A Little Child Shall Lead Them
All of my Christmas Shopping is done without out me setting foot in a mall. Everything is wrapped, in coordinating paper and placed under the Christmas Tree. All of the kids know the rules; they must avert their eyes as if nothing is there. This is how Black Santa works.
He is magical.
The boxes are actually empty until the stroke of Midnight of Christmas Eve, when the presents materialize inside their wrappings. If you open them early, you will only find coal or air.
The offspring understand this, though I did catch Midime checking out a few boxes this week. The stockings were disturbed,too. It's hard to get away with that stuff, even if you try really hard to return the boxes back to the exact spot they were in before you meddled with them when you have a mother who studies behavior and watches people for a living.
Yesterday, new gifts started appearing under the tree, very easy to spot because the kiddos didn't use the coordinated paper I so painstakingly selected. That's okay, I refuse to be a Christmas Czar. I must confess that I did some peeking of my own, which is okay since these are not gifts from Black Santa.
There was the usual:
To Pop, From Midime
To Mom, from MiniYacht.
TO Midime, from Brother Claus. I chuckled when I read this one. Seems they were getting the hang of it.
To Minime, from the Best Brother.
To MiniYacht, from the Christmas Elf.
I had to sit down when I read the next one.
To Maserati (Maserati is the name we give to one of the sons. The others are MiniYacht and Beach Home. You can probably figure the out the pattern).
To Maserati, to help you get some style. From Jesus.
From Jesus.
I knew that this was Minime from the handwriting.
From the youngest in the house, to the brother most likely to NOT believe.
I pondered this. I couldn't figure out if she was trying to say that he is so beyond help that only Jesus could help him become stylish...or if in her fifteen year old way, in the shadow of our first world excess, she is reminding all of us of the true reason for the season.
I choose the latter.
And a little child shall lead them.
Love that girl.
He is magical.
The boxes are actually empty until the stroke of Midnight of Christmas Eve, when the presents materialize inside their wrappings. If you open them early, you will only find coal or air.
The offspring understand this, though I did catch Midime checking out a few boxes this week. The stockings were disturbed,too. It's hard to get away with that stuff, even if you try really hard to return the boxes back to the exact spot they were in before you meddled with them when you have a mother who studies behavior and watches people for a living.
Yesterday, new gifts started appearing under the tree, very easy to spot because the kiddos didn't use the coordinated paper I so painstakingly selected. That's okay, I refuse to be a Christmas Czar. I must confess that I did some peeking of my own, which is okay since these are not gifts from Black Santa.
There was the usual:
To Pop, From Midime
To Mom, from MiniYacht.
TO Midime, from Brother Claus. I chuckled when I read this one. Seems they were getting the hang of it.
To Minime, from the Best Brother.
To MiniYacht, from the Christmas Elf.
I had to sit down when I read the next one.
To Maserati (Maserati is the name we give to one of the sons. The others are MiniYacht and Beach Home. You can probably figure the out the pattern).
To Maserati, to help you get some style. From Jesus.
From Jesus.
I knew that this was Minime from the handwriting.
From the youngest in the house, to the brother most likely to NOT believe.
I pondered this. I couldn't figure out if she was trying to say that he is so beyond help that only Jesus could help him become stylish...or if in her fifteen year old way, in the shadow of our first world excess, she is reminding all of us of the true reason for the season.
I choose the latter.
And a little child shall lead them.
Love that girl.
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