As I explained last week, I'm letting my Christmas Memories journal inspire my blog posts during this busy time of year.
Today, let's go way, way back. All the way to . . .
In 1993, Erin was 4 1/2 and Brian was a couple months short of 2. They were happy kids, bouncing off the walls with excitement about Santa and magic and all the Christmas-y things. According to my Christmas journal, all Brian could talk about that season was "tack and tains." (He couldn't say his Rs properly yet. He had asked Santa to bring "track and trains.") (Santa did. Big hit.) And Erin? Well, she had recently given herself a haircut with my gift-wrapping scissors while hiding under the kitchen table.
Here we are - on that Christmas Eve in 1993:
(We are at my parents' house, sitting against the "fish throw" -- a gift that year from my parents for Tom . . . that still hangs over the back of our couch up at our cabin!)
1993 . . . was also the year we got a dog! Before Jenny and JoJo, there was Jake.
Jake was a wonderful dog, and he was with us for 14 years. He was the smartest, most loving and loyal dog you could ever have. At Christmas in 1993, he was 10 months old. Crate trained. Eager to please. Well-behaved. But . . . still a puppy.
On Christmas Eve, we packed everything in our minivan - kids, gifts, food, and Jake -- and drove through heavy snow to my parents' house for the evening. We decided not to bring Jake's crate, though . . . even though we'd all be heading to church for awhile (where Erin would be a shepherd in the nativity pageant and Tom would sing in the choir and Brian would clap and yell "yayyyyyyy" every time he saw one or the other of them). (It's all there in the Christmas journal.) We decided that it was just too much hassle to deal with Jake's giant crate that night. He was so good. And we'd only be gone for an hour or so. And we could just shut him in my mom's guest room . . . which would be kind of like a big ole crate anyway, right?
And that's what we did.
When we returned from church -- tired, ready to pack it all back up and head home so Santa could visit -- Jake was still in the guest bedroom. My mom went to let him out so he could greet us all.
I'll never forget the look on her face when she opened that bedroom door.
It turns out that a guest bedroom is NOT like a crate at all.
Apparently, Jake had tried to get out through the bedroom door -- and ended up tearing up the carpet (and all the padding) throughout the room. It was a total Christmas Puppy Disaster!
1993 went down in history as the year we got my mom new guest bedroom carpet for Christmas.
(This year, Brian and Lauren will be bringing their brand new puppy with them for Christmas at our house. I'm thinking hard about which bedroom to stick her in. You know . . . just in case. . . )
I'll be back to wish you a happy holiday at some point later this week, but I'm be taking a holiday blog break other than that. Enjoy your holidays!