We haven't gotten our tree yet, but we got the house decorated for Christmas today. There is little that will put you in the spirit as much as the way Norah loves Christmas. She was just so excited over everything I pulled out of the storage bin, and when she came down from her nap to see what more I had done, she was just bursting. She had to pore over the four Santa mugs to see what Santa was doing on each one, and she instantly adopted all the little random Christmas stuffed animals that have accumulated as "her Christmas guys." (As opposed to her "regliar guys.") There's Boy Bear and Girl Bear and Christmas Puppy and Christmas Penguin, and she was just bursting when I said she could take her nap with them.
Brian and I were busy in the kitchen at one point when Norah came in carrying one of the many Christmas books we keep stored away during the rest of the year. Scared and a little quiet, she said, "I'm scared this book is going to talk to me."
To my credit, I did not laugh.
On the book's cover is a close-up of (an admittedly creepy, kind of leering) Santa. And it totally freaked her out. She is scared of a lot of things right now--a particular sketch on Sesame Street where the guest star gets a little too animated, the intro music to Iron Chef, slightly intense commercials I fail to fast-forward right away (and we're talking car commercials, not horror movies)--and I definitely don't want her becoming afraid of Santa. So we talked about how he is the nicest, kindest man in the world, and how this particular artist just didn't draw a very good picture of Santa, and then we threw the book away (not a good one anyway) and got out lots of other pictures of Santa.
Tonight when I was putting her to bed she brought it up again. We were reading a different Christmas book, and she looked at the single picture of Santa and said, "He's got a friendly kind of a smile." We agreed that this was a much better picture, and that he had kind eyes, and I told her that Santa would bring her a new Christmas book this year, like he does every year.
"Is he going to come in my room?" she asked, sounding worried.
"Nope. He'll just put the presents under the tree and leave. He won't go anywhere near your room."
"And a bad witch won't come in my room either?"
Oh dear. I am catching a glimpse of the next few years.