The Ringmaster came home from work tonight with a tree over his shoulder. For the three older kiddos, this meant a time of unbridled Christmas enthusiasm and joy. We pumped up the Ella Fitzgerald, unwrapped a bin full of ornaments, and had a room full of giggles and shouts of delight.
For Jake, however, it was training time. It's tough to be nine months old at Christmas, with a family who insists on placing a huge, shining, sparkling Source of Temptation in the middle of the most-used room in the house.
The Touch
The Slap
The Indignation
Merry Christmas, Jake!
Meanwhile, the others merrily set about decorating the tree. In our house, the very last thing we do is put the star on the tree. Year after year, this is the coveted privilege, and last year it caused--well, let's just say it proved the reason we all needed a Savior! This year, bracing myself for the worst, I asked Nathan, "Who should put on the Christmas star this year?" Big blue-eyes answered sweetly, "Julia should." Gasp. Did I just hear that? "No," says Julia, "Nathan should get to do it this year." As Dave and I tried to recover from shock, they both stood there, smiling angelically, and I could almost hear the heavenly host singing... or was that Ella? Truly this is a season of miracles.
No comments:
Post a Comment