Christmas morning I awoke from a dream about zombies eating my face and then my right arm was stuck under a 2yo who was snoring a little, and next to him was Hank, kinda staring at me sleepily and wondering aloud how it could possibly be light outside without the 6yo jumping up and down on our bed begging to go downstairs.
And of course, my next thought was how to explain that 10 seconds of my life in a run-on sentence.
Done and done.
We sent the small fry in on retrieval mission for big bro, and then it was every man for himself.
Watching them gave me that old familiar pang of wishing their grandparents and aunts and uncles lived closer so that they could see their sweetness and their joy. I don’t think that the feeling of homesickness ever really goes away or gets much easier, regardless of how much older I am.
Their sleepy little faces squished around into disbelief, surprise, complete happiness, and the occasional light-up-my-world.
Big bro made little bro a new reindeer at an after school class. He stuffed it himself and even made it a birth certificate. “Vixen” was quite the hit.
Another big hit this year? The G’rents hit it out of the park with a Lightning McQueen car. Our floorboards will never be the same. Ha.
Big bro was over-the-moon to add to his arsenal of nerf guns. We are now ambushed at every corner.
Somehow, when the 2yo shoots it, it only hits us in the neck. Hank and I have perma-welts on our esophagi.
One of my favorite pics, not only of Christmas morning, but of all time: His Christmas hug.
You’d better believe that it feels every bit as good as it looks.
I think that the Ellie Dawg is officially Inspector 12. She thoroughly sniffed, licked, and worried every new thing nearly to death.
Legos are calling. Some pieces have gone rogue on the kitchen floor somewhere and the 6yo is sending me in on recon.