Happy Thanksgiving!
For our family this year was a year of travel over the mountains and through the woods for Thanksgiving in Franklin County.
My hometown is so, so beautiful — something I never appreciated or even noticed when I was growing up. Now, when we drive home I can’t help but take photos out the window and announce to the kids, “Look at the mountains! Isn’t it so beautiful!?” and they roll their eyes and grumble something about how I say this every time.
Tom takes Liam to music class — we all fight for Liam’s attention. Tom’s go-to has always been the guitar.
Then we headed back through the woods and over the mountains for a second Thanksgiving in Richmond.
This year, around the time dessert was served, we started hearing rumblings of “Where’s my cuzzy.”
The kids played a game last year with their Krieger cousins they called “Where’s my cuzzy,” but honestly I haven’t thought of it even once since last year. In all honesty, I kind of couldn’t believe the kids remembered it. It’s not like something we’ve talked about, reminisced, looked forward to. But the kids not only remembered it, they planned to do the whole thing again.
Aside from the name, I know very little about this game. All I know is that last year, the kids were running around laughing and screaming and we couldn’t get them to stop even if we wanted to. (To be clear, we didn’t want to.)
We certainly didn’t know was that the kids were starting a tradition, and year two of that tradition happened as soon as the sun set.
Here’s what I know:
- Where’s my cuzzy must be played with cousins
- Where’s my cuzzy must be played in the dark
All ages of kids can play, there are disputed rules, adults aren’t invited, and the kids come in happy, with flushed cheeks and frigid fingers, and overflowing with stories.
Aside from that, your guess is as good as mine.
After two years, we’ve got a family tradition on our hands. Where’s my cuzzy 2024, we already can’t wait.
