This past Christmas was Christopher's first "big boy" Christmas. Sure, he was only 15 months old, but he was big enough to walk around and help people pull the wrapping off of their gifts, old enough to get a massive sugar high from showing his sweet face around the dessert table any time one of his aunties was there, and strong enough to climb into his brand new 0ff-roading red wagon that he received from his Auntie Erin. While his language skills were still very much in development mode, he somehow managed to pick up on the fact that Santa says "ho ho ho." It really was the cutest thing ever. Any time he saw anything that even slightly resembled Santa, Rudolph, Frosty...okay, any Christmas character with a face....he'd point at it with a big smile and say, "Ho ho ho!!!"
During a post-Christmas trip to toys-r-us, I was pleasantly surprised to see that, even WEEKS after Christmas (once all of our personal "ho ho hos" had long been packed away) he still recognized all of the Ho Ho Ho's in the clearance section and was THRILLED to be reunited with his long lost red and green friends.
Since then, "ho ho ho" has been replaced by incessant "mamadadamamadadaBUBBLES!!!!!!" Yes, it is precious. Yes, I will get that sweet little voice on video so we can cherish it forever and (one day in the very distant future) listen to it with nostalgic tears dripping down our faces. And yes, bubbles do have a way about them - a way of turning even the oldest and grumpiest of adults into children again, blowing them into the sunshine and watching the wind carry them up, up, up, up until they finally POP! But honestly, the fact that NOTHING in the world could satisfy him (morning, noon, or night) unless he was blowing bubbles was starting to grate on my nerves.
And then. You won't believe this. One night last week, when Tim was at his parish council meeting and I was sitting on the floor folding laundry, a certain little person says to me, "Ho ho ho?" I just looked at him quizzically, and went back to my business. "Ho ho ho?" "Momma?" Looking up from my laundry again, I see that he's walked across the room, picked up the remote control and is now bringing it back to me. "Ho ho ho?" This process was repeated THREE times, with THREE separate remotes before I finally caught on. Well, kinda. I mean, where did he come up with this? So I started going through the DVDs and found his veggietales Christmas, popped it in (no, excuse me, HE did that) and turned it on.
And now EVERY. DAY. I am the recipient of every remote in the house, with a questioning "ho ho ho?" Until I finally give in and we watch The Toy that Saved Christmas. Again. And Again. In May. During a HEAT WAVE. (A heat wave that is hitting ONE WEEK BEFORE I DELIVER THIS BABY - a point that should not go unnoticed.) When we should be sitting out in the shade blowing bubbles into the breeze.
We'll come full circle, though. I'm sure of it. Come Christmas photo-ops, Christopher will be sitting on Santa's lap. And they'll both be blowing bubbles.