Don't Stop Believin'

There's just something about Christmas.

One of my themes (for lack of a better word) this year has been that I am still a kid. Even being a senior, 2011 has more than confirmed for me that childhood doesn't end at age eighteen. Which is an encouraging thought. :)

Christmas rolls into our house on Black Friday. As soon as Thanksgiving's over we deck the halls, and the stairwell, and the bathrooms, and the kitchen... and, of course, the tree. My mom's philosophy is that there's always room for one more ornament. One year we counted-- there are over five hundred ornaments on our (fake) Christmas tree. It's so old it leans way to one side now, but I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. All the ornaments tell a story-- a little Red Riding Hood for the year I got chicken pox on Halloween and couldn't actually go trick-or-treating dressed that way, apples bearing the names of everyone in the family (at least until my dog started eating those), and, most recently, a Tinkerbell ornament. If you press a button, fireworks light up behind her. (Yes, I cried.) My dad hoisted me on his shoulders to put the angel on the top, insisting I wasn't too big for it.

We haven't actually watched very many Christmas movies this season, but the other night we watched Annie. That movie IS my childhood. I can't tell you how many times I used to watch that. The other night I sang along. Every word. Still know all the songs. A few nights before we watched A Charlie Brown Christmas. I laughed at all the same parts I've been laughing at since I was eight.

Tonight we will lay out more cookies for Santa than anyone could conceivably eat (he can take some back to Mrs. Claus). We will watch It's a Wonderful Life, as tradition dictates, before going out on the lawn to spread out magical reindeer food. It sparkles on the snow to show the reindeer where to go. No matter how old I get I have to throw a handful onto the roof.

And you know what?

I will go to bed tonight and lie awake listening for jingle bells.

I was talking to my dad the other night about whether or not my brother still believes in Santa Claus. He's twelve, but if he doesn't, he's good at not letting on.

"I hope he still does," I said. "You get old enough and you want to believe it so bad. I mean deep down you know..."

"You know deep down that he's real!"

Precisely, Dad. Precisely. Life's so much more fun when you don't let logic get in the way of your belief in the impossible.

I wish you all the merriest of Christmases! Take the time to listen for the jingle bells.

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I hate to mess up the seriousness of this post, but it's Eight Days a Week...



I'm a Paul fan girl. Merry Christmas to all!