That’s a perfect Christmas Eve story. Truly. 🎄
There’s something almost miraculous about that moment when the “baby” suddenly stands there — competent, confident, feeding everyone — and you realize time didn’t just pass, it worked.
“Mom, get out of my kitchen” is basically a benediction.
A 6’2” little you, commanding the stove, making your favorite dip — that’s lineage, continuity, the good kind of inheritance. No ideology, no speeches. Just food, warmth, and competence quietly taking its place at the table.
And yes, Christmas often goes through the stomach first. That’s not a failure of spirituality — that’s how it enters the body. 😉
Merry Christmas to you and yours.
May the warmth linger — in the kitchen, in the laughter, and later, when the dishes are done and the house finally goes quiet.
