Our family had a grand total of three Christmas celebrations this year. This was our first year spending Christmas morning at our house with just our family. We spent the next day with Tom’s family, and then visited my family. Each celebration was full of wonder, wide eyes, shredded wrapping paper, and inevitably ended with David whining, “Mommy, where’s more presents for me?”
We had so much fun that we didn’t take any Christmas photos — and it wasn’t for lack of effort. Tom and I had the camera ready at our house on Christmas morning. We took it to his parents’ house and sat it in the living room where it’d be handy, and then we toted it down to Franklin County. When all was said and done we hadn’t clicked the shutter once.
Me? I was entirely too busy eating peanut butter balls to take photos, and I think Tom might have been off doing something like supervising the children.
Tom did take one photo, with his iPhone, at my mom’s house.
It wouldn’t be a proper Krieger holiday if at least one of us didn’t get the stomach bug.
I woke up sick, and spent Christmas with my family in quarantine, sacked out in my parents’ bed, where I could hear the six grandkids playing and shrieking with laughter.
Getting sick during Christmas isn’t the best timing. In fact, it’s terrible timing. It meant I had to miss out on my dad’s jalapeno poppers and I didn’t get to watch any of the Virginia Tech bowl game. More importantly, it meant I was only partially present for the first Christmas we’ve spent with my sister and her family in almost a decade.
Getting a chance to actually be sick? I felt miserable but because it was Christmas I got to spend the whole day in bed, uninterrupted, while my mom, sister and husband took care of my kids. I got to nap, rest, play Candy Crush, and get better without having to get up even once to change a dirty diaper or fix a snack.
Bad timing, yes, but in a way, it also seemed like a Christmas miracle.