Christmas is only two days away, and in some kind of fluke of the universe, I am 90% ready for it. I have two pies to make, one dinner to make, and two gifts to wrap. Other than that, I’m finished!

This makes me feel very grow-up and adult-like because usually I am the one running around WalMart on Christmas Eve with tape stuck to my eyebrows and my butt and strings of ribbon trailing behind me. I always end up forgetting something essential, like pumpkin puree. I think this year I will skip the tape-butted pumpkin run, mostly because the rumor of a pumpkin shortage has eliminated pumpkin pie from my holiday menu. I’m just not the kind of person that will risk life and limb to see if maybe one last pumpkin shipment has come in. I have no idea if the shortage is real, but I’m staying home nonetheless.

None of that is in any way related to what I was actually posting about…

What I wanted to post about was this:

On Monday Norah and I were at Jasmine’s house after a rousing session of step-aerobics. Norah and Isaiah were playing outside and after about 30 minutes they came in, Norah with a handful of rocks and a head full of mud. I assume Isaiah is responsible for the mud.

She was in love with her rocks, so proud of what she had discovered, and heartbroken when she dropped one. She showed them to me over and over, saying “Rocks!”

I know that most kids like rocks and digging in dirt, but what is awesome about this is my dad, Norah’s Grandpa Al. He’s a geologist, you see, and when we were kids we would frequently go out rock hunting. We have rocks all around our house, and as a result of him and my years spent in Science Olympiad, I know way too much about minerals and the varying hardness of different minerals, and which ones taste salty and which ones are magnetic.

This picture makes me think that possibly my dad has passed down more to us than just unmanageable hair and the shape of his feet.