Advent

Our countdown has begun. Last night, with a light ceremony, I gave the kids a few of their Christmas presents early.  They won't be getting much this year–they didn't last year, either–because every Christmas gift they receive needs to fit in our very limited luggage.

They understand that, and they're gracious: they know they have so much already, and they don't really ask for more. Except for a light saber and a new xylophone with a larger octave range, for Alex and Ella respectively. Those would be awesome.

Anyway I told them that, since Christmas would be small and treeless, I wanted to do something early, and then I passed out the ridiculous collection of advent calendars I've been gathering for the last few months.

We gave each kid a Kinder chocolate calendar, which Ella sized up immediately. She determined precisely which days contain chocolate Santas, or bars, or, best of all, chocolate eggs. She even made a helpful little chart for the boys.

And at Legoland, I'd bought a Lego advent calendar: they shared one last year, and they had a so much fun with it, putting each day's statue together.

But then, the other day at the toy store, I found several of Lego calendars from past years on deep discount, and I thought, you know, why not?  So each child gets his own little Lego treat each day, too.  I gave Ella a Knights-and-Castles themed one, and the boys got city-themed boxes. I personally think Ella's looks like the most fun, but she, for some reason, was jealous, and asked the boys if either wanted to trade.  Alex is almost always happy to oblige his sister and didn't hesitate.

But then, this morning, when the kids rushed to their calendars at just a shade before 7:00, Ella opened looked behind Door Number 1 found a shifty-eyed little Lego robber.  She's not a fan of bad guys. Her own eyes started welling up as she examined the awesome blacksmith minifig in Alex's calendar.  "I wish I had Alex's calendar," she sniffled. And Alex shrugged, and smiled, and handed her his box and toy.  What a kid.

And finally, they also have their little Christmas-themed book-a-day calendar. Ella immediately started translating today's story for Alex, until I had to break up the scene to get the kids ready for school.  (It turns out that Ella's class has the exact same calendar hanging in their classroom, so Ella, at least, will be hearing those stories more than once.

I'm getting something out of this whole advent countdown, too.  Ella made me two exquisite little calendars, one filled with pictures and the other with promises.  Today I received a coupon for one trip to the grocery store, complaint free, she assures me.

Joey slept through all this excitement, waking up just as his brother and sister walked out of the door for school.  But he knew enough to rush right to his calendars as well, and was happily biting the head of a chocolate Santa Claus within three minutes of waking up.

For his toy, he got a cunning little Lego snowman, and he used his best words to try to convince me to let him open every single other door.  I eventually got it through to him that he couldn't, shouldn't, but he did hover in the orbit of the boxes for just about the rest of the day, contenting himself with disassembling and reassembling his little snowman, perfecting the process.

The funnest thing
he owns.

The day's treats weren't over for Alex.  He came home tickled pink: apparently his teacher has put together an Advent calendar for his class, too, and each day one child will get a treat.  Alex had the honor of being first, and received his gift, a little bouncy ball attached to an elastic string (which is, Alex claims, "the funnest thing I own!"), with much pomp and circumstance.

Alex described it thus:

"I put on a star costume and then teacher let me play the xylophone. She played three notes, and then I had to copy her and play the same notes.  And then I got to hold a lantern and walk around the class while everyone sang a song about a Kugeli." ("Kugel" is German for "ball." "Kugeli" must be Swiss German for the same.)

"And then I got to open a little box and get my ball, which is really pretty. Everyone was really jealous and excited, and I was really proud. I'm the luckiest!"

In addition to all that fun, Alex says that his class also got a visit from Samichlaus (or St. Nicholas) today.  "We all sang a song about flowers in the field to him, and he gave us each a chocolate turtle with raisin eyes." I pressed him for more details, but he was too distracted showing me the second treasure that he brought home.

I've decided that Alex's teacher is nothing short of incredible.  She had every child in Alex's class, eighteen four- and five-year-olds, hand sew their very own mouse puppet.  They're simply adorable, with carefully done wonky stitching and big button eyes. She had the kids roll felt into balls, too, to make mouse food, and then they made and decorated little cages for them too.  Alex asked me to write his new pet's name (Zig-Zag) on this side of his box, and it has joined the ranks of the most special of his special things.

The rest of the day was pretty quiet. I shuffled the kids back to school after lunch, and puttered around making dinner while Joey stared at his calendar.  I made some steamed broccoli, and when I set it on the table, the response was varied. Alex immediately pretended he was some tree-devouring robot, while Joey just cheered and commenced eating an all-broccoli dinner while singing a happy little broccoli song to himself, but Ella was so disdainful.  "Um...do I have to eat that?" Well, yes, she did, at least a piece.

I've written about this before: Ella's an embarrassingly picky eater.  And I hate that it's so: just recently Dennis had to turn down a dinner invitation because of our girl's limited palate.  She's particularly distrustful of meat, but, at least, she's been getting better and better about vegetables. Peas, carrots, corn, and, oddly, edamame, are all on the Ella-Approved list.

She screwed up her face with just the right touch of melodrama and started nibbling, making her little broccoli tree last at least ten minutes.  But, and here's where it gets interesting, halfway through, she asked me, "Mom, can we have this again tomorrow?"

Oh, do you like it, now, I asked.

"Well, of course not!"

Curious. So why do you want it again tomorrow?

Because, as it turns out, somewhere along the way this year, Ella's decided that it's much better to face and conquer fears.  Broccoli, the final frontier in vegetables, will be mastered.

Incredible.