Right now my sweet little boy is experiencing The Polar Express, and he is straight entranced. I love it.
Caleb and Mia have been out of town on father-daughter pilgrimage to Gainsville, FL, since Thursday, and Cheyenne has stayed busy with band and friends and not hanging out with mom; so me and my son have gotten in a lot of quality time with each other. We’ve grocery shopped, cleaned, and played games until we were blue in the face. We’ve attempted to bake, we’ve watched shows, we’ve climbed trees. We’ve read a hundred library books and we’ve fallen asleep in my big cozy bed each night for the past 4 nights. (Because sleeping next to a three-year-old makes me feel so much safer than if he were across the house in his own room.)
I love the magical age that is 3. I love his blond hair and his facial expressions and his animated gestures and the way he dances without giving thought to what he looks like or who’s watching. I love his 90-miles-an-hour pace and the zillion questions he asks during the day.
This Christmas is set to be his first “real” Christmas–you know, the one where he actually “gets” what’s going on. I can think of no less than three-thousand gift ideas for him because–let’s face it–boy have the way cooler toy selection. I can walk into any given toys r us and instantly pick out a buggy load of stuff this kid will play with and love. With Cheyenne and Mia, it always seemed a little more difficult. Sure, girls have cuter clothes; but after they get to be a certain age and want to dress themselves in one ridiculous outfit after the next, the thrill of shopping for tutu skirts and sequined boots is gone. At least Merrick will always want to me participate in the shooting of the robotic dinosaurs on remote-controlled Jeeps with Nerf guns.
And I’m excited that he’s excited–or at least he will be. This is just the best time of year, in my opinion. Close enough to Christmas to have warm-fuzzy holiday feelings, but without the madness and the hectic schedules that come in the later weeks of December. After we eat turkey and clean up the kitchen (which I estimate to take no less than 2 days) it’s off to the land of Christmas trees. Folks there will force-feed us hot chocolate until we die, then give us a giant saw and drop us off in the middle of a far-off field of nothing but pine trees as far as the eye can see. We’ll chop one down, strap down that 9-ft tall bad boy to the top of the Saturn, and head for home, where we will then decorate said tree with colored balls.
Gotta teach these kids right, you know.
Woo-hoo! I love Christmas!
Thanksgiving should be okay too. Even though we’re cooking. I’m buying turkey lunchmeat just incase things don’t work out.