“Write a blog post about one of your family traditions”. I racked my brain and then collapsed from exhaustion.
We do a lot together, my terrors and I, but no traditions intentional or otherwise leap to mind.
I tried taking a picture of them with the same stuffed animal every year to chart their growth. That died when the dog ate poor Dopey.
I used to buy them new PJ’s every year for Christmas Eve. Now, however, they prefer to sleep in just their boxer briefs (which I have to say I prefer as well).
We all pile into my bed when the DH is out of town. But I hate to think that my only family tradition excludes a very important member of my family.
The moral of this story, if you could consider this a story, is that we don’t really have any traditions. I refuse to feel guilt. I would rather have a rain barrel full of spontaneous memories anyway.