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Our Christmas traditions have changed over the years, but since we've been married, they've been pretty much the same. After our very French Christmas eve, we sleep for a few hours, then drive for an hour to get to my Dad's, where we have Christmas breakfast, open stockings and presents, and then lounge for a bit before heading over to my aunt's (about a 40 minute drive), where we have an early (4:00) dinner, open presents, then drive another half hour to my uncle's (other side of the family), where we have birthday cake for my cousin, and do a cousin gift exchange, then drive home (another 45 minutes or so).

It makes for a very long day on very little sleep.

As indicated in my last post, we were able to get more sleep this year, but not for the happiest of reasons.

This year we had to pick up my grandmother as the family is attempting to drive her places rather than let her do the driving. That's a whole long story in itself and this isn't the best place to go into. Anyway, we were elected to pick her up.

We were actually (oddly) running on time when my cell phone rang in the car. My dad was calling--my grandmother was apparently very distressed that we weren't there yet (30 minutes before we were supposed to be there) AND that we weren't answering our phone (which was at home, so therefore not possible to answer if we were on our way).

We got there, right on time, and picked her up.

My grandmother is a pretty amazing woman. She worked for three different governors of the state of Oregon and is not someone you want to have on your bad side when it comes to pulling political power. She's 88, still active in her church, and physically active as well. Since I was a little girl though (and probably since before then), she's had a habit of "patting" people fairly forcefully.

When I was six, this resulted in me being pushed unaware and unable to lift my foot over a step on time, making me crash face first into the pavement. One of my teeth turned gray--fortunately it was a baby tooth. Her comment? "You need to be more careful, dear!"

And as I got older, I learned to set down any beverage glass I was holding because when Grandma came in for a hug, it would inevitably get toppled and I would be told, "Oh goodness, you need to be more careful, dear!"

As I greeted her at her front door, she leaned in for a hug and I literally had to grab the door frame to keep from falling down her front steps. Add that to being unable to take the pressure of much weight because of my back and I was left gasping for breath.

Some things never change.

We loaded up the car with Grandma and her presents and drove over to my dad's.

The rest of the day went fairly normally--visiting with relatives, little kids having more fun ripping open presents than playing with what was inside (and then asking, "Can I open more presents, please?....PLEASE....PLEEEEEASE!!")

We got home, unloaded my daughter's loot, and crashed.