Wil came bounding down the stairs yesterday morning, entering the room where I was snuggled with Flicka, drinking coffee, and attempting to store up on enough quiet to last throughout the day. "It's Christmas Eve Eve. It's double eve."
His goal this year, is to drive poor Santa to ruin. He emailed him early in the season, requesting a billion dollar iTunes gift card, and a vending machine filled with Tropicana fruit punch. Since then, he's added such items as a Mariner Moose and a Clapper.
"We're making cinnamon rolls for Santa tomorrow, and hot chocolate. Coffee isn't really a night drink. He gets enough cookies."
With Christmas Eve being on a Sunday, he's got even more masses to attend than his usual four-a-week. The excitement is almost more than he, or we, can bear.
When the kids were little, STM used to tell them what his father had told him when he was all wound up, "Simmer down now." Wil heard it as, "Simmer tuna," and we've since shortened the whole expression to simply, "Tuna."
STM and I were discussing the second place winner of "Survivor," and her self-proclaimed Type A personality. "She needs to learn to be more Type T, tuna," he said.
There will be no tuna-ing for any of us today, as we are swept up into the absolute joy of a pure heart, a believing soul, the epitome of the Christmas spirit. If I could bottle his and share it with each of you, I would.
Just a drop would do ya.
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