“Unless it’s Uncle Dane,” I add, handing him another snowball. “Go get him.” I give him a little shove toward his next target, relieved that the threat of tears has passed.

I wonder briefly if my wife realizes she’s going to have to be the disciplinarian…

“What did I just say about that crying?” My sister starts to reprimand her daughter when Sammi returns from retrieving her gloves, smashing her right between the eyes.

Liz shrieks, cussing up a storm as she scoops the ice away.

“Mmmhmmm,” my wife heckles. “Didn’t like that too much, did ya?”

My niece’s tears quickly dry, replaced with a fit of laughter.

“Point taken, asshole!” Lizzy glares at my wife while clearly trying not to laugh. “You’re lucky you’re pregnant.”

My wife holds out a hand for Annabelle to give her a high five.

“Y’all’s kid is going to be such a menace!” My sister shakes her head at her best friend and daughter.

Sammi shrugs. “Then she’ll fit right in with her mommy and daddy.”

“He,” I insert. “He’ll fit right in.”

She doesn’t pay my comment a lick of attention, but the way she’s intentionally avoiding looking at me has me certain she heard it.

“Who wants some hot chocolate?” Gramma Joyce comes out of the house with a tray full of foam cups with lids and starts passing them out to everyone, including the snow people. My little Cajun granny’s roots run deep. That woman is forever playing hostess. She makes it her mission in life to see to everyone else’s comfort, usually in the form of food or drink.

The adults gather around the firepit, sipping on chocolate while the children who seem to have swallowed theirs in one gulp make castles in the snow with their sand toys.

Mr. Wayne starts blasting Christmas music through his surround sound. It’s all so cozy, I almost forget we’re in sunny California.

Once we’ve sufficiently warmed our bellies, we hit the slope with the sleds. The hill is maybe six feet high, but steep enough to give a thrilling stomach drop. The kids are loving it and don’t want to do anything else. They aren’t fighting, and no one is crying, so we let them have at it.

I hang back with my wife while the rest of the adults engage in an all-out war with the mounds of snowballs we spent a good portion of the day preparing.

“Your chariot awaits, milady.” I drag a huge toboggan out from behind a cover of trees and urge Sammi to have a seat.

Her icy blue eyes sparkle with excitement. “Oh, my goodness. It looks like a miniature version of Santa’s sleigh!”