Because we made it.

It happened. It really, really happened.

For the first time in four years, we made it to our family celebrations on Christmas day. Every other year, Logan had some nasty bug, leaving us at home, trying to convince ourselves that it was better that we could just stay home and relax.

We made a few changes in the week before Christmas to try to keep the germs at bay, and for the most part, it worked. Granted, G was up with a bad cold and fever half the night last night, but I'll take it on December 26th.

Because we made it, and therefore we had so many memories I don't want to forget.

It made me laugh until my cheeks hurt, watching L going up to the stage at church and completely blanking out when the pastor asked him what his favorite story was, then blurting out, "CURIOUS GEORGE'S DREAM!" and interrupting another little girl's answer, delighting the congregation to no end.

It made me remember my own childhood as I watched L's contagious enthusiasm over opening every.single.gift....screaming over everything from the superhero socks to the Skechers Luminators he's been asking for for two years.

It made me smile fondly at G's delight over opening his gifts, but nothing beating out the excitement over his favorite stocking stuffer...a banana.

It made me realize the true definition of bittersweet as we watched previous Christmas mornings on our video camera, marveling at how much L used to look like G, and how much healthier he looks and sounds since we've diagnosed his food allergies. Hearing myself ask him if he thought he needed his inhaler simultaneously hurt my heart and gave me a sense of pride that I helped give my child's health back to him.

It made me proud that instead of buying each other gifts, B and I gave extra money at church to help solve the world water crisis. And it made me shake my head when they reminded us once again that $20 billion would solve the problem completely, and $450 billion is spent on Christmas gifts each year.

It made me realize how time slips through my fingers when I went downstairs at B's aunt and uncle's house to check on L as he played pool (or as he calls it, "billiards") with the big boys. He placed his hand on my shoulder and gently said, "Mommy, walk away from me please." Of course, I obeyed.

It made my heart warm when G asked me to nurse him by signing "milk," and adding "please," so I quietly took him into the master bedroom and sang him Christmas carols as we nursed for what will be the last Christmas nursing session.

Merry Christmas, indeed.