Because I can think of no better way to begin a post about our Christmas… enter Christmas Eve at the Allison house… While people everywhere donned real clothes and consumed real food at their Christmas Eve services and parties and general festivities, this is how we did things. Semi-nude. Requisite tiara. Hand in a bag of possibly-stale chips. I mean, you can’t get much more jolly than that.
Maintain realistic expectations. This has been my mantra for the past few Christmas seasons. Fancy Christmas Eve soirees clearly do not fall within this category of realistic expectations for us. Tiaras and Lay’s Chips? Now we’re talking.
I’m happy to report that the kids did eventually don clothes for the occasion.
Also. No kids puked this year. Not a single one. So, that’s a win.
One of our kids always pukes on Christmas. And Easter for that matter. Apparently it’s how pastor’s kids like to handle holy holidays. Vomit. But not this year!! Miracles still happen today, my friends.
After a whirlwind morning of flying wrapping paper at home, we headed to Richmond. Where it pretty much looked like this the. whole. time.
Nearly all of my Christmas pictures this year are blurry. For good reason. MY KIDS NEVER STOPPED MOVING. Ever. EVER.
Blurry kids with Pop!
Blurry kids with Uncle Daniel!
You know, if I could tap into my kids’ energy for just one day, I could probably save the planet. End world hunger. Or at least stay awake until 10pm. I like to dream big.
Thanks to some unseasonably gorgeous weather, my sister and I were able to herd the blurry clan of cousins outside.
I drag my family to Maymont nearly every time we’re in Richmond. But with Mini Goat in the picture this year (he even traveled to Virginia with us. yes he did.), the kids were particularly enthused.
When we weren’t visiting with Real! Live! Not-Mini-Goats!, the boys took their new metal detectors out in the woods to find treasure. And by “treasure”, I mean buried remnants of old Natty Light cans. On the down-side, my poor father must have dug at least a few cumulative feet in holes. On the up-side, we rid the woods of illicit high school party litter. Metal detectors for the win!
While the boys did their part to save Mother Earth, Mary Grace did her part to kill it. Because worms and beetles can only live but so long (roughly seven minutes) in her care. Also, ignore the sign. We were FINE.
Finally, my friends, would you turn your gaze to this fine piece of Frozen paraphenalia? This does not belong to us. It belongs to my niece. Tragedy, right? Elizabeth thinks so. She’s fascinated by the ever-so-delightful braid/hat combo. She requested one for Christmas. Santa didn’t deliver. She’s now begging for one for her birthday. And as the resident Worst Mom Ever, I just can’t handle fighting that battle every day of my mothering existence. Win, lose, or draw, there’s no good that would come out of that. Just doing my part to help my daughter learn to manage HER expectations too. (DISNEY WHY DO YOU EVEN DO THIS TO MEEEE??)
So, that’s a (very small bit) of our Christmas. I didn’t take nearly as many pictures as I would have liked, but that’s okay. They would have been blurry anyway.