Eating cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning is a family tradition of ours that goes waaaay back to when *I* was a kid.
So, you know. Nearly sccchhhhhffffoooouurrr decades ago.
The cinnamon rolls are always made from a can and the frosting is always brightly colored.
So, you know. Nearly sccchhhhhffffoooouurrr decades ago.
The cinnamon rolls are always made from a can and the frosting is always brightly colored.
Don't mess with tradition, people.
And while I was busy doing who knows what -- pretty much creating the show and holding it up at the same time -- Pa kept the kids busy with the camera:
And while I was busy doing who knows what -- pretty much creating the show and holding it up at the same time -- Pa kept the kids busy with the camera:
(You'll notice that someone continues her role as Showboat and someone else has yet to pull that blasted front tooth out.)
We continued the morning fun by reading the Christmas story. Funny thing -- each year the story keeps getting shorter and shorter. This year?
"Baby Jesus was born!"
Okay. So it wasn't that bad. But we've all got our limits.
Campers got to pick the story book this year, and he read to the rest of us.
(Oh! The glory of having a seven-year-old.)
Suz then made sure to get a good look at the (pages fully-intact) book:
We continued the morning fun by reading the Christmas story. Funny thing -- each year the story keeps getting shorter and shorter. This year?
"Baby Jesus was born!"
Okay. So it wasn't that bad. But we've all got our limits.
Campers got to pick the story book this year, and he read to the rest of us.
(Oh! The glory of having a seven-year-old.)
Suz then made sure to get a good look at the (pages fully-intact) book:
And then we fiiinnnnaaaaallly moved on to the presents...
After they were sorted, counted, and laid out in present-opening-order.
Don't hate.
More to come.
Don't hate.
More to come.
