That boy of ours still feels rather puny tonight. I decided to take him to see his pediatrician, because of PUKING and FEVER and CRYING OVER A SORE EAR and SLEEPING IN THE DAYLIGHT HOURS. Dr. B checked the boy out and announced, “Sinus infection; ugly eardrums. You’re getting some antibiotics.”
And that is how we came to have the pink stuff. A couple of teaspoonfuls of that every day, and we’re destined to be better soon, which is a good thing, because the boy has moaned and whined that HIS CHRISTMAS VACATION IS BEING WASTED BECAUSE OF SICK! SICK! SICK!
So tonight, after dealing with all the germs around here for two days, and wiping things down with Clorox wipes, I have a whole lot of snapshots to share with y’all from our Christmas Day.
And then I have very few words tonight, which should be a relief, because sweet mercy! I can get a bit wordy sometimes.
(I don’t know where I get it.)
Our Christmas Day started early. As in VERY EARLY, because the boy waltzed into our bedroom at precisely 1:37 in the morning and shouted out, “Merry Christmas, guys! Let’s open presents!” Oh, to be eleven years old again! I think it goes without saying that the boy’s mama shuffled him back to bed. She may or may not have snarled a bit at him, too.
Welcome, O Christmas Morning! Mama’s got the grouchies!
By 2:30 that morning, the boy had finally fallen back asleep, and so did I. And the next time we saw that kid of ours, it was precisely 6:03, according to my digital bedside clock. The boy was rubbing my arm, which was hanging out of the bed, because I was conked out cold and dreaming that I was trying to start an old school bus by pushing it down a steep hill and popping the clutch.
Don’t even begin to ask me WHERE I got THAT dream, because listen. I have started a vehicle in that manner exactly zero-point-zero times in my life, and I’m not even sure that it would EVEN OCCUR TO ME to try starting a car that way, if I was sitting in one atop a large hill and couldn’t get it started by turning the key.
6:03, and the boy was rubbing my arm and whispering, “Mom? Mom, it really is an acceptable time to get up now.”
And thus it was.
Hubs and I shuffled into the living room, where we discovered that INDEED! The fat man in the red suit had actually stopped by our house sometime while we were all sleeping, even though NO ONE HAD THOUGHT to leave him a slice of rum cake on a plate.
Oh, yes. We fed his reindeer by whipping up a batch of black-pepper-laced oatmeal and powdered sugar, but we thought not of the sleigh’s driver. I’m surprised he didn’t turn around and crawl back up our chimney without leaving anything behind but chunks of coal.
What part of 6:03 in the morning did you not understand?
To the boy’s great delight, there were wrapped packages containing BRAND NEW LEGO SETS!
And, much to the boy’s ENORMOUS DELIGHT, Santa Claus left him a game camera. Most people use game cameras in the mountains to see where the deer and elk are walking around at, so that when hunting season rolls around, they’re prepared. Our boy wanted a game camera so that he could strap it to a tree and keep his fingers crossed that Sasquatch walked in front of it.
So far, all that the boy has done with the camera is strap it to the dining room table. We have loads of snapshots of the cats being very, very naughty now while we have been gone. I’ve told the kitties that we now have enough photographic evidence to prosecute them for unsolved crimes, and that Hubs is going to take them both for a ride in his truck.
A ride that involves a burlap bag, a large rock, and a trip to the river.
Oh, I jest, people. We’re responsible pet owners who do our level best to teach those cats manners and share Jesus with them. There will be no trips in the truck.
Not yet, anyway.
The game camera is powered by TEN DOUBLE A BATTERIES. I’m wondering if hooking it up to a Suburban battery might not be cheaper.
Of course, mounting it to a tree while it’s dangling a battery the size of a thick cinder block may become a bit of a chore.
Little H wanted HER Christmas breakfast, too, so the boy was happy to oblige her. To say that our boy loves his newborn cousin is the understatement of the year. That kid is CRAZY NUTS about that baby!
On Christmas morning, Mam and Pa delivered. They had managed to find him a MADE-TO-LOOK-REALLY-OLD record player that is so modernized, it plays vinyl, cassettes, CDs, AM and FM radio and an iPod Touch. It goes without saying that the boy was HEAD OVER HEELS excited about that record player! He was thrilled.
Look! All four of the cousins together!
Later on Christmas afternoon, Hubs and the boy and I hugged everyone good-bye at my parents’ house. We loaded ourselves up into the Suburban, and we drove twenty miles out to Small Mountain Town, so that we could spend Christmas afternoon and evening with Hubs’ side of the family.
It goes without saying that I took a bunch of pictures out there, too. It’s what I do, people. I snap the camera.
This year, Cousin H and Cousin R were missing, because they were gone for Christmas. It was the first time EVER that we had some cousins missing for the annual SOFA SNAPSHOT. But, we got B, W, Miss A, the boy and M to smile SOMEWHAT nicely for the Canon camera.
(Except who knows WHAT Cousin M is doing there on the end! I believe that it was his TOUGH GUY face.)
Brother and Brother’s Wife gave the boy a book on HOW TO HUNT FOR BIG FOOT, along with a Sasquatch ornament for our Christmas tree. Do they know the boy, or what?! For the record, our boy loathes the reading — we have to FORCE HIM and THREATEN HIM to get his required reading minutes in every week for school. But over Christmas break, he has — without any forcing or threats! — sat down to read through his book on how to begin your hunt for the big-footed beast.
I would just like to say that even I flipped through the book on hunting Big Foot, and I laughed out loud (actually made barking laughter noises for all to hear!) as I read a sentence that tells the book’s reader, “You may not want to discuss your hunts for Big Foot at your place of employment. Doing so could mean that you’ll be passed up for promotions or even fired. Some people don’t understand the importance of proving the beast exists.”
Oh, sweet mercy!
I told Hubs to quit talking about the Yeti at work, because he may not be promoted. Hubs replied, “I OWN the business; I may just give myself a promotion FOR BELIEVING!”
Have I ever told y’all how dear Hubs is to me?
I love that man!
Even Brother and Brother’s Wife smiled nicely for the camera on Christmas Day.
And then there’s our boy, who has a passion for ALL THINGS OLD AND ANTIQUE. In addition to a record player, he has been jammering on and on this year about OH MY WORD! HE’D LOVE SO MUCH TO HAVE A 100-YEAR-OLD TYPEWRITER!
Do you know how difficult it is to find a typewriter that was made in the late 1800s?
It’s as hard as capturing a non-blurry snapshot of Big Foot.
But listen, people! Hubs’ parents took a little trip across the United States early this fall, and they stopped in an antique store far, far away from Small Town, USA, and guess what they found sitting on a shelf there?
An old black typewriter, from 1903.
I’d say that our little family had a fantastic Christmas this year, people.
One of my favorite gifts this year was a bluetooth earpiece to use with my iPhone. Hubs and the boy gave it to me, and this is exactly what they told me when I unwrapped it:
“Well, we know how you get a kink in your neck when you talk on the phone and try to do things, so you’re always sitting down on the sofa for your long-winded phone calls with all of your girlfriends. With this bluetooth earpiece, you can talk to Mika and Sister and Christy and Theresa FOR HOURS AND HOURS and you can still get all the housework done while you’re doing it!”
Bless those two boys.
They’re always thinking ahead and looking out for me.
And let’s face it. I plum lied about having VERY FEW WORDS tonight. What I ended up giving y’all was a whole lot of pictures, and a whole lot of paragraphs, even though I promised to go lightly on the writing part. I get carried away sometimes. Forgive me.
Happy Thursday night, people.