I had the girls Christmas Eve instead of Christmas Day this year (divorce teaches you to share and take turns in ways you'd never manage while still married). And with relatives travel schedules and whatnot, that meant the honyocks opened their Christmas at Grandpa Calvin's on the 23rd.
Twas the night before the night before Christmas, right? Well, okay, the afternoon. Em went with her favorite cousin and the grandparents to a big holiday musical while me and Mo hung back with the younger kiddos and my stepsister and her hubbie.
Mo liked her presents, but she liked the box of old Happy Meal prizes and miscellaneous cast-off toys from the closet even better. She goes through this box every time we visit there, and she tries to steal the junk out of it. She'll sneak it to the car, or slyly (right in plain sight) smuggle bits into coat pockets like I won't turn those pockets out before we leave. Which I always do, but it doesn't stop her trying.
It's not that the stuff is so precious, but if she empties the junk out of that box (and probably, eventually, clogs up my plumbing flushing it away, or pries the air vent cover off in her closet and stuffs it in my duct work), there won't be a junk box to play with.
Plus there's that whole annoying limit-setting part of parenting.
I couldn't figure out quite how the VeggieTales dance board thing worked when we got home, but me and Mo had fun building stuff with legos while Em did a sleepover with aforementioned favorite cousin and her new American Girl doll (Julie, the 70s chickie).
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