The "WHYs" of Christmas... the Final Chapter

As much as I HATE riding in the car and as much as I love being at my house for the holidays, Christmas would not be the same without a trip to good old "home." That's my childhood "home"... you know... where my parents live.

So, the day after Christmas, we loaded up the car once again and headed to SC. We opened gifts with my family and ate like pigs. Again. And again. We even got to see some relatives we haven't seen in a while.


Why, even as a "grown-up," does this make me giddy?


Why is this so crazy adorable? Spit and all!


And why... when I look at this picture do I hear the song from "Cops"... "Bad boys, bad boys. Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?"


We decided after church to take some "family" photos.

Let me now state the truth.

I decided, during church, that since we were all clean and purty... we should take family pictures. I then passed a note to my brother (in church) to tell him of my plan. He frowned and scowled at me (in church). My husband, reading the note over my shoulder, whispered (in church), "YOU are gonna be the one to tell your son."

You would have thought I was asking them to remove their own toenails with a fork. Goodness, people! They are only pictures.

If you were to ask my son, he'd probably tell you that bad people go to Hell and all they do there is get dressed up and pose for pictures.

So, without further ado... the photo shoot...

Why did we take 47,583 pictures and only get ONE where we all had our eyes open?



We were able to have lunch at our Mamaw's house that weekend. Wow. My booty is what it is today thanks, in part, to that lady's cooking.

True to our family's nature, there was a weapon involved in the festivities. (See the Thanksgiving post.)

Only this time, it was a Nerf gun. Yet, somehow my husband and brother and son managed to find a way to use it inappropriately.

Why is my husband having such a good time with a toy gun?


The answer?
Why is my brother catching Nerf bullets in his mouth and why is my son cheering?


And why... am I a tiny bit proud that he can do it too?


Please, for the last time, do not call Child Protective Services. We are good parents, I promise. Just bad examples!