So I was woken this morning by the sounds of giggling. And then the jangle-swoosh-jangle-jangle noise that comes from ornaments dancing on swaying pine branches.
And when I padded downstairs, two sets of toes peeked out from under the tree.
Funny, I didn't know we had squirrels in our attic.
Routed them out, of course, but I'm sure I'll find them under there again, whispering secrets and staring up at the twinkle-lights above their heads.
The past few years, my kids have had the pleasure and privilege of having a personal visit from Santa Claus on Christmas Eve. Santa takes a break from his busy night to come see the children for a moment, get a hug and give them both a hug, then he whisks away.
This year Cass has asked me three times 'when Santa comes to visit, is it really Uncle T?'
I always counter with a question: (Because we all know that Parenting Technique #34523 - The Great Stall works, at least for awhile) Do you think Uncle T would want to miss Santa? I'm pretty sure Uncle T's job makes him work every Christmas Eve.
Poor Uncle T.
Cass isn't totally convinced. 'But Uncle T always comes in right afterwards! And...I just think it's him.' He looked crestfallen and I wracked my brain trying to figure out what in the hell to say
- when suddenly, my boy made a colossal leap of logic* and began to smile again.
'I get it. Don't worry, Mom. I won't even tell Rosey that Uncle T is Santa. But, Mom,
....where does he hide the reindeer from Auntie K?
So - you see, there are great bonuses to marrying into a Canadian family. The Clauses are apparently my in-laws.
I love NaBloPoMo. There's such a camaraderie about it. Until next year!
*Those are getting scary. Today I was unloading the dishwasher and he was explaining to me how he does two-digit addition in his head. (20+22 is 42, right Mom?)
He's a first-grader.