This year, Brandon and I are expected to act like grownups today, Christmas Day. Not only are we not with any of our parents, we're not with anyone else at all. It's a first for both of us. We were supposed to spend at least part of the day with Amy and her family, but a case of the barfs hit their house yesterday so we're keeping our distance. Under any circumstances, we wouldn't want to share that particular holiday blessing, but especially considering the fact that we'll be getting on a plane the day after tomorrow.

Christmas the last few years has felt a little "eh" as far as joy goes; I spent a lot of time missing my parents when we weren't together, and I felt like Brandon and I were in some strange No Man's Land between a child's pleasure in the holiday and the point where we'd be re-creating that joy for our own kids. I still get a little blue about not spending Christmas Day with my parents, although this year I didn't actually cry about it, which is probably a welcome relief for Brandon. I have to say, having a little baby around to celebrate with brings a lot of the thrill of Christmas back. Elaine of course didn't exactly know what was going on, but she did manage to tear the paper off one gift almost entirely independently (though admittedly she seemed to think the point was to eat the paper). She definitely felt some excitement -- even by her usual standards, she was very animated and talkative and very enthusiastic about exploring all the new stuff laying around. And by the way she crashed when I lay her down for her nap, I could tell she'd expended a lot of energy.

Some friends of ours send out a list of their toddler's favorite things with their holiday card each year. I think it's such a cute way to commemorate the phases of his growth, as well as (I assume) have a record for themselves of those funny little quirks kids develop that sometimes seem to only hang around for a few days before disappearing forever. Elaine was into the toys and books she got as gifts, but if she'd drawn up her own list for Santa before the holiday, it would have gone something like this.

1) A stainless steel Swiss Army watch. Daddy's a jerk about letting me chew on his.
2) Some long, dark arm hair. See reasoning for #1.
3) A few electrical outlets without those vexing plastic covers.
4) An insulin pump. Those things are fascinating, and the tubing is way fun to yank on.
5) Joe's Os (similar to Cheerios). Millions and millions of them.
6) Endless nylon straps and buckles to gnaw on.
7) A filthy cardboard cat scratcher.
8) Some wads of rug lint and cat fur that Mommy will actually let me eat.
9) Some nice long hair, just like Mommy's, to yank and chew on.
10) Dozens and dozens of empty yogurt and salsa containers.
11) Open access to the beyond filthy crack between the baseboard of the cupboards and the 30-year-old linoleum flooring. Mommy is nearly obsessed with replacing all of it, but I think we need more.
12) An extension cord of my very own. With no RULES like Mommy's and Daddy's.
13) A couple more live cats, ideally ones that are quadriplegic so they can't run when I pull and bite on their skin, ears, and tails or when I for some incomprehensible reason grab at the decidedly unsavory opening right beneath their tails.
14) Earrings.
15) Zippers.
16) My own plastic container of diaper wipes.
17) A year-round Christmas tree.
18) My two front teeth.

We didn’t get a photo of Elaine on Santa's lap this year, but she doesn't seem to have held it against us. Next year. I'm thinking our Christmas Days are on the upswing again.