A Christmas Eve Memory

A little interaction between our kids on Christmas eve reveals how much they've imbibed the Christmas spirit.

Susanna was explaining, "A boy said to me, 'Put that down, little girl!' I told him, 'Don't call me a little girl! I'm bigger than you.'"

"Was he in third grade?" I asked.

"No, he's in first grade," she replied, indignant.

At this point four-year-old Nate piped in with his advice: "Next time you see him, tell him, 'You want a piece of me?!' Then do something to him."

Nice to see all our hard work to instill Christian virtues of kindness and peacemaking is sinking in!

"Me... ummmmm..." Michael began, searching for the right word.

He decided to start over.

"I idea! Us wait Timmas. Open peasants!"

"Great idea, Michael!"

Tongue Twisters

"Nathan, tell mommy the hard word you discovered yesterday!" I encouraged my son.

He responded eagerly. "Diff ceferticack."

"What?" asked Jen, confused.

"Sift derfissticate," he tried again. "Dist fersiffisate."

"He figured out it's hard to say 'Gift certificate,'" I translated diplomatically.

He grew weary of saying it after we had asked him to repeat it about ten times. So we turned to the two and a half year old. "Michael, can you say 'gift certificate?'"

Without batting an eye, he said, clear as a bell, "No." Open-and-shut case.

A minute later, Nathan disputed a slight exaggeration his mom had made. "You're my little littlerist!" she laughed.

I laughed, too. "What did you say?"

"Little littlelerist." 

"Huh?" asked Nate.

I clarified for him: "Mommy's trying to say literalist. Little liratilist." We both laughed. "Wow, that is hard to say!"

"I'm saying it!" Jen insisted. "Little littlerist! See?" After you say it a few times, that starts sounding right. If you don't believe me, try it.

Timmas Tumming!

"Tismas whites! Tismas whites!" I heard a small excited voice call out from behind me as I drove.

Michael has been practicing for an important (if only seasonal) job. "Mo timmas whites!"

"Yes, there are more Christmas lights!" I agreed, as we passed another brightly lit house.

We turned a corner. "Uh-oh, no me see no mo timmas whites anywhewe!" No laxness here: the most conscientious color-commentators don't settle for merely highlighting the place which do have lights.

"Hey! Mo tismas whites!" Whew, situation resolved. We're back to normal. "Us have Tismas whites, Daddy? Us have Tismas whites?"

"Yes, we have Christmas lights." I respond, knowing he will continue to ask until he gets satisfaction.

I think he'll get the job. He'll do it, whether we ask him to or not. But I must say, I am enjoying the Christmas season more regularly and more thoroughly this year. Our children's enthusiasm is infectious. And I wuv dat. 

From the Wonder-What-They-Said Dept.

Michael's been stuffed up with a cold recently. The other morning he told his mom,

"Mommy, mine boogohs talking to me."

Double Trouble

The day after his eye surgery, Nathan looked at me across the room. "Hey! There are two daddies!"

His mom, next to him, asked, "How many mommies do you see?"

He studied her for a minute. "One."

Just then Michael walked--okay, ran--into the room. "Hey! There's two Michaels! That's funny!" He started cracking up.

The next day the surgeon told us this was normal, until the brain was able to integrate the two images into one again. But Nathan enjoyed it while it lasted.

The next morning, he walked into the living room and surveyed his sister, sitting on the couch. "Hey, there's two Susannas, one on top of the other!"

She immediately began pummeling the air. "Hey, get off me! Get off me!" 

A week later, he only sees one of each of us. Though I'm glad his vision's normal, I kind of miss being in two places at once.