. . . and Mom Got the Flamingo

Living a 24-hour drive away from family, the 10 days we spent over the holidays with our families in NC were precious. There really is nothing like family . . .

Front:  Kelty, Michelle, Grandma, Mom

Back:  Matt, Cade, Ava, Laura, Steven, Cassie, Amy, Will, Dad

Napping and Not Pictured:  Gannon

Quick Snapshots of Time with the Ragan/Abels/Stewart/Parker Clan:

1.  Dance-Offs in the Living Room, including a choreographed number to "Battlefield" by Amy, Kelty, and Myself.

2.  In true Southern fashion, shooting the ol' gun off the back porch at targets in the field behind the house.

3.  Smore's with a firepit and Christmas lights.

4.  Reading Amy's middle school love letters, including the now-famous quote:  "Please don't hate my gutes."

5.  Girls-Day Out.

6.  An epic meltdown from my kids on Christmas night.

7.  Playing with Gannon, our first cousin on my side of the family.

8. After gun-shooting, classic rummy, a fast spoons game and several rounds of "Time's Up", Mom took home the treasured Pink Flamingo  . . .

until the next family competition.

9.  A meal (that only took three hours to cook) from Julia Child's cookbook, thanks to Amy and Cassie.  And, yes, it included real hollandaise sauce.

10.  Squirrel-stories.  That's all I need to say about that.

The Sisters:  Me, Amy, Cassie

Some more . . .  Click to enlarge.

Each time I walk away from time with my family, I am reminded of how good it is to be known by a group of people who love you anyway and who will stick with you for the long-haul.  As I've gotten older, I see that no one is thrilled with your own kids like your own parents and siblings, and I have grown to appreciate how much I just laugh when I get to go home.  And that's a gift enough in itself.

Catastrophe on the Escalator

(click to enlarge)

Highlights of our expedition to the fancy-shmancy Broadmoor Hotel to gawk at the gingerbread houses and Christmas decorations . . .

1.  Having Ava and Cade get soaked at the Wishing Pool Fountain in one of the lounges (See picture above.  And, yes, that is our two-year-old's entire arm submerged in the water as she tries to steal someone else's penny).  And then having to walk around outside--wet--in 20 degree weather at night.

2.  And, as we walked around, dripping and in barely-matching outfits, feeling inadequate trying to corral our children amid wealthy people in evening gowns walking to very-important dinners.

3.  Spending 20 bucks on two hot chocolates, one coffee, and two cookies.  Really.  And that was everyone sharing everything.

4.  Trusting Cade with said-very-expensive hot chocolate while going up an escalator, amid said-very-dressed-up-adults-with-lots-of-big-diamonds.  Watching as Cade loses his balance, tries to catch himself with his broken arm, misses, and falls flat on his back, upside down on the escalator steps. 
Spilling said-hot-chocolate. 
Everywhere.

I'm afraid, once again, the Parker family misses the Norman Rockwell one's mark by just a teeny bit.
Oh, well, it makes for a funny story, and I reckon that's worth something.

Colorado Christmas

No, I have not been struck by a meteor,
nor have I been kidnapped by aliens,
nor have my hands been rendered typeless because of some rare skin disease . .  .

I just had Christmas.  (So sorry for the unwarned two-week blog-silence.)
We actually just stumbled home yesterday from two weeks with our families in North Carolina.  I will post more pictures of that time (as well as lessons learned along the way) in the next few days, but I wanted to put up a collage of our family Christmas here in Colorado.  We gave the kids each three gifts (We said, "If it was good enough for Jesus, it's good enough for you."  I know, ba-hum-bug, but they're little and were still thrilled.)  We played games as a family (always a gift we give each year), ate cinnamon rolls (not homemade, of course, it's me we're talking about), stared at our 12-dollar ghetto-Christmas tree we bought last-minute at Walmart, and read the Christmas story of Jesus's birth.  That evening, we headed out to the Broadmoor Hotel to see the gingerbread houses and lights.  Gosh, I love Christmas--even if the cinnamon rolls are just Pillsbury.  
 

Click on the collage to enlarge the pictures.

"Not Excited Anymore"

"Mom, I'm excited about Christmas because the point is the presents," he says with hopeful eyes, thinking about a rock guitar and a new Hot Wheels track.
"Well, actually, " I declare, "the point of Christmas is that Jesus was born as a baby."
Face falls.  Eyes squint.  Sigh escapes. Voice hardens.  "Well, then," he huffs angrily, "I'm not excited about it anymore."  

And, no, I'm not freaking out that my kid wants Star Wars gear more than the knowledge of God walking on earth.  He is, after all, just four years old.   Actually, I thought it was pretty funny and very human.