One of the many nice things about having kids hanging about at Christmas, is that they act like purifiers against the vapours of jadedness lingering around us adults. Take Tall Girl, for example. I took her out to a pancake house – just her and me – for a celebratory lunch. She ordered something called the “Cinnamon Stackers,” four pancakes “stacked” with cream cheese icing on top. She then criss-crossed four types of syrup back and forth. Finally, she dug in.
“Is that any good?” I asked, worried that she regretted her meal. That’s a whole lot of sugar, I thought. She stopped, looked me in the eye, and with a smile starting to to play at the corner of her mouth, answered:
“This is the most delicious thing ever!”
So with Christmas Eve upon us, I find I don’t have a lot of time for radio stations that want to play Post-Ironic Bobby and the Atheist Trio Re-interpret Christmas marathons. I’d rather hear a choir sing Alleluia.
Before I forget, this is the correct way to eat a gingerbread house.
Around here, we’re too busy to be bored with the holiday. Too busy checking out where Santa is the NORAD website.
Too busy writing letters.
To busy catching up on our baking.
As my tag line reads, I consider myself residually cynical. I find a weird solace smirking along to Leonard Cohen as he sings “Everybody Knows.” I look at my kids and their unbridled joy, and I know it can’t last. One day they’ll know what I do about what’s real, and they’ll smirk, too.
Or maybe they’re the ones that know what’s real, and I’m the one that’s forgotten.
Have a very blessed and Merry Christmas everyone!