It is Christmastime, my favorite time of year. It was 9 years ago that Nic and I started dating, and even then, both of these wonderful children were not even eye-glimmers.
Gamble's been going through a rough stage of defiance and boundary definition. He is clearly trying, struggling, and really wants to be a good boy. Most of the time, he doesn't even seem to care that it's Christmas, and he's not spooked by the idea of not getting presents.
Sometimes, however, he is concerned.
Before they left for Ohio, Gamble and I were talking about being good for Mommie while he's gone. He said he wanted to be really good.
"Why?" I asked.
"Well, because otherwise I'll get bacole."
"Yeah! Bacole. And I don't want Santa to bring me a bacole, so I'm going to be a very good boy."
"What are you saying, Gamble? Bacole?"
"Yeah, Daddie. If you're bad on Christmas, Santa's going to bring you a bacole."
Ah. I get it. We keep telling him that if he's not good, he's going to get a lump of coal. Except I'm pretty lazy sometimes, and I probably say "lumpa-coal"...
I didn't correct him. I've corrected him too often. How I miss him saying "buggage."
Merry Christmas, everyone! Hope you don't get a bacole!