Yesterday I asked the kids if they wanted to write letters to Santa. Vincenzo grabbed a pencil and paper while Rocco dictated his letter to me. Or should I say “letters?”
Seriously, he interpreted “Christmas letters” to mean “Christmas letters.” He added a few numbers, too, made me write some big ones, and also had me write his name backwards because it looked weird written forwards.
Sarcastically literal or not, the letters got sent off just in time and all was in place for Christmas Eve until Vincenzo spontaneously burst into tears on the way home from church today. “Mom! We never put up Christmas lights! What if Santa skips our house? What if—what if he thinks we celebrate Hanukah instead?!”
As soon as we got home, he fixed the problem by making this big Christmas picture that he taped directly in front of the fire place:
I believe it is a picture depicting Vincenzo’s own presence at the birth of baby Jesus, just in case there was any doubt about his religious loyalties.
And doubt there may be because while I know you’re not supposed to take the “Christ” out of “Christmas,” I’m not sure what happens when you take out the “h” and the “t.”
Happy Crismas anyway, from our howse to yurs.