was exactly what we needed at the end of a gut wrenching Christmas break; everything and everywhere was a bit dead. It was fitting. A bit too fitting. Our spirits weren’t exactly lifted.
This time we felt giddy about getting away when things were still all hustle and bustle (because there’s just something about being surrounded by busy people while your only job is to be still) and more importantly, we were delighted that our wee people are okay enough for us to take a beat. And also extra delighted to have extended family who make it possible.
On the drive down to Dublin I realised it was the shortest day of the year. And upon further googling, I found out that ‘solstice’ means ‘the sun stands still’. A wee pause at the darkest point before the slow climb back up towards summer.
In case you missed it, I wrote this little piece in the middle of the month—consider this your permission to have a Big Christmas Cry TM if you haven’t yet. It’s never too late.
The Enchanted Winter Garden in Antrim has been a December tradition for us for years. We try to keep things low-key, so it’s the one big Christmassy event we usually pay for. But over the last couple of years, it’s become clear that it’s no longer a good fit for our family. The event itself is beautiful; our experience of it has not been. Last year was so awful, I swore we’d never do it again.
That decision made me feel unexpectedly free. I kept making choices like it throughout 2025—opting out, letting things go. And then December rolled around, and guess who asked to go back to the Enchanted Winter Garden? Yep. Every single person who hated it.
So we went. And it wasn’t awful. It wasn’t perfect, and we didn’t stay long, but we didn’t have to be escorted out by security. All month—all year—I’ve been leaving rooms and schools and events, clocking the exits, living on the fringes. This was the evening I needed. The reminder that all things are possible. It put air back in my lungs.
Not sure how my 4.5-year-old is suddenly the length of a grown man!! 
Let me take this opportunity to say, thirdborn boys are another species entirely. But at 2 years old, he is pure magic. A new-to-me recipe for chocolate fudge cake that I used for the Hagrid-inspired birthday cake. I think the light brown sugar made it really moist!
The Names by Florence Knakk was my favourite read of the month, but Snowflake by Louise Nelson and The God of the Woods by Liz Moore were joint second. Laura’s Substack has been on fire lately. This post was my fave. It’s been a good reading month—and it isn’t over yet!
I made this pie for our church Christmas dinner and followed the recipe loosely. I had my gallbladder removed when I was 19, and rich creamy things often make me sick (I know, it’s the true thorn in my side), so I’m always on the lookout for lighter swaps. I can’t remember where I got the idea, but for this one, I blended a tub of cottage cheese with half a tin of white beans to make a thick sauce. Trust me, you can’t tell!
The comfy dress of dreams.
An update on the Jennifer Lawrence hair (featuring the grey baggy jumper I’ve actually been wearing every day.) I think I’ve figured out how to make the fringe maintenance, well, less maintained.
This mirror got a pre-Christmas wipe, I swear. Finally, we finished stripping the wallpaper and celebrated by painting the living room a buttery yellow. Rogue choice, but this is where the younger boys do all their playing, so it seemed right to make it bright. The sagging star is also fitting.
I don’t have much to report from Christmas Day or Boxing Day. We figured the best way to guarantee success in this season was to stay home and let the boys lead the way—which, this year, looked like one of them coming and going from his bedroom all day, another ate his turkey naked, and another hopped between kinetic sand and Play-Doh like it was his day job. All of us congregated to watch the premiere of Julia Donaldson’s The Scarecrows’ Wedding on BBC1—and raised a toast to the happy couple.
Christmas Eve, however, was soaked in nostalgia. We spent the day at my parents’ house, running sugar-fuelled laps of the tiny village where I grew up, and cosying up to watch Narnia (a tradition unintentionally started by my dad and me when I was 12), on their not-so-tiny TV.
I keep thinking about the end of the movie when Aslan performs a bit of an Irish exit from the party, clearing off to leave the Pevensie siblings in charge. And Lucy is like, “He literally just got here, and now he’s leaving again?!” The answer she’s given is something along the lines of, “He’ll be coming and going. One day you’ll see him, the next day you won’t. But we mustn’t press him. After all, he isn’t a tame lion.”
I’ve always understood that he’s a wild lion; he can’t be trained to perform for us. He doesn’t follow our commands. And although I’ve read the books multiple times at this stage, I think I’ve always missed the bit where Lucy is upset. It’s important that she is allowed to be upset.
It’s a familiar ache, after a year where I have been absolutely devastated by His comings and goings (mostly His goings). Sometimes I can see Him (mostly I can’t).
I keep telling myself that absence is not abandonment. The story isn’t over. And Lucy’s ache only exists because she knows Aslan. You don’t mourn a stranger’s leaving.
The ache is proof of His proximity, even when He’s gone again. Maybe that’s the hope I’m carrying with me: not that He’ll always intervene, but that I’ve known Him well enough to miss Him when He goes.
I think that’s us all caught up. I’ll leave you with this blessing for these in-between days, from my chaos to yours.
Lots of love,
Reb x
I am weeping over your reflections at the end. THIS: “The ache is proof of His proximity, even when He’s gone again. Maybe that’s the hope I’m carrying with me: not that He’ll always intervene, but that I’ve known Him well enough to miss Him when He goes.” ❤️❤️❤️
On a lighter note, I’m obsessed with that dress! Can you start a fashion substack or something? Please??
Ps I also hate boardgames and I don’t know why. But: solidarity :)
Just chiming in here to say I always feel transported, in the best way, when I read your writing. I loved this Christmas reflection!