For Christmas, we ran away from home together. And hid out in a sweet little cabin at the base of the Smoky Mountains. It was the very best time.
We played.
And had a fire roaring, like, all the time.
And made gingerbread cookies (not from scratch) for Santa, with plenty left over for us.
Our sweet Mr. Fuzzypants and Sir Waltorious D.O.G. romped in the woods and dozed in our laps a lot.
We woke up to discover Santa had found us! Our many, many letters we left with detailed directions worked!
Best gifts ever? Head lights, of course!
And a (fake) pair of glasses for the last of our clan to have 20/20 vision. For now, I suspect.
A new backpack and lunch bag for our sweet kindergarten girl! Who found Christmas so exciting she promptly threw up.
Again. And then took a four hour nap in Daddy's arms, which he didn't mind one little bit. Leaving us to finish off all the applewood smoked bacon and eggnog french toast (our traditional Christmas morning breakfast).
We spend the rest of the
day trip relaxing, reading new books, playing our stack of games and working on our 1000 piece Christmas puzzle--also a tradition.
It was the best trip ever.
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