Play is Good

As my children were growing up, I steadfastly refused to talk about them turning into "such grown-ups"* or "big people."  They were going to be adults for a long time --- why rush them?  Why inherently make growing up sound more appealing than being a child?  Enjoy being young.  Play.  Pretend

One of the true bummers of being an adult is that Christmas isn't terribly magical anymore.  Getting to sleep on Christmas Eve isn't a problem, for one thing.  It simply isn't the same.  It can be happy, it can be fun, but it's not the same.

Our trips to and from Atlanta were surprisingly easy, traffic-wise.  Everyone seemed genuinely pleased with their gifts.  We had delicious snack-y foods.  I'm sick, so I did a good deal of dozing.  In lieu of new toys to play with, my little ones spent many minutes during the day like this:

I hope you and yours had a happy, merry day.

*If Briton answered the phone when a particular hospice nurse of Dale's called, she always --- always --- said, "He sounds so grown-y!"