Piper thinks the new year is lame so far.
“There aren’t any really great present holidays in January,” she complained this morning. “We should invent our own! And this new January holiday needs water balloon fights!”
“Daddy, do you know who the best daddy in the whole world is?” Piper asked, cuddling up in her daddy’s lap.
Daddy was basking in it, just waiting for his award. “Who, honey?”
“Santa Claus. He’s the best daddy in the whole world because, man, think of the presents!”
When you live in DC, you just have to see the White House. Especially when it’s all gussied up for the holidays. We waited months for our background checks to clear and to be assigned a date in December. It was a magical morning. There was a choir singing Christmas carols as we toured the decorated rooms and peered over the velvet ropes into history.
Except that Piper almost got us kicked out. She couldn’t resist all the holiday versions of the First Family’s dog, Bo. She kept leaning over the barriers trying to do this (note her arm caught in action):
As we came around the corner to the last room, Piper broke loose and scrambled under a Christmas tree for a closer inspection. I dragged her out by her silver tights and black patent leather shoes, but she’d already discovered that there was nothing under the Obama’s tree. In a voice much too loud for the occasion, she asked, “How come the President doesn’t have any presents under his tree? Poor guy!”