
I think of all the Christmases that we gathered up piles of gifts and rounded up the kids, packed them all in the car and traveled through the snowy roads to my husband's parents' house, to have dinner with the family. There were hugs, brothers and sisters talking, cousins running through the house, and Papaw standing over the stove cooking the meal. There was always a platter of his delicious homemade peanut butter fudge sitting on the table. Mamaw would be sitting in her recliner, smiling while each of the grandchildren would stop playing long enough to tell her some big story of toys, or games, or practically anything of importance in a child's mind

As I sit here, watching the snow fall outside, I will grieve a little over the people we have loved, but have lost, then I will smile over sweet memories. And after a few minutes of reminiscing, I will get my mind in gear for the activities that will be happening in my own house.
All my children will come in, stomping the snow from their feet, toddlers running through the house, screaming, "MIMI" or "POPPY"!!!! There will be smells of baked cookies, food simmering on the stove, and a faint aroma of pine tree in the room. Our older grandchildren will interject into the adult conversations what they've been doing at school. They'll tell of things going on with friends and who likes who, and who is dating who. My grandson will be quietly looking around at the food, ready to get the party started. The toddlers will go straight to the toy box and pull toys out by the handfuls, they'll be giving hugs, running in and out of rooms with squeals of excitement. The girls will all gravitate to the kitchen, while the men (or I should say, boys) will all pile on the sofas for some kind of talk about touchdowns, work, trucks, or guns.
There's nothing like it. To think, it all began in a stable with a manger and a little baby.
Merry Christmas everyone!
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