Christmas is a time for children. Responsible, hard-working, most of my "boys" well over six feet tall, and, as impossible as it seems to me, at or approaching middle age, Christmas brings out the child in each of my Kids. Deb and Craig had been struck down by a wicked flu bug and, as with Pete down south, were very much missed yesterday. Dave, his lady Sandra and her daughter Katie, Larry, and Clay timed their arrival so that the girls could spend a little time with me in the barn while the guys restocked the porch wood rack. Chores over, it was time to shuffle cards and count out chips for some serious nickle-dime-quarter poker. My mother would not tolerate talking during a poker game, and the kids' dad would leave the table if someone called a wild card. Neither of them would have enjoyed the raucous banter, name calling, laughing (oh, the laughing!), and Larry's infamous "One-eyed Jacks, Suicide Kings, and Black Mariah" games at my house. There were a couple of breaks for chile verde and bedtime for the critters, and then it was time for gifts.
Dave gave his brothers Ninja warrior weapons and headbands and, thankfully, Clay and Larry only shot each other and everybody else with the Nerf guns and did not throw the whirly star thingies or stab the dog with the little daggers. Along with some lovely, serious gifts, I was presented with a farting stuffed pig. It couldn't be a real Christmas without a new pig of some kind. Watching the "inner child" in each adult come out to play was such fun. It was a merry, merry day. I hope they never grow up, and I don't want to, either.
1 comment:
Except for the missing family members, it sounds like a great time was had by all!!
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