When Owen woke up from his nap on Christmas Day, he was inconsolable. Sometimes, when there is so much festive celebration and energy and favorite people and special presents and big love, the only thing that will save you from bursting is a good cry (I know about this firsthand from our wedding: the dam broke with all of the amazing toasts at the rehearsal dinner, and I was holding back tears for the next 24 hours). Anyway, Owen was probably crying for a solid 20 minutes after waking up, and I was holding him and quietly singing Carol Hall's "It's Alright to Cry," from the phenomenal 1972 Free to Be You and Me record that was one of my favorites growing up. If anyone else tried to look at him or talk to him, he would cry harder. But then...
Poppie arrived. He pulled in the driveway, walked in the door, and sat down on the floor next to Owen. And the spell was broken. And Owen dove right into his arms. It was a fabulous sight to behold.
A few snaps of our visit to the fancy Holiday Inn on Folly Beach a few days later:
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