This will go down in the annuls (not anals) of history as the best Christmas ever. This is not because I was swimming in presents--I wasn't. It's not even because I gave my wife the gift that made her jaw drop and brought tears to her I eyes--I didn't. It was because I got to live Christmas through my three-year-old daughter.
3:45 am Christmas Morning: I'm jolted awake by the sound of my Wife's voice shouting, "Get out of there. Go back to bed until 7:00!" The culprits? Dinky Jr. and his 8-year-old brother rummaging through the presents. As far as I know they went back to bed.
7:00 am: I'm awakened again. This time it's the sound of little boys whispering, "Can we go in there now?" I got up and tried to rouse Little Girl. As always, she wouldn't have any of it. She's a late sleeper. I pulled out the big guns. "Do you think Santa came?" She was up like a shot and heading toward the living room. Her body was up but her brain was still asleep and I had to steer her to keep her from bumping into the walls. She went into the room, looked around, and went right past her presents to the window. "What are you looking for?" I asked. "I don't see Santa," she said. I pointed to her presents and we explained that Santa had been there after all.
All morning long we took turns opening presents. Even before she had the wrapping off of most of them she would exclaim with joy about the wonderful suprise inside, and then she would say, "What is it?"
All week she walked around saying, "It's a wonderful Christmas!" until New Year's Day when her mantra changed to, "Is it Christmas?"
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