My mom and I write letters to each other regularly, and here’s how she ended a recent one: “I remember a sad Christmas. Mom and Dad (my grandparents) had just moved to Tulsa. Dad (my dad) took a picture of Lori and me eating at our card table. Then we realized we were a family and we put smiles on our faces.”

I know this photograph well; my dad often talks about it as proof of their humble beginnings on E. Beloit Street in my hometown of Salina, Kansas. My dad will say, “We had nothing, but we were so happy.” Within a few years they’d have two more children and my grandparents would settle back in Wichita for the remainder of their life together, a mere 75 miles away. Sometimes when we visit I ask my dad to drive by that little white duplex seemingly so far from my childhood home on Marc Street, if only to watch him become a sentimental sweetheart for a few minutes.

We three will be alone together this Christmas, sans card table (though Huck wishes we had one for puzzles) and grandparents. There will be souvenirs from my childhood Christmases like chips ‘n dip, Shirley Temples, Johnny Mathis, and delightful hours of very slow gift unwrapping on Christmas Eve night. We three quite like a quiet Christmas at home sometimes, allowing ourselves to rest and recover from the excitement of a busy fall semester. But I always become a sentimental sweetheart right about now.

Here are some photographs of our family from Thanksgiving, the kickoff to this wonderful season that now feels like months ago. My mom, dad and Lori will once again be together for another Christmas, this time at a nice big table surrounded by grandchildren, great-grandchildren, happy dogs, and some of the most amazing food and smells you can imagine. And smiles on all their faces.

(Heartbreaking update: My dad woke up sick and had to stay home today. My mom is with Lori and her family having a wonderful time being pampered.)

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