In the last few years we have transitioned from drawing names for Christmas gifts, in Dave's family, to getting names from social service and each family sponsoring a child instead. At our family Christmas party, we show off the gifts that we bought for the child and wrap them. It is a lot better than everyone just exchanging gift cards for each other, and as the boys get older I hope that they will understand and appreciate what they have. This year we have a 7 year old boy named Malachi, whose dream gift is a bike. He has an older sister with a serious heart condition, and his wish list had warm clothes and socks and necessities on it. So I loaded up the crew and we headed off to Provo. Hannah came with us and I am glad. She has been on enough trips in public with me and the kids to know what it entails, and yet she continues to come. I love her very much. We decided to go to lunch first and tried a new Mexican restaurant. We had to have a conversation with the boys about what Hispanic people are called a while back, after Dawson came home from his friend's house talking about " Mexicans." We told him their wasn't any need to differentiate when he was talking about someone. " You can just say, That man, or that kid, or whatever." Dylan popped in with " Yeah, we don't say Mexican, we say Nacho!" ( He loves Nacho Libre). Anyway as we sit down in this very authentic Mexican restaurant, Dawson can't remember why we can't say Mexican, so he starts asking questions very loudly. I was grateful to have chips to shovel in his mouth every time he opened it. We made it through lunch and Dylan had to go to the bathroom, so Dawson took him. Hannah and I were sitting their enjoying a few minutes of adult conversation when the boys came out of the bathroom and I could tell by Dawson's face something had gone down. We got outside and Dawson started re-enacting how he jumped to get a paper towel for Dylan and his finger got stuck on the knives that tear the towels off. Just as he finished he looked down at his finger and noticed a few drops of blood. He just freaked out. He was bawling and hysterical and Hannah grabbed a napkin to cover it. When he started breathing again I was trying to calm him down, but to no avail. We finally got in the car and Dylan was singing Christmas carols, and Dawson was screaming that the singing was making his finger hurt worse. This could be my fault. Maybe I should give them more sympathy when they are hurt. When they are wrestling or screwing around I always say, "I am not going to feel sorry for you, so don't tell me unless you are bleeding."
Well, for the next 3 painful hours we went to 4 different stores and tried to feel the Christmas spirit while picking out presents for Malachi. The whole time Dylan was trying out different ways to make Dawson's finger hurt without actually touching him. Dawson was intermittently whining about his finger, and Dylan's antics, and Hannah and I got the shopping done. Poor Emma, she is so good natured and pleasant to have around. She is always so happy, and she loves to watch the boys, I think she single-handedly balances our family.
Tonight while we were cleaning up dinner, Dylan started to get in his snow clothes. He had his snow pants on, gloves, and his snow hat pulled down over his eyes. I asked if he was going outside to play and he said no, that he was a scuba diver. He laid down on his stomach on the kitchen floor and dragged himself around with his hands. He kept a good look out for sharks, but it was really hard to clean the kitchen with him worming around on the floor. He finally got too hot and he and Dawson turned the flood lights on and played outside in the snow. I was surprised that they would go play outside in the dark, since yesterday they came in because they were sure they saw coyote tracks in our fully fenced backyard. They played outside with each other so great for an hour and then came in and fell into bed. It was a good day.