The day after Christmas, we went to my mother’s house. Amazingly, my non-Christmas clebrating, Jehovah’s Witness grandmother had come to visit bringing a slew of that side of the clan to visit. I couldn’t miss that.
Marcel and, for her first time ever, Tristan got to hang out with many of their paternal cousins. Tristan tended toward the older relatives who coddled and cuddled her constantly. Marcel, meanwhile, ran wild with the younger cousins. This was from the moment we got there and until our last day.
There was some time when we were away from the ruckus, though. Bedtime. (We slept at my mother’s house while most of the activity was at my youngest brother’s home.) But, even then, the fun wasn’t far from mind.
In fact, our first morning began away from the action at my mother’s house with Marcel yelling for me. She had awoke in a relatively strange bed and wasn’t sure were to go, so she called for me to come get and guide her. I walked into her bedroom and told her that she could get out bed and join the rest of us.
You’d think her mood would be frightened or, at least, angry, but it wasn’t. Instead, she eagerly climbed out of bed and, as she walked to exit the room, kindly informed of what was to come.
“It’s a beautiful day, daddy.”
