Tains
I've heard numerous people bemoan that Christmas this year didn't quite feel like Christmas. I suppose a drowning economy contributed; money stress fuels family stress, and being more conscious about purchasing decisions, while healthy, probably doesn't have the same feel as Christmases past.
I share the sentiment. There was something distinctly non-Christmasy this Christmas. Maybe because I worked Christmas night. Christmas spirit hit me though. Not so much on Christmas morning when the boys were opening presents, or even during a Christmas brunch of homemade eggs Benedict (which Morgan and I did a fabulous job cooking). No, my Christmas spirit was delivered by a rambunctious Donovan, up way past his bed time, on Christmas night.
I got home from work, a rather boring and listless shift, and walked up the stairs to my living room. I heard Morgan and Donovan's voices, and I called up to my son, asking him why he wasn't in bed. He replied:
"No bed Dada, pay wif tains!"
And indeed he was playing with trains. His new space station train set was still assembled next to the Christmas tree where Santa had left it for him the night before, and he rolled the wooden train cars along interconnected tracks winding like tributaries toward glow-in-the-dark space stations. He played by white Christmas tree lights, wearing his new pajamas and sitting in my lap, sharing his Christmas spirit with me for a while. Best gift I got this year.
I share the sentiment. There was something distinctly non-Christmasy this Christmas. Maybe because I worked Christmas night. Christmas spirit hit me though. Not so much on Christmas morning when the boys were opening presents, or even during a Christmas brunch of homemade eggs Benedict (which Morgan and I did a fabulous job cooking). No, my Christmas spirit was delivered by a rambunctious Donovan, up way past his bed time, on Christmas night.
I got home from work, a rather boring and listless shift, and walked up the stairs to my living room. I heard Morgan and Donovan's voices, and I called up to my son, asking him why he wasn't in bed. He replied:
"No bed Dada, pay wif tains!"
And indeed he was playing with trains. His new space station train set was still assembled next to the Christmas tree where Santa had left it for him the night before, and he rolled the wooden train cars along interconnected tracks winding like tributaries toward glow-in-the-dark space stations. He played by white Christmas tree lights, wearing his new pajamas and sitting in my lap, sharing his Christmas spirit with me for a while. Best gift I got this year.