Saturday, December 24, 2005

Each minute is an hour...

Poor Girlie -- Every few seconds she asks me what we're going to do today, as if my answer will change. What I think she wants to hear me say is: "Why, we're going to get into a time machine and jump forward to tomorrow morning when you get to see what Santa brought you." Instead she's hearing: "You need to put your clean clothes away and help me clean up the family room before our one-year-old nephew comes over tomorrow. Then we'll go to the grocery store and maybe do some baking." She'll comply, of course, because she's never been quite sure if I was kidding or not about having Santa's cell phone number. This day must seem impossibly long to her.

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