Day 113: It’s a stretch

When I was younger around this time of year my family and I would go to the Addition Christmas Party.  Now for you people who aren’t from Indiana, additions are what the rest of the world calls neighborhoods.  I don’t know why they are called additions in Indiana but they are.  (We also “skipped” school instead of “sluffing” school.  A term I later found out was weird…my friends all laughed and started skipping the first time I said “skipped school.”  I digress.)

I am pretty sure I am holding a Disney calendar in my hands and saying something like, "I want a boyfriend for Christmas." ha ha

Any who, at these parties we always got to eat some grub, make an ornament (we were pretty amazing artists), see Santa, and get a present.  But the thing I looked forward to the most was hearing my mother tell the story of How The Grinch Stole Christmas.  She learned the book in her storytelling class as a college chick.  She tells it with all the voices, body language, and facial expressions that makes every child pay attention to.  We loved hearing my mother tell this story.  Even if we heard the same part 10 times before coming…

“It was quater past dawn…
All the Whos, still a-bed,
All the Who, still a-snooze
When he pack up his sled,
Packed it up with their presents!  The ribbons! The wrappings!
The tags! And the tinsel! The trimmings! The trappings!
Three thousand feet up! Up the side of Mt. Crumpit,
He rode with his load to the tiptop to dump it!
Pooh-Pooh to the Whos!”

ha ha  Ah!  I loved listening to my mother rehearse that part.  She always mixed up the ribbons, wrapping, tags, tinsel, and trappings.  It was different every time   Then the Pooh-Pooh  came with a nose pinch and the best voice ever!

Another one was this…

“Pop guns! And bicycles! Roller skates! Drums!
Checkerboards! Tricycles! Popcorn! And plums!”

As long as it ended in popcorn and plums she was golden.   I just LOVE listening to her!

Now, Mom, maybe it’s a stretch but do you think you could do How the Grinch Stole Christmas this way this year?

If not…I am okay listening to “little Cindy-Lou Who, who was no more than two.”

LOVE YOU MOM!

PS. This is not how we came up with Max’s name