Fortunately there was plenty of action to convey, mostly at my expense over the holidays. Here are a couple
My daughter Quinn learned about Santa. Rather she learned to say 'Santa'. She's in a very object focused point in her life. She calls things out purely by name to remind us that we have functioning ears. It's a constant inventory of the world around her- if theres a question about what to call the blanket I'm holding she will call out 'BLANKET!'. If I'm on the couch with the iPad, she will grab it and try to smash it into my face yelling 'IPAD' and so on. All day.
When Santa finally hit her radar in the form of several Christmas decorations around the house it made for a lot of confusion. You see my dogs name is Sasha. Quinn had already filed her name into the top 10 identifiers we enjoyed hearing every few minutes. For grown ups the difference is easy to decipher but coming from a 19 month old who pronounces 'water' as 'daughter' you might see how it can get a bit confusing. So, any older white male, beard or not (grey hair being the only common denominator) became 'SANTA!' or 'SASHA'. It depended on mood and on how much time you spend with her to know the difference, not that strangers cared.
Miller is able to carry on long, mostly- articulate conversations unlike Quinn but they inevitably turn to questions. And more questions. At home, I'm all for explaining the difference between a T- Rex and a Triceratops or why 'four more minutes Daddy' doesn't mean wilding out for an hour or why Mommy doesn't have a penis- but this becomes a double edged sword when in public.
The week before Christmas, we all loaded into the car to get our tree. I wasn't sure why we all had to go as I knew who would be toting the beast up the 37 steps to our house. At the entrance to the lot, there was a gal with a crew cut working at a sawhorse station trimming the butt end of the trees before they got wrapped. The best way to describe her was handsome- but definitely female. For safety reasons I imagine, her set up was a safe distance from the rows of tree inventory stacked against those temporary wooden frames built for three weeks of mayhem. Miller was oblivious to the tree section or the quest to find that perfect Balsam Fir for the living room I was trying to sell him. The action was with this woman in the snowmobile onesie and the loud chainsaw.
After losing Miller's attention for the tree hunt two or three or five times- (each time I'd find him too close and tug the back of his hood towards in the direction of the task at hand with no luck- off I went). On the last attempt, his little voice chirped out oh-so- high and piercing 'DADDY- WHAT HE DOING??' 'WHAT HIM DOING DADDY????'
Before he even finished
I went total hunter and gatherer. and, well....fill in the blank.
The tree I found was surprisingly at the far end of the lot, around the corner of most of the other trees- and it was perfect. I mean, really it was one of the best trees we've ever had. it was a perfect triangle, no crooked spine and zero empty spots.
I took it down today and every single needle dropped off if it- EVERY one as I first took the ornaments off and then the lights.
Maybe my New Year's resolution should be to not run from one mess to create another?