Wrangler Dani

It’s 2 degrees outside. The menfolk are making sure the pump’s not freezing, fixing something or other with laughter and insulated gloves and a dog at their feet. The girls are inside, snug and cared-for, happy in the knowledge that we have fellas to take care of us, books to read, mochas to drink.

We ran through the cold yesterday, feeling the thin mountain air in our lungs and the thick snow pressing against our legs, making hither-thither trails in the deep whiteness and wandering wherever our whim took us.  We took family pictures in the snow – “move to the left!” “mom you need to smile” “you’re too tall” “get the doggie in the picture” “don’t zoom in too close, now” – laughing and giving constant direction and advice and opinions.  Denver and Chelsea in their high-tech snow clothes, ready for anything, looking like REI models. The rest of us, in whatever snow clothes we had, looking like we’re on holiday in a cold and foreign land.

We’ve made this family like we built this house. Together, with plenty of stories and laughter and the weird quirks that everybody has, that make us so lovable and frustrating.  There are crazy stories here, funny memories, times that shaped us by their hardship and molded us with their imperfection.  It’s funny now, sometimes it wasn’t then.  Because of this, we can install electrical sockets, birth a calf, split firewood, fry taco shells, play games, and be happy with just a plain cup of coffee and our family around us.

I love this house, these imperfect people. I love this cold Christmas, with the little kitties, fluffy in their winter fur, meowing at us from their perches on the woodpile. Icicles hanging from the shed roofs and impromptu snowball and tickle fights outside and in.  I love the Christmas card I got from Somebody, filled with love and anticipation and hope.

Merry Christmas, babies. God bless us, everyone.