She’s right; I hadn’t realized it, but it does. The sled is wood with red trim and has red velvet cushions. The rope is red leather with bells that jingle in the wind. Frank’s getting a bonus for this beaut.

I press my lips to her forehead and adjust her knit hat before taking her hand and helping her on.

Once she’s situated, I grab the reins and give a good heave-ho, only to have the sled barely move. “They sure make this shit look easier on TV,” I mutter.

“I’m too heavy,” she wails.

“You are not. Sit back down, woman.” I loop the rope around my midsection and pull like a pack mule. Slow and steady, we start making some progress. After about five minutes, I’m winded and losing steam, but the radiant smile on her face keeps me trudging along.

I proceed to walk backward for a bit so I can indulge myself in the view. My Li’l Bit’s so beautiful, with her red-tipped nose and the wind whipping through her hair. Her dimples and those rosy cheeks, and the snowflakes resting lightly on her lashes make her resemble an ice princess. It’s like something straight out of a dream.

Then Annabelle and Carter crash the scene deciding they too need a turn on Santa’s sleigh. The two climb aboard in front of Sammi. With their added weight, I’m really in trouble. There’s no way I’m going to kill the magic of their first ever snow day. So, I spin back around and put every bit of my strength into it, feeling superhuman when I finally get the sled to dislodge.

“Woah!”

At the sound of my wife’s distress, I whip around to find her and the kids toppling over to one side. Trying not to laugh, I right their ship. “The terrain is just too flat, but I have an idea.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“Just stay put.” I leave her there and head off to the garage where just as I expected, the key is still sitting in the ignition of the riding mower.

You’d swear these kids were on a rollercoaster with the way they’re carrying on. Their peals of laughter and screams of delight are a sound I won’t soon forget.

I drive them around the yard until just after the sun sets, while Dane, Liz, Frank, and my mom engage in a game of beer pong on the patio with spiked eggnog.

Somehow our white Christmas has managed to veer a little into redneck territory, but what more do you expect from a bunch of Louisiana transplants?

Chapter Twenty-Three

“All right, guys.” Liz pushes back from my parents’ table, collecting the cookies her kids just decorated onto a plate and covering it in plastic wrap. “We need to do presents so I can go put these two to bed so Santa can pass.”