by Lisa Lickel
My husband's Aunt Kathy knits. I have great, sincere, awe-filled admiration for anyone who can perform that little miracle. I can crochet. Badly. But watching what comes off those needles is better than watching an aquarium of tetras; better than Bob the Builder; cooler than watching a blizzard.
So, Aunt Kathy made great, giant stockings for our boys when they were born. She also made ones for the girls those boys married. I LOVE to fill them. Still do, even though fifth anniversaries have come and gone, master's degrees are nearly achieved, and the kids have been bigger than me since third grade.
Who's the bigger kid? Hard to tell. All I know is they torture me by ignoring those stockings on Christmas morn until they're good and ready to get up and have at 'em. Things have changed. (Me too - I lost some weight since last year.)
All I want for Christmas these days are Grandchildren.In the right timing, however. I have patience. The grandkitty is darling. And I don't have to change the litter box.
What I really need:
Can I at least have a little enthusiasm here?