|Our tree. Smells so good.|
We're almost there. The hurried errands, the last minute buys, quick trips to the store for forgotten laundry soap. Then, meals will be eaten, family moments made. Soon it will all be quiet, and calm. Visions of sugar
plums dancing in heads. Or something of that sort. I can't wait.
As a mom of many littles, moments of quiet are few and far between, and it seems I'm constantly trying to force out those moments instead of embracing the noise. But soon... I will embrace. Young or not so young, we all have eager anticipation of noisy family gatherings and Christmas morning madness, of finding out what Santa brought, and seeing little faces light up.
It's a magical age to be young and full of wonder. It can be a little sad when the mystery of the Man in the Red Suit is debunked, an end of innocence, in a way. As George recently turned eight, we're getting close to that, and someone at school told him Santa wasn't real. He brought this up at supper one evening. I quickly whisked him off to another room, away from sibling ears, to have a chat about it. Ok, so now he knows, but don't spoil the fun for other kids who still believe, I told him. It's magical and exciting pretend fun, so play along. He asked if he could tell his cousin. I told him I'd get back to him on that.
Eventually he did tell his cousin, who wasn't in the least bit interested in believing it. at. all. and many arguments ensued. We actually had to "separate" them and not allow them to hang out for a few days. Funny thing is, apparently George really wasn't sold on it either, and has since decided that Santa is in fact real. I know he's still questioning it, but he's just not quite ready to give up that magic. And that's just fine with me. I'll be happy to keep him my little boy for a little while longer.