Today is Christmas Eve, and it's been filled with all of the usual kind of stuff. Mostly, we've just stayed home and played with the kids. My wife did brave the grocery store -- and I do mean brave -- to get some last minute things, but aside from that it's been a day of play.
We've played on the Wii, I played two abbreviated games of Monopoly with my oldest son, we've read books, we painted a few ceramic Christmas ornaments (my snowman turned out great!), and mostly we've just generally been lazy. It's been a great day.
This evening we held a "Family Home Evening" about the birth of Jesus Christ. We discussed both the New Testament story from Luke 2, and also The Book of Mormon account of Samuel the Lamanite's prophecy of the coming of Jesus and the subsequent fulfillment of the given signs. It was crazy and fun, but the kids just couldn't really focus on anything. Strangely enough, my oldest, whom you would think would be the most mature of the bunch, and is in the know, was the most out of control. He just would not focus on the message, which, of course, keyed up his siblings. All told, though, it was typical of our Christmas Eve experiences ...
My youngest, however, finally understood that tonight is the night that Santa comes. It didn't really sink in until late this evening. After it did, though, he came to me with a really concerned look on his face and said, "I don't want Santa to be burned."
"Burned?!" I asked, somewhat in alarm. "What do you mean by burned?"
"I don't want Santa to be burned!" he repeated.
At that moment, it occurred to me that he had finally connected all the Santa details together. Santa comes down the chimney! Santa delivers toys! Our fireplace has been burning all day long! Santa is going to be burned to a crisp! Clearly, he had connected the dots and was a little upset by it all.
I assured him, "Don't worry, we'll turn off the fire before Santa comes."
"Okay, Daddy!" he said, and bounded off happy.
Exile nastiness with a quickness.
6 hours ago