Holiday Hilarity Part III: the Godseys get the Giggles

Every year by Christmas Eve I come to the sad re-realization that I am a procrastinator.  The nights leading up to  Christmas involve staying up into the wee hours, wrapping gifts, making lists, baking, etc. Throw in a big pair of red pants and forget to wax, and I'd be just like St. Nick himself. This year was particularly grueling as we had a newborn and I was working, so sleep was precious and hard to come by. Our tradition has always been Mexican food, followed by the Christmas Eve service, with Uncle Bill who was always up for the holiday. We missed him this year as he celebrated with his  new family in Texas. But I digress.
We invited my friend Lara and her parents and siblings to attend the service with us this year, and it was the first time I met some of them.  Taking up two rows, my growing family and her grown up family all were able to sit together on the right side of the church, and things were going fairly well until Rilla had her bottle. At just seven weeks, Rilla was still needing to be burped throughout her feedings, much to her brother's delight.  Just as someone (I still don't know this lovely lady's name, and plan to never find out) stepped up to the mic and began a mellow, melodic rendition of "Mary, did you know?", my baby burped, which led to Zach squeaking out a giggle.  In the reverent silence, Rilla's burp rang out like a ram's horn, but for some reason she couldn't stop.  Burp after echoing burp, my tiny daughter continued, rivaling the song for length and volume. Zach was beside himself, with big sidesplitting giggles, and John and I were elbowing for all we were worth, one on each side.
At this point, the unthinkable happened. John started to giggle.  In my sleep-deprived state, it was a useless battle, and I gave in as well. So there we sat, on Christmas Eve, listening to a meaningful, spiritual hymn, surrounded by guests we had invited to experience the beauty of the evening, laughing like demented hyenas. Great big tears rolled down my cheeks as I tried without success to somehow mute my laughter, Zach's giggles, Rilla's burps, and John's cackling.  Lara's family sent bewildered looks our way, then trained their eyes forward in an attempt at politely ignoring our insanity.  The song ended, and so did the burping. And giggling. But my face stayed red long after it was all over.

In the Eye of the Beholder

John has worked in a nursing home for many years now, and often the boys and I stop in to say hello, smile and hug some of the residents, and occasionally visit  the giant fish tank up on the fourth floor.  This last activity was especially popular with the boys when they were a bit younger, so we took many elevator rides up to the fourth floor with Daddy  when they were around ages four and five.
One time we were just finished staring at the fish (really, watching three fish swim about for five minutes was somehow the highlight of their young lives, which is thrilling to any mother who is searching for cheap field trips - a nursing home and a fish tank - I may be considered a skinflint, but it worked!) and were headed down the hallway towards the elevator when I spotted a resident parked in the hall in her wheelchair.  Whenever we encountered folks in the hallway, I would encourage the boys to say hello, knowing what cheer small boys can bring to the elderly.  Gabe gallantly walked by with a polite wave and equally polite greeting.  Zach veered straight over to the lady, who was admittedly a bit hunched over, most likely about a hundred years old, kind of bent, with one eye open, and did a quick wave, while exclaiming,
"Hello, little monster!"
Praying she was hard of hearing (eek, is that even allowed?) I was quick to grab my youngest son by the shoulders and steer him into the elevator before he could elaborate.