The forecast around home for Christmas was dismal. Cold, wet, dark, no snow. Boo hiss. But... Chelan had snow. And lots of it. Auntie Nicole was either amping us up or rubbing it in (not sure which) by repeatedly sending us photos of what appeared to be a yardstick on her deck. Except the yard stick was too short to be a full 36 inches. Or there really was that much snow. Holy. Moly.
We'd be there from December 22 through the 27. But not just us and them. Throw in Nana and Papa. And Grams. Even with 12 of us in the house there'd still be tons of room. Even with two dogs, two cats, and gear. Well, gear would have to wait. Our truck can only carry so much. Even with the roof rack on we'd be lucky to make it over the passes with clothing for two days until Papa came with the rest of the luggage, presents, and snow suits.
Aside from a near burrito disaster in Cle Elum and the threat of blocked highways it was smooth sailing. We rolled in and quickly invaded. That night all was quiet. Too quiet, perhaps. Or not. Sometimes quiet can be good.
The time flew by. Bowling (not me). Sledding (kids). Napping (me). Grumping (me). Settling (including Nana and Papa!). Melting (snow). Eating, eating, eating, drinking, eating. (Um... everyone. Well, except the drinking part.)
And that was just the first two days. Presents were, of course, an exercise in consumerism. We clearly did our part to stimulate the economy. A lot. And provide material for future paper manufacturers to include as their "post-consumer" recycled content.
As soon as the presents were done the kids disappeared. I think they were downstairs. It was back to being too quiet. But really, do you want to investigate when that might just cause problems? It's kind of like the Heisenberg uncertainty principle. You can't know what's going on without affecting what's going on.
So... we just continued along. It warmed up just enough that the snow was too sloppy down low to take the kids snowshoeing and, let's be honest, they were having a plenty good time anyway. Instead, we planned for snowshoe adventures later. I tried my best to get someone at the local ranger station to help, but they stuck to the party line and recommended some pretty uninteresting trips.
Nana, Papa, and Grams left on Sunday, but they aren't really troublemakers so the house dynamic didn't change much. We managed to get (almost) everything into or onto the truck for the ride home after one last set of runs down the (now icy) back yard sledding slope. Everyone had major wipeouts, though only Clara came away actually bleeding. (Don't worry, she was just building character.)
We got waves as we left and then life returned to normal. Or at least as normal as it ever is. But then, I guess that is normal. Just not normal like we thought it would be.