"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.
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