Christmas Memories: Christmas Day Is A Little Blurry...

"Preh!  Preh!  Preh!  Preh!"  That means "I can't say, 'Let me open all the presents that I can see right now or I'm going to burst!'  So I'm going to continue to say this same syllable over and over until you address my heartfelt concern and give me something for which the intended purpose is destruction of the outside wrapping in order to find something fun inside to be played with at a later date" for those of you who don't speak Spencenglish.    

His goal everywhere we went was to tear open every present.   If there happened to be a gift sitting to the side because for whatever reason, that person wasn't there or couldn't open it right now, it drove him crazy.  It had to be opened.  No present left behind.

He truly didn't seem to care much about what was inside.

He didn't mind finding toys inside, but he relished tearing, ripping, and opening the boxes, bags, and packages themselves exponentially more.

 It was like a sport to him.

And it wasn't over 'til it was over.

For the most part he remained amazingly focused, but at one point he heard his Nana telling his cousin Audrey that the Calico Critters were "pigs," and he immediately spun around and went over to investigate.  It was so funny.  He sure loves animals.  Pigs included.  But don't worry, he'd gotten a toy pig that morning.

I guess he was just making sure he didn't need to acquire any more livestock for his growing menagerie.  I tried to assure him that we had enough pigs for the time being--plenty of animals and plenty of dust mites.  He's got animals he doesn't even know exist.  No one can ever say I didn't let him have pets.

Our little bit of Christmas Day drama is probably best recounted during another burst of moderate to poor writing when I ought to be resting (or at least doing laundry), but I'll leave you with this apt summary as spoken by my sister Hillary, "You know it's a good Christmas when there's blood involved!"   However, in the midst of it all, we received a very light dusting of sleet and snow that ever so softly accumulated on the boxes and bags I was cramming into the trunk of the car.  I put one load in the car, and when I returned with the next load, I was greeted by the noise every Arkansas child knows and loves, the pitter patter of "wintry mix," and the picturesqe scene of snow-dusted Christmas excess.

A few days before Christmas, I was wrestling with Spencer, and I said, "You're my big big big boy!"  To which he whole-heartedly replied, "BABY!"  And while I know that my job as his mother is to bring him out of that mindset and to the place where he is willing, able, and ready to be an independent, autonomous self, I have to admit that little memory is certainly in the running as my favorite Christmas present.

No comments:

Post a Comment

What do you think?