Christmas ham

Last Thursday afternoon we set out to deck our halls. P had to get the ladder so that we could get our multitude of decorations out of the attic.

As he began handing down boxes, I swallowed more insulation than is probably safe or sanitary and then started to open various bags and boxes, hoping against all reason or logic that everything was in the same shape it had been in when we packed it away a year ago.

To this day it’s hard for me to discuss the horror that befell my old-fashioned Santa about two years ago. By all appearances a gang of wayward, yet cute field mice spent the year gnawing away at his brilliantly wrapped packages.

And yes, I’m certain they were cute field mice. I cannot consider the alternative without wanting to put a for sale sign in my front yard and bidding the old homestead adieu.

Slowly but surely I found our stockings, lights, and nativity set. Then I came to another box and found this picture of Caroline.

If you think it didn’t cause me to shed some tears while I sang a few lines of the late, great Jim Croce’s “Time in A Bottle”, then it’s as if you don’t know me at all.

Caroline noticed the picture and was fascinated by her cute five-month-old Santa impersonation and told me she wanted to recreate the moment.

She threw on a Santa hat and jumped under the tree to strike a pose.

Of all the things she’s learned in five years, I think being a big ham is at the top of the list.