It occurred to me that this is the last year my children will all be home for Christmas, for at least the next 11, possibly 12 years.
I got all weepy for a while, and watched 7 years of grainy Christmas footage before coming to a decision:
In the absence of matching pj’s or other traditional American tokens of familial solidarity this year, we will mark the occasion by permitting Santa to hide the stockings extra thoroughly.
And the jolly old elf did not disappoint.
Which meant Daughter had to buckle down into full-on search mode Christmas morning, as she has only one week before heading back to college.
Son 3 is still searching–even though, through various interrogation tactics, he has determined that:
- it isn’t in or around any furniture, cupboards, or appliances,
- is in the kitchen, and
- requires no bending over to discover.
And also, we asked him, three times in one hour, “Orange you glad there’s no school?”
He’s opened the 40-pound box of oranges four times now, without shifting the top layer enough to notice that only about 20 pounds of oranges actually remain.