Saturday morning at breakfast, I walked into the dining room to offer seconds. I held out the pan, and with my spatula, I polled: "Who wants another cinnamon roll?" Around the table like the wave at a Rangers game, children's hands went up one by one. My eyes tracked the response until I got around to the high chair. There was Mari. Smiling. Hand raised. And the crowd roared. (she's never even had a cinnamon roll)
We've been showing off her new trick all week. "Who wants another cinnamon roll?" is her Pavlov trigger. That fat little hand shoots high into the sky. We all just laugh. A couple times I'd swear she muttered "I do". She laughs too because she loves a good laugh.
Tonight our neighbors treated us to CiCi's (Yes, that's twice within a week -gag me) Aside from my personal, and solitary, aversion to cheap, scantily-topped pizza, we REALLY enjoyed the friendship and fun. The boys had done some jobs this afternoon that were "paying jobs" read: Mommy is lazy and loaded when it comes to filing bills and scraping dead bananas out from under the high chair cushion, so they had money to spend in the game room. We all had fun as it was thoughtfully sweet of our friends to pry us away from our lonely, Philip-less house. Anyhoo-- Cici's has cinnamon rolls..... I know...we really must stop. She's not a puppy for heaven's sake.
In other news...last night I wrapped all the kids' gifts. I kept in mind that Luke, our future CIA operative would be hand delivering each gift to the tree (No, we don't play the Santa game at our house...sue me...I just want the pretty packages under the tree and out of my closet, ok?) He would be inspecting the loot for verification of granted requests and any misrepresentation in packaging. I didn't fall off the sleigh yesterday... I hid the wrist watches in cereal boxes before wrapping. I printed the location of a large item on a piece of paper and wrapped it in a file box. I did my best. But in the end, I realized the main thing he wished for was not at all cleverly disguised. So I swapped labels! The only gift that is shaped in any way like the item of his dreams has "Ashlin" printed on the front. sneaky, sneaky.
This morning he came in and asked to transport the pile of gifts. I watched in awe as he scanned each parcel for a name....forming piles for each recipient...keeping a running total....prepared to balk at any hint of inequity. After he had subtly shaken every present, he looked at me with great disappointment.
"Is this all the presents?"
"Yep"
"Are we doing a treasure hunt this year?"
(he's referring to my tactic for the larger item)
With minimal truthfulness, I replied, "Oh, honey, I wasn't thinking"
His face lowered. His shoulders sank. He moped out of my room believing his dreams had been dashed. I can't wait until we open presents and I get to stop Ash as she's about to open the gift marked with a cross. I'll have her trade gifts with Luke and hopefully he'll trade his self-centered sorrow for a grateful dance. In a strange way, isn't that what Christmas is about?
