In Boston Grandma gave me a sippy cup. This is an unusual picture. Mostly I thought the cup was a fun rattle.
I hung out with Grandma and …
… Charlie,
and I helped Grandpa give the dogs their treats.
There was lots of talking and laughing and hugging and kissing.
And then there was a lot of cooking.
Grandma got out her good silver.
And I sat in my new jumper while everyone ate.
But that didn’t last long. So then Grandma held me.
And she let me play with a spoon.
I hung out with Jong,
made this face and
got sleepy.
Dad got out the sweet potatoes and turkey he bought for me for Thanksgiving.
I wore the bib Jenna gave to me,
but I didn’t like the meal very much.
The next day we went to a Christmas tree farm.
It was cold but Dad and Mom kept me warm.
This is the Christmas tree we picked out.
Dad and Grandpa carried it to our car.
That night, I stayed up past my bedtime so I could …
… see my first Christmas tree lights.
When I finally went to bed, Dad read a book Grandma and Aunt Fran made for me. Each page was a crocheted picture Grandma made for my Dad when he was a baby.
Then we drove home. There was a lot of traffic. And a lot of rain.
At one point, we weren’t moving at all. Dad tried to feed me apples and apricots to make me feel better. And that helped. Some.
Mom said we drove more than 2,000 miles altogether. Dad said the time I spent in the car was .67 percent of my life. But if it meant seeing Grandma, Grandpa, Molly, Bonnie, Fran, Susan, Dale and Charlie, I’d do it again. And again. And again.
“In November, people are good to each other. They carry pies to each other’s homes and talk by crackling woodstoves, sipping mellow cider.” —Cynthia Rylant
