A/N: Mhamó is Irish for grandmother. I did my best to make the Irish characters sound Irish but I'm not sure how well I did!
"Mommy! Daddy!" Six year-old John Percival Sheppard yelled, twisting away from the window. "It's snowing outside!"
Raegan Sheppard was the first to show. She smiled at the little boy and replied in her flowing Irish accent. "Yer right, little bear, it'is snowing."
"We're in Georgetown, Colorado, it snows here all the time." Dave, two years older than John, appeared. He liked to seem much smarter than John but despite his words he leaned against the window for a better view of the snow.
"Patrick, honey, come on!" Raegan called to her husband, who had yet to come.
Turning away from the snow, John asked his mother in a tone tinged with sadness, "Is he working again?"
"Yes, little bear, he has t' take care of us." Raegan told her son, running her fingers through his unruly mop of dark hair.
"But it's Christmas Eve!" John groaned.
"I'll get him," Dave said, turning away from the window.
"I'm coming, I'm coming." Patrick Sheppard groused artificially, striding down the hall. "No need to send in the cavalry."
Grinning Dave pulled his father's pant leg. "Dad! It's snowing outside, again!"
"Well, what are we waiting for?" Patrick questioned the group as he let one of his wide (and utterly charming as he'd been told more than once by his wife) grins spread across his face. "The snow isn't inside!"
Laughing joyously both children abandoned the window and raced each other to the door. Dave being older and having longer legs beat his brother and was the first out the door. Dashing out closely on his brothers heels John shouted, "look out beloooooow!" on behalf of the snowflakes.
Running after his sons Patrick swooped down and lifted little John under his armpits and held him out in the air. "What do they taste like?" He asked his youngest son.
John opened his mouth and waited until he caught some snowflakes. When he did he closed his mouth and scrunched his thoughtfully before answering, "It tastes like peppermint."
"Nuh-uh," Dave cut in. "They taste like strawberry."
"No," John denied at once, gripping Patrick's warm hands holding him up with his smaller cold ones and opened his mouth again. "They taste like kiwi."
"You never even had kiwi." Dave accused.
"Yes I have!" John objected hotly.
"Well, they don't taste like peppermint or kiwi. They taste like chocolate!" Dave decided.
Wiggling to see his father John asked politely, "Down please?"
Patrick obligingly placed his son on the thickly snow covered ground and watched full of amusement as John grabbed a handful of snow and chucked it at his brother.
Dave gasped when the snow splattered against his face.
"John! No face shots." Raegan halfheartedly scolded.
Dave wasted no time in retaliating, scooping up snow and pitching it at John.
John squealed as he was pelted with more snowballs and fled down the porch steps and across the driveway. He flung his arms out and imagined he was an airplane that was dodging enemy fire.
"Be careful you two!" Patrick called as Dave pursued his fleeing target. "It's slippery!" His warning came a to late for John to react as he slipped on the sidewalk and did a face plant.
"John, are ye alright?" Raegan called moving towards the steps in case she was needed to give one of the kisses that cured everything that only mother's could give. Fortunately she was not.
John rolled over and crowed, "I was right! It tastes like peppermint-kiwi."
Dave's twisted into an expression of disgust. "Ewww!"
"What? It really does!"
"I bet it tastes awful. I'm not eating any of it."
"Mom, where are we going?" John questioned curiously and not for the first time as he stared out the car window.
"We're going to the stables, little bear." Raegan answered patiently.
"But it's to cold to ride the horses." John protested, the same thing he had said in response to her answer every time, though with slightly different wording.
"It's a surprise, Johnny. We told you that already." Patrick replied from the drivers' seat.
"But I really want to know!" The eight year-old objected.
"Jo-ohn!" Dave groaned from the seat next to John. "They're not going to tell us! Stop asking!"
John slumped dejectedly in his seat trying to look grumpy. However, the excitement of the surprise got the best of him and he started clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
Dave lasted all of 23 seconds before he snapped, "John stop clicking!"
"Dave," Raegan twisted in the passengers' seat to see her sons. "It'is only the excitement. I happen t' know that ye – " Raegan poked Dave lightly in the stomach. " – bite yer lip and scrunch up yer nose when ye're excited. It'is very cute." She teased in her thick Irish brogue.
"I'm not cute!" Dave exclaimed indignantly.
"One day, you'll hope you are. You'll be trying to impress all the girls by being cute." Raegan winked.
"Never!"
With an exasperated but fond smile Raegan turned to Patrick. "What are you teaching these boys?"
"That girls are evil and you should avoid their kind at all costs." Patrick replied resolutely staring at the road as he turned into the gravel road leading to the Sheppards' Colorado stables.
"And what about me?" Raegan asked him, propping up one eyebrow.
"You, Grandma, Mhamó, Aunt Dana, and Aunt Fallon are okay." John answered.
"And your cousins?" Raegan prompted.
"Avoid them at all costs." Dave repeated with complete seriousness.
"Patrick..." Began in a scolding tone that, again, held a note of fondness as well as barely suppressed laughter.
Grinning Patrick pressed on the brakes and put the car in park. "Well, that's what my mom indoctrinated me with and I turned out just fine, didn't I?" Patrick leaned over and gave his wife a quick kiss on the lips. Short as it was both children in the back went, "Ewww," Dave adding a "don't do that Dad!" for good measure.
Raegan laughed and opened her door to the snowy atmosphere outside. "Let's go boys."
As expected from the adults John and Dave gasped with delight at the sight they were met with. John ran toward the red sleigh wearing his father's wide smile. "A sleigh!" The brothers made a mad dash for the big red sleigh hoked up to Leap and Dollar.
"Merry Christmas, Raegan."
John and Dave were ten and twelve and living in Richmond, Virginia the next winter they received snow. Though not nearly as much as in Colorado it was still a fair amount.
John shrugged on his coat and bounced out the door, Dave not far behind. Patrick and Reagan opted to stay inside but watched from the window as their sons ran through the snow. They heard John shout something and they could discern their words easily.
"Come and get me!" They heard though the glass. Dave started chasing John around the yard, kicking up the snow as he went. After rushing around for a few minutes Dave managed to tackle John to the ground. Their parents watched them roll until Dave got John into a position in which he could effectively stuff a wad of snow down his coat and shirt. John gasped as the snow made contact with is skin and twisted around to fling a handful of snow in Dave's face.
Chuckling Patrick clicked the camera recording to an end and wrapped one arm around Raegan's waist. "I'm showing this at their weddings."
John eagerly tore through the wrapping and flipped open the box's flaps. His jaw dropped at the sight and he stared at it for a moment before he was snapped out of his stupor by Dave's ringing laughter.
"You should... see your... face!" Dave gasped out.
In response John did what any good brother would do. He dumped out the socks Dave had neatly stacked in the box and tossed the cardboard at Dave. One of its flat sides bounced off the side of Dave's head as he tried to get a hold of his laughter.
"It's just... you're always... damaging your socks... some way or another!"
"Mmmm, Mhamó that smells real good." Twelve year-old John admired, leaning against the counter as he watched his grandmother on his mother's side cook a potato casserole.
Mhamó smiled at her grandson. She as well as Dave and John had decided that when speaking to any of the Irish side of the family they would pull out their pristine Irish accents, courtesy of their mother. Their grandmother couldn't get enough of listening to them switch expertly between American and Irish accents (and on occasion between English and Gaelic) when visiting with both sides of the family at once. Ruffling his impossible cowlicks of dark hair Mhamó slid a cup of peppermint hot chocolate. "This'll have t' hold ye over 'til supper." She told him, she gave him a mug of it every Christmas Eve when he came to smell the food. Mhamó always remembered fondly when he would tell her that how much he loved it, delivering the exact same líne every time as it was their own little tradition.
"What's December without a Christmas Eve cup of peppermint hot chocolate from Mhamó?"
Well, I was thinking Dave and John could do with some happy childhood memories and then I heard the song, Peppermint Winter by Owl City and the lyrics just set me off. I had to take the lyrics out 'cause apparently those aren't allowed anymore. I know I'm a little late with a Christmas story but I've been having terrible computer problems so I didn't get it done when I would've liked.
Does the Irish side of the family seem plausible?
Belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
June