Every year, I determine that this (THIS) is the perfect age for Christmas. At 11 months, where Bean just seemed so confused by the sudden presence of a tree in our apartment, cruising over to poke it. Last year, when she could finally understand words, and we got to explain to her how it all worked. Then, there’s this year, and my heart breaks into a thousand mom pieces every day, multiple times a day, just by the cute of it all. I told Dave last night that I want to bottle this up, and savor it in the (I’m guessing more riotous) years to come.
At two, she knows enough about Christmas to know that presents arrive Christmas morning, but at two, she doesn’t really care just yet. When strangers and family ask what she wants for Christmas, she shrugs and says, “I can’t know.” But, at two, she insists on “helping” make all the decorations and cookies (“Mommy, I do great job”), and walks around drunken-toddler singing “Oh Christmas Tree” (at full throttle) throughout the day. On long Muni rides, she passes the time excitedly pointing out all the Christmas trees in foggy San Francisco windows. How she refused to leave the mall without buying a Christmas present for her cousins, not caring at all that I’d already done so.
At two, she still thinks it just might snow on Christmas day in San Francisco, just like in all her books. At two, she is no longer scared of Gingerbread men and lady cookies. At two, she is obsessed with ballet, but OH NO NO NOT WATCH THIS BALLET THE LITTLE MAN COME OUT (aka The Nutcracker). She has delighted in the simple joy of holiday parties, and the apple juice and bunny cookies they promise. At sweet and innocent two, SantaCon was the most spontaneously, miraculously fun day she’s had in her life. (“MOMMY, SO MANY SANTA CLAUSES. MOMMY, THAT SANTA CLAUS SITTING ON THE GROUND!!“)
Do you see why I want to bottle this up? For when she’s 4, and Tazmanian-devil-style opens her gifts then asks where the rest of them are? When she’s 7, rips open presents from Aunts and Grandmas and can’t fake a genuine thank you? For when she’s 9 and cries because we got her the wrong SO TOTALLY WRONG touchscreen device. Oh God, if/when she insists on one of those Elf things? And makes me do the whole nightly diorama thing? I will open my bottle of two and sigh sweetly and weather the preteen tirades of Holiday Injustice.
Did you have a favorite age for Christmas? Does every year just keep getting better?
