We who grew up Episcopalian but are now ( ) are in the season of Advent, or, if you are a child, the season of Waiting Impatiently for Christmas While Poking At Every Wrapped Gift Under The Tree In Hopes Of Finding Out Information.
I remember it well, this infuriating season for seven year olds. Even the chocolate Advent calendar, one chocolate every day, like the tick tock of a very slow clock.
This morning my son, 7, told my daughter, 5, "We're finally in December's teens!" The way he said it--yelling, basically levitating in the hallway, his face elf-red with excitement -- he could not have more enthusiastic about the passage of time.
He said into my pale, pre-coffee face, "Why are you not pumped, Mom?"
I like the carols, the lead-up to Christmas, not the taking down of the tree and the clean-up and being cast out from the twinkle of the holidays into the bleak wilderness of January and February.
"Don't you want to see the billfold I made for you in shop class!?!" he said, eager to unwrap the thing right now and show me. That I, overcome by my new billfold, would allow him to open one of his presents.
He said, "I want to know right now, if that package over there is a skateboard. When I squeeze it I feel like it has wheels and could possibly be a skateboard! Is it a skateboard? Is it? Mom? Give me, like ten hints. Is it some kind of transportation? Is it edible?" We have 12 more days of this. But who's counting?