Saturday, April 27, 2013

Why mommies cry at Christmas

 Talk about bittersweet.

Christmas morning, and it's time for us to read the Christmas Story.
And that means it's time for Skip to pull out an old paperback picture book.  Skip has been reading "This is the Star" to us on Christmas morning since we got the book when he was in Kindergarten.  And we always say "You're the oldest boy in the house, it's your job to read this book".  (In the past, Kelly's read "B is for Bethlehem", or some other original-Christmas-tale book, but Skip's reading of This is the Star is always first and foremost.)

But first... hey kids, I want a photo of the three of you in front of the tree.  How hard can that be?

So we're gathering around the tree, after the stockings have been emptied and enjoyed, and Skip looks up.
"So, better take some photos.  This is the last time I'll be doing this.  Next year, Nate will be the oldest boy in the house because I'll be living somewhere else, so he'll have to read it."  And then he turns to Nate and starts giving him a hard time about maybe coming back to help him sound out some of the bigger words.  And everyone is laughing.  Um.  Almost everyone.

Gah.  Knife. To. The. Heart.

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