"And so this [was] Christmas..."

After this Christmas 2011, I'm reminded of how wonderful it is to be a child.  So carefree, so energetic, so fun, so imaginative...and so innocent.  My son is all of those, wound tightly in his small frame.  From his excitement on Christmas Eve to his insistence on waking up and opening presents to his desire to do everything the way we do.

Two experiences demonstrate that perfection:

Alex has a nightly routine before he declares himself "ready to sleep."  It consists of reading a book, reading scriptures, praying, "cleaning the couch" (removing the couch cushions to the hide-a-bed when my mother-in-law was visiting), and then three or four rounds of hugs/kisses/etc.  It's an inviolate routine, where hell raises if you dare break it.  But the evening of 24 Dec 2011 was different...

We had watched The Polar Express before his bedtime.  Stars and wonders were in his eyes, the key message of the movie expressed in his innocent demeanor.  (It was clear to me that he understood, albeit intuitively.)  Once the movie ended, he bathed, brushed his teeth, etc.  But after the reading/praying, he ran quickly to his bed and jumped under the covers, exclaiming:  "No, I can't "na ruki" (Russian for "hold me in your arms"), I need to go to bed.  Santa Claus is coming!"  He didn't ask for a million hugs and kisses as usual...he went right to bed (even though it took him about 45 minutes to fall asleep).

Next experience:

On Friday 23 Dec 2011, Alex and I were at Wal-Mart getting a Rx for my wife, waiting in line next to the laxative section.  A man was asking an associate about the best laxative and Alex saw the Ex-lax chocolate and exclaimed:  "Papa, is that chocolate?  I want chocolate."  I explained to him what it was for and why he didn't really want it.  He responded, loudly:  "Ooooooh!!!"

Fast forward to this morning (25 Dec 2011):  I was opening up some "fancy" chocolate peppermint and Alex asked what it was.  I responded:  "This is some tasty chocolate.  Would you like some?"  He responded, with a surprised/grossed-out expression:  "Papa, that's not tasty; that's for pooping!!"

All I could do was smile, ruffle up his hair, and enjoy the wonderful blessing he is.  (His nearly 3-month old sister adds her own blessing simultaneously:  smiles and baby chunkiness, with an added measure of blow-outs.)