I have a ‘Do Touch’ policy when it comes to the tree and presents.
“William, will you put the presents under the tree for Nana?” I ask.
His eyes light up, “Sure” he exclaims, taking the little packages stacked on the shelf of Cindy’s play kitchen and excitedly examining each one before tucking it between branches or below them. At home they are not allowed to touch. And in my childhood that held true too. But of course my little brother and I had them all memorized, holding, touching, and reading each tag when Mom was out.
He is quickly learning new words, all the names on each one as he feels the size, edges, weight and shapes, sure he knows what some of his are.
“Don’t put them on that side William because that’s Molly’s spot,” I instruct, and he gladly obliges.
The next morning when he is off to first grade, Cindy arrives, her eyes delightedly landing on the expanding girth of bright presents.
“Who are they for?” she asks, and Poppy carefully pulls out gift after gift reading the card as her smile widens when she hears her name. She is only three but knows the first letter of her name and the W of her brother’s.
The next time she comes she immediately notices if another has been added. Her brother too.
Ahh, that’s where my zest for the season resides, in the heart of a child, resonating within mine.