![]() ![]() ![]() With a chuckle, I tiptoe through the house to the back door, get dressed in my outerwear, and sneak out. “Someone get me some eggnog,” Granny yells. As I towel off, someone starts the music in the living room, and my Granny’s all-time favorite Christmas song, “Grandma Got Run Over by A Reindeer,” booms from the loudspeakers. I snatch my phone from my sister’s grip-she took pictures of the kiss, of course-and get up and go to the bathroom to wash my face. ![]() ![]() I blow a raspberry on Merry’s cheek, ruffle her hair, and set her on the floor where she toddles away. My mouth, my beard, and my chin all end up drenched as the rest of my loud family cheers her on and shouts “Good girl!” She looks intently at me, opens her mouth and tilts her head, and gives me a wet, sopping kiss. Merry, fourteen months old, with adorable black hair resembling a punk mohawk-no matter how hard Emily tries to tame it-clashing spectacularly with the pink frilly dress she’s wearing, smacks her tiny hands on my cheeks and giggles when my beard tickles her palms. “Kiss Uncle Auden, Merry,” my sister Emily says to her daughter, purses her lips, and make kissy sounds to show Merry what she means. ![]()
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