There's really nothing quite like Christmas with little kids. The anticipation of the Christmas list, the lights & decorations, the bottomless pile of Santa threats to wield. It's magical.
Tonight we setup the Christmas train in the living room and it was amazing just sitting there, alternately watching Edie try to destroy the entire thing and watching Finn just sit in rapturous joy with the controller in his hands.
Less than two minutes later, those same hands were holding two piles of holiday poop, as he failed to factor in the extra time that getting over the baby gate in the kitchen would add to his toilet commute. He's not much of a planner when it comes to poop breaks - he'll go running through the kitchen holding his behind at least once a day - and this whole baby gate thing is really throwing a brown wrench into things.
It's worth noting here how much "Daddy, I have poop in my hands!"sounds like "Daddy, I have poop in my pants!" Having heard the latter many times over the last five years, I must admit, this was a first for the former.
But then an even more amazing thing happened. I don't know how - it must just be the magic of the season - but even after scrubbing poop out of the kitchen rug, his underpants and the entire lower half of his body & extremities, neither one of us cried or fell into an involuntary lecture-fit about the importance of listening to your body.
It was a Christmas miracle. We just shared a pretty ridiculous look, a pretty unhinged laugh, and a perfectly lovely bedtime. While Kitty high-fived herself for drawing the long-straw and putting the baby to bed.
Christmas with little kids is awesome.