All my gifts are wrapped. Okay, not ALL, but all that are being opened tomorrow. Kittyboy knows tomorrow is Christmas, and that we get to go to c-h-u-r-c-h tomorrow (I actually did spell that at breakfast this morning). I could pat myself on the back that I don't have to spell Christmas and Santa, yet DO spell church, but I can't really take credit - that's him. His devotion and enthusiasm are not really things for which we can take credit. Church has been his thing since he came home from the hospital the Friday before Palm Sunday - we went to a couple night services, planned to keep the newborn home from the crowds by midweek, but by Wednesday had come to realize church was where he was quietest, calmest and happiest. That was just his happy place. Sure, we take him every week, but that can't account for all of it. So yeah, spelling c-h-u-r-c-h made my day.
Tomorrow he will be performing his dual chanter/altarboy duties, singing with Mommy and walking in procession holding Daddy's hand. He gets to open one package (nice short-sleeved dress shirts!!! he tends to overheat in long sleeves) and Santa is giving him a little stuffed Grover who can go to church with him. Grover is so ridiculously cooler than Elmo, it's not even funny, and we finally found a stuffed Grover. I've never watched a full episode of Sesame Street, neither has Kittyboy, but somehow every toddler knows Elmo. I grew up with Grover, reading "The Everything In The Whole Wide World Museum". Kittyboy loves that book too. So now we may stealthily and covertly replace in his affections Elmo, who can't talk right, with Grover, who is cool. Or at least that is the hope.
And this year, the third anniversary of the rush to the hospital, pain, sickness, impending liver damage, "How determined are you to stay pregnant?" ordeal (started the 21st of Dec) passed without my noting it. Yahoo. At 10:30 tomorrow morning, it will have been three years ago that Kittyboy made his way-early entrance into the world, screaming and ticked off. That boy was many things, but even at 28 weeks, "weak" was not one of them. Strong-willed was. Then, he was on a ventilator. This morning he said his first full, complete, correct sentance. "Where dih da Winnie Pooh book go?" as he turned in place looking for one of his early Christmas presents from Puppygirl (yes, we all clutched at our chests and then praised him effusively). He also weighs a little over 20 times what he did at birth.
I have a duck thawing in the fridge. We have, oddly for the end of Advent, no vegetables in the house, and stores are closed, so we're just not eating veggies tomorrow. We've eaten enough, right? I need to brown sausage for my aunt's awesome breakfast casserole, to go in the oven when we get home.
We did early Christmas this morning with Kittyboy's Puppygirl and Aunt Carey, and he has spent the day playing with a wooden tractor bank and four pennies. He can count to four very well now. Daddy, in the guise of Santa, slipped a fifth penny in the bank. We're looking forward to tomorrow's counting. "One, two, fwee, four..." confused look. "One, two, fwee, four..."
A Merry Christmas to all tomorrow, as we celebrate the birth of Our Lord.
And to all a good night!
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