When Christmas Eve comes around, we travel to my parent's church where there's a beautiful service each year. 
     During that time, kids are welcome to join in the Nativity scene which never fails to disappoint...and always pulls at your heart. 
     This year was no exception.
    We watched as the little smiles and robes shone from under that special star and remembered years past with fondness, while marveling at how quickly time seems to be passing.
    It was only a minute ago when our youngest tried to pick up and hold the 'baby' during the service while I sat mortified without being able to stop her.  She pulled straws of hay from the manger, one by one while handing them to Shepherds,  Wise Men, Mary and Joseph as I sank deeper into my seat.

     As a parent, even though you wish you could stop it, you also know it would be too distracting to be worth the try. 
    This year was different though.  The kids were older, they all took their places and now it was adorable to see the younger ones join in the group.

      No one tried to pull baby Jesus from the manger and everyone played their parts well.
    It made me realize, not only should I have not been embarrassed when our little one so happily took part in years past, I should've cherished it. 
     She took joy in getting to be an angel, joy in getting to love the little baby...and yes...even joy in handing out straws of hay.
       There's something to be said about that, especially during this time of year.  It isn't about what we get this Christmas, but instead what we receive when we give our hearts and genuine love...especially to that little Baby in a manger.
     Merry Christmas to You and Yours!  May your New Year be filled with loads of hay, Joy and Love. XO

    My dad loves history.  I don't mean like, an average love of history, I mean the kind of love that takes his family to every historical site this side of the Mississippi. 
     He not only taught history in our high school for years, he spent his summers carting us around to battle sites and monuments, each one more painfully boring than the last.
​    My big brother and I endured vacations on end, dyyyyying in the back of the car with no electronics or (wait for it) cell phones.
​     I'll never forget how when we'd finally arrive, dad would jump out as though we'd found a pot of gold, then marvel at vast fields of varying shades of green, beholding their glory with visions of the North and South, combusting at that very spot.
     "Ummmm, Dad?"
     "Yes, Hon.  Can you see it?  Can you see what happened here?  The Confederates came in from this side, while the Union came from over there..."
​      "Yeah, um, Dad?  It's grass.  It's still a lot of grass, like the last place.  You think maybe we could go to Disney World next summer like our normal friends?"
      He'd have none of that.  I spent my years growing up at pretty much every historical sight from the Liberty Bell to Gettysburg. 
    You can imagine then, when I met my husband. I learned he had gone to the Air Force Academy but didn't associate that with a preference towards miserable summers.   He was the cutest and smartest thing I'd ever seen...but then...he dropped the bomb.
    "I was a history major."
   "I'm sorry, what?"
     I had to stop myself from screaming for the hills.  How could this dream come true come equipped with a potential nightmare?
   Amidst my fears, we were married and didn't see one single historical site on our honeymoon. 
         It was a good sign.
     Years and four kids later,  we decided to take  a trip to Williamsburg, Virginia at Christmastime.  It's unbelievably gorgeous this time of year despite the fact that  it was one of my stomping grounds  growing up -  no kidding, we legitimately had a family Thanksgiving gathering there, feasting with our cousins not on turkey and mashed potatoes, but picking at unfamiliar foods from hundreds of years ago.  
      Neverminding that, Adam and I walked through the streets, pointing out features of the days of old.  Adam sprinkled in history lessons of our forefathers while I marveled at period dresses and clothes.

      I found myself educating the kids on how hard it was to live back then.  Everything was a chore from sun up to nightfall and how the kids couldn't imagine the difficulties people endured.
    Covering my mouth, I gasped as Adam let out a chuckle at how much I sounded like my dad.  It was as though he was right there, walking just beside us.

     History lessons aside, the kids screamed when they saw Santa and the outdoor ice skating rink, making my heart glad they seemed to be enjoying their time.

        Then, late in the day and needing to find a restroom, we ventured into the old William and Mary bookstore.  This is when my cute, history major husband inwardly screamed louder than the kids just had for Kris Kringle. 
    Sitting with his Beautiful wife, was none other than Newt Gingrich.  Adam stopped cold and grabbed my arm.  "Are you seeing this?  Newt Gingrich is sitting right there.  He's right there!" 
       He and his wife were there for a book signing, but I think in my husband's eyes, they were only there to  exist with the unicorns  and rainbows dancing above their heads.
     I think his words exactly were, "If Brad Pitt were five feet in front of you, would you not be freaking out right now?"
       When he put it that way, I understood.
    Remembering we had four kids squirming to go to the bathroom, we walked by only to find the line to meet Newt Gingrich was closing.
    "Go. Buy his book and get in line.  You'll kick yourself if you don't."
   "Mom, I gotta go!"  The pull of my coat stopped the discussion short as Adam questioned whether to wait at the end of in the eternal line or get in and out of the store with four relieved kids.
   "GO.  I have them, just go!  They might not even let you  in by now."
    They did.  Adam stood in line like a kid in a candy store and finally had his turn.  We joined him and I was pleasantly surprised at how tremendously gracious and fantastic Newt Gingrich and his fabulous wife  both were.  As wonderful as they could've been and very conversational, they also allowed us to snap a few shots before we left.

         Turning to leave, Adam floated on air, smiling in disbelief.  It wasn't until our daughter asked why we took pictures with them and questioned if they were friends of Grammie and Papa's, did he snap back into reality with a laugh.
     The kids were happy.  My history loving husband was beyond happy and dare I say it, a trip that had nothing to do with rides or cotton candy was one of  the best times we'd ever had.  There just might be something to this history thing after all.
       Thanks for all the adventures, Dad.