Lyla sometimes gets fixated on a book and requests that you read it three or four times in one sitting. This morning it was The Christmas Story.
Jesus wins! Suck it, Santa.
Before heading over to my parents' house, Lyla opened our gifts. Or rather, she instructed her mother to open them. "Open dis."
If you recall, my family has the bizarre tradition where the children go upstairs before the gift opening begins. They wait there until they hear the Nutcracker Suite start playing downstairs. Back in the day, I think it was a way for the adults to have an early morning cocktail.
Well anyway, I went up there with Lyla since she's the only kid left. She only needed a little moral support.
Hey, did I mention that Julie's pregnancy nausea has returned? Hurray! It happens to some women late-term, according to the internet. Julie's favorite medicine is the popsicle, and she's been eating them constantly. All she wants are the orange ones, but she doesn't mind the red ones, and once all those are gone she'll tolerate the purple ones.
Today we got all the way down to the purple.
What to do when your toddler insists on her own popsicle, which is pure sugar and the size of her forearm: run it under hot water until it's two-thirds gone.
Let's end on a disturbing note, shall we?
Merry Christmas, everyone!
