Tradtition dicatates that the story of Jesus's birth is told by Kirk on Christmas Eve. The story, though centuries old, gains a new twist each year as family takes hold of it and adds their own flavor.
Maybe I should explain.
Our youngest grand daughter was getting a bit cranky by evening, having spent a no nap couple of days at her father's house. She wanted no part in our Nativity story but everyone else dived into the costume containers and chose a role.
We had Joseph in our middle daughter's old fairy godmother's robe from the play Cinderella, along with a beard I'd made for the play Hillibilly Wedding.
Our oldest grand daughter became Mary in a sparkling dress and an old shawl of her Great, Great Grandmother's. We aren't too wise so we could only come up with one Wise Man–our step-grandson.
With just two little sheep to watch over, our oldest daughter dressed in Noah's wife, Sarah's dress from another school play. We had the cutest donkey too, complete with tail and ears played by our middle grand daughter. Our middle daughter donned several different wigs in her dual roles as King Herod and the Inn Keeper. And all would of gone well despite laughing so hard the actors and actresses could barely play their roles but the youngest grand daughter refused to allow any one of her three dolls to play the part of baby Jesus. In the end, she decided that she would He, baby Jesus.
And she comfortably settled into the part despite the confines on the cardboard box.
We are off to see the Grandparents today and our oldest son who had to work on Christmas, but before we go, I wanted to share a little of our Christmas with you. I hope that your weekend was as memorable and delightful as ours.