Spending a holiday with your grannie and granddad is an opportunity to reset certain odometers. Electronics are powered down. Books are passed around like most people channel surf through evening cable programming. Conversations shake hands with apt segues. And punchlines are repeated for those sitting at the other end of the dinner table.
So much attention fixes on you, shifting around the room like moving furniture. With you serving as a nucleus to the gathering family, several members test out newly-earned titles of distinction.
"I sewed it into the tag of the quilt I made her, so if I have to go with something, I guess it's 'grannie,'" your grannie said.
"'Grandpa' sounds too old. 'Granddad' is more dignified," your granddad said. He quickly stacks some more blocks for you to tumble.
"No no, I like 'Uncle Paul.' 'Uncle Paul' is cool." You tug his beard, a feature you've never seen on your dad.
Your aunt Beth carries your cousin in her belly, five months along now, and shrugs her shoulders as she quietly beats out three other Farises at a game of Carcassonne.
Everyone opens their presents on Christmas Eve. You make a motor-like hum as you spin the prop on a plush airplane. You insistently pull down the hood on your new purple zip up. And you squeal as someone makes the Little House on the Prairie doll dance and sing.
You quietly endure the twelve-hour drive back home the next day. You sleep a full night in your own crib, and insist on more of your mom's time than usual when you wake up the next morning.
