Two cute stories from the Christmas weekend. First, as I've written about previously, Elisabeth was terribly skeptical of the whole Santa story this year. She eventually settled on Santa being real, but Rudolph being made up because, really, what kind of reindeer has a nose that lights up...
Well, in order to test her "hypothesis" (her new favorite word thanks to WordGirl, I believe), she devised a system that would prove once and for all whether Santa was real. She would leave a note for Santa along with the cookies. The note would read "For Santa ONLY." That way, if the cookies got eaten, she would know that Santa was real because only Santa could eat the cookies. If the cookies remained in the morning, then Santa didn't exist. She was thrilled to find the cookies eaten. And I only feel a little bit bad for misleading her.
If one of us hadn't eaten the cookies, it seems likely that the cat would have. We left the mug of milk out for Santa and came downstairs to multiple puddles of foul, and I mean FOUL, smelling cat vomit. If you've ever wanted a cat, think again. And if you still want a cat, I have one for you.
Elisabeth has said multiple times over the past two days, "I KNEW he was real. I KNEW it. I'm so happy." It is so sweet and innocent that she has full faith that if she writes something on a note, it will be obeyed. Well, maybe that's not sweet and innocent, maybe it is an expectation that her parents do as she says. Hmm... let's go with sweet and innocent. Makes for a much better story and makes me feel better about my parenting skills. I note this as I watch Elisabeth dance around the room to Penguins of Madagascar periodically mooning the TV. Pardon me while I inquire of the nature of this dance...
OK that is settled. The adjustable waist band button in her pants was bothering her, so the obvious solution was to pull both pants and underwear down as she danced. On to Jesus Rolls.
Charlotte, like her sister before her, loves, and I mean LOVES, the notion of Baby Jesus. Every Christmas song that says Baby Jesus is met with enthusiastic cheering from Charlotte. She carries the Fisher Price Baby Jesus around the house, perching him precariously on towers made of blocks. Heck, she even named a new baby doll of hers "Baby Jesus" and she (yes, she) is the sister of Other Amme.
Now change gears a bit. For Christmas Eve Dinner, I set out to make Parker House Rolls. These little rolls are made by taking a ball of dough and squishing it flat in the middle so that you make a sort of oval with two thicker ends, then you fold it in two and bake. If you're so inclined, you can open them up in the middle before you eat them. Charlotte was so inclined. And immediately upon opening the roll, she decided it looked like a manger. "Baby Jesus in there!" Hoping she had seen an image of Baby Jesus in a Christmas roll that I could sell on Ebay for the big bucks I looked over only to find her looking at a very plain looking roll. "Baby Jesus sleeping in here Mommy." Charlotte then patted the roll gently and then folded it closed. And shoved it in her mouth with a big, theatrical, CHOMP.
Me: You're going to EAT Baby Jesus?
C: NO! Baby Jesus neaking (read: sneaking) away!!! See? See Baby Jesus neak? Chomp.
Me: Oh Baby Jesus, come back!
C: Me getting Baby Jesus. Me putting Baby Jesus back Mommy. Chomp.
Me: You're eating Baby Jesus again?
E: I've got Mary in my roll.
So now, every day for three days, we've had these rolls with dinner. And needless to say our irreverent dinner roll skit has gotten less reverent with each passing day. So now on every Christmas Eve, I will apparently be serving Baby Jesus Rolls. And also probably going straight to hell...
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