Hanukkah is a fun family favorite for me. When I was little, my dad and my aunt would hide gifts for my brother and I around our home or my aunt's apartment that we'd have to find to open. Pulling a plastic Rainbow Brite doll out from under a sofa is one of my happiest memories. When we got older, succumbing to the inevitability that teenagers don't like anything, my father hid colored envelopes full of money around the house for us to find. Wishing to recreate the magic of my youth, I conned my husband into hunting for $3 around our apartment yesterday morning. I'd clue him with "hot" or "cold" when he got close to my purse until, after about two minutes, he decided he didn't want the extra cup of coffee that badly. Party pooper.
The best part of my holiday? We have a baby at the table for the first time in fifteen years. I'm no longer the messiest or loudest eater. He claps, laughs, wears cute clothes and grabs for things nobody wants him to touch. It's really fun. Almost everyone I know got on that baby train this year. I still really like giving them back after about two hours. That first cranky whine, or whiff of poo and I'm ready to move on to the next holiday activity. Trick or treating? Mopping the garage? I'm in if it gets me away from a crying poop monster. I'm just happy I kept a dog alive for a year. Look at Truffles ready for the cold weather wearing a birthday scarf:
Alive, healthy, and pooping in the street like your baby won't.
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