Auld Lang Syne

Ever get the post-holiday blues? I can't settle on why I'm a touch melancholy this afternoon...maybe it's the gloomy skies and our soggy backyard...maybe I'm experiencing sympathy pangs along with my poor little invalid son--bless him--he hasn't budged from his little blanket cocoon since I piled him on the couch this morning, feverish and bubbling from the lungs and nostrils. A simple virus, but he just looks pitiful. I think we all have a touch of the Christmas Decompression Sickness.

We are finally back from our travels and settling into nice, normal life. In a way, I'm glad the Holidays are over for another year, although it was simply magical experiencing it through the eyes of my children this time. Connor got just what he wanted this Christmas--games and art supplies. And Mia is now the proud "Mommy" of about nine new baby dolls, as well as the owner of a passel of supplies to keep them happy: bottles, bath set, stroller, diaper bags. I won't rattle off the complete list of their treasures, but suffice it to say nobody's going to be bored in our household for quite some time. With few exceptions, both sides of our family remain well and content, and we got to spend time with nearly everyone. A true blessing.

Our most recent and final Holiday stop was to visit Mom and my grandparents. There, we rung in the new year. We did our best to brighten my 90-year-old Poppie's spirits at his hospital bedside in Montgomery, AL. Although I fought impending anarchy as the children quickly became bored and restless, I knew it was as important for them to be there as it was for me. After some coaxing, Connor agreed to read an adaptation of Luke chapter 2 (the story of Christ's birth) for everyone. Poppie was proud as could be of his great-grandson. The two of them have always shared a special friendship. Our prayers for Poppie are ongoing.

Now at home, I'm left with the wonderful job of packing up the decorations, washing up travel duds and finding places for all the new STUFF (After cleaning out the basement and hauling a van-load of donations to the thrift store last week, I certainly hope we won't have trouble in that department!).

If I can get the bloomin' video to load properly, I'll post Connor's Bible reading. It touches my heart like nothing else.

Nibble, Nibble Little Mouse...

"...Who's been nibbling at my house?" demanded the wicked witch.

Guess that's me.

Connor and Mia and I spent about an hour assembling a very elaborate gingerbread house night before last, as a "Welcome Home Daddy" offering (Daddy had been freezing his sugarplums off in Minneapolis, on business). "This is a centerpiece, Connor. We're not going to eat this, are we?"
"Nooo," he replied gravely.
"We want Daddy to see our beautiful work, right?"
"Right, Mommy."
Then I put him to bed.

The house was delightfully silent, not a creature was stirring. So I ventured down to the basement for my nightly email perusal and general goofing off online. I was down there maybe an hour.

I climbed the stairs and rounded the corner to the kitchen, where I beheld a suspicious sight. Someone had pulled out a chair, climbed into it, and dragged the lazy susan, complete with irresistible centerpiece, into arms' reach. They'd then bitten the roof to swiss cheese, and tried to reposition the evidence, albeit upside-down and backward. My gaze shifted to the doorway between kitchen and living room, where a trembling three-year-old stood, the remnants of gingerbread house carnage still lingering at the corner of his mouth.

I said nothing.

He said nothing, then promptly burst into tears.

I'll admit I was a little irritated, but I didn't fail to recognize the humor in the situation. That house must have looked to him like a giant bottle of Scotch to an alcoholic. He has the most ravenous sweet tooth of any kid I know. He probably held out as long as he could, poor guy.



We're keeping the gimpy gingy house on the table. I've promised Connor he can devour it from foundation to roof peak if he'll just wait a few more days and let us enjoy it. I know he's biding his time. This is one of those tales I'll surely tell for Christmases to come. What an adorable memory.