Oh, the agony.
Go ahead. Tell a two-year-old that he has to wait for Papa to come downstairs before tearing into Santa’s loot.
Sigh. The magic of Christmas morning. The first Christmas where Milo actually had an inkling of what was going on. It was so much more magical and exciting than any Christmas Andrew and I have spent together as a couple, sans Bums. And I have to add that the more children you add to the equation, the better it gets. Oliver’s very very very first[naked] Christmas:
Don’t let him fool you with that je ne sais quoi look and pine needle stuck to his juicy forearm. He’s a nipple-biter to the fullest extent of the word. Word. And he has a mohawk (see below).
Dinner is served (beautiful candle-holders c/o Mary, delicious feast c/o turkey who gave his/her life for our gluttony)
Oh, yeah. Sweater c/o Mary circa 2008
Cheesy grin c/o cheesy Milo
Dying plant c/o my neglect
The snow is almost gone. A light misty drizzle all day on Christmas kept us inside, but cozy and toasty. It gave us an excuse to hole up and play with all of Milo and Oliver’s new toys, which include but are not limited to a toy saxaphone (which Milo so patiently waits his turn for), countless great books (including an awesome Maurice Sendak pop-up book called Mommy from my very own mommy), a snow-cone machine which has already gotten a surprisingly high amount of use (damn you thank you Uncle Ryan), a car transporter, and stacking/pouring cups for the bathtub. The cups Milo opened first, which resulted in a complete halt to the present-opening so that Milo could take a 40-minute bath with his cups.
The last of the snow pics:
Major props to neighbor Amy for braving the tunnel. You are a woman after my own heart.
Stay tuned for New Year’s with Uncle Ryan, Aunt Kristin, and cousins Liz, Ava, and Casey!