Happy Christmas, Bee

This is a totally, sappy post about grandchildren.  You've been warned....


I'm with my daughter, her husband and their two munchkins. And munchkins they are- both fairly short for their age and both walked early so they race around on stubby legs with too long pants tripping them up.  They are 18 months apart and someday will be best friends.  Even now, Noelle squeals when she sees her older brother after naps.  Actually, she squeals when she wants to eat, when she's "all done", when her brother takes his car/backpack/stroller/water bottle back.  She likes to squeal.  I'm their Bebe but Josiah calls me Bee.


It's beginning to feel like Christmas around here. We try to play Christmas music- anything besides the Veggie Tales book with " We wish you a merry Christmas" over and over.  "You want to read a story, Noelle?" as I slide the offending book under the couch.  The innocent little thing just plunks down on my lap.  My daughter and I think about holiday food and packages arrive regularly from Amazon.

And the Christmas tree towers over the munchkins- all seven feet of it.  Josiah loves the tree. He wants the lights on first thing in the morning and sometimes tells the tree goodnight.  And today, under the Christmas tree, we had one of those adorable, "why can't I film this or bottle it and savor forever" moments.

He had on the Bears Christmas stocking hat (a die hard if disgusted Chicago fan and fans-in-training live here) and he had that soft, captivating look on his face.



"I wuv the Cwismas twee," he sighed. "It's happy Cwismas."  And started singing "We wis oo a berry Cwismas..." Ok- a child you love can sing anything and you want a recording.   Then he looked at me and said, "I wuv oo, Bee."  Oh yes, this is the magic grandmother moment.  He holds out his arms and says, "Hug?"  Well of course,  I'm practically in tears- "anything you want, dear child."


Mama leaves and I have to capture this moment. Or at least re-stage it.  Get the hat, find the cute snowman, pose, capture.  All sweetness.  And the squealer lets me know she needs a picture.  A sequence of blurry pictures of a moving target follows.  In the only clear picture she looks like a fat black and white bumble bee.

Where did that belly come from?

And right in the middle of the photos, off goes the cute hat; the snowman is launched and suddenly, I have a two year old with a tantrum.  Cars are tossed.  "No happy Christmas!" Stomp, stomp.  I should have turned on the video but I was trying not to laugh. What on earth happened?

No picture captures his disgust at whatever set him off....ha!

Who knows?  He's two and a half. She's fourteen months. I'm much older.  They won't remember anything from today. I'll always smile when I see these pictures- sure there was a tantrum but first there was a tender little boy with his brand-new wonder, the very spirit of Christmas.  And there was a lovely little, squirmy squealer with her infectious laugh.   It's a very Happy Christmas.