In Which Gillian Finds Her Voice, and Allison Clare Weathers a Disappointment

Actually, Gillian has expressed herself quite vociferously for a while now, becoming somewhat famous in her own tiny circle for the ear-splitting shriek she could emit when grievously offended. But just since Thanksgiving, she's started expressing more opinions and articulating more abstract ideas. It's a riot because she's still at that stage where everything comes out in a staccato monotone, and each thing she says is a complete surprise because it's new. So our conversations go something like this, from this morning:

Gillian, holding out her arm to me for examination: Arm! Arm!

Me, noting the red spot on it: Gillian, what happened to your arm?

Gillian: Bite it.

Me: Did you bite your own arm?

Gillian: Yeah.

Me: Why did you bite your own arm?

Gillian: P'cause. Want to.

Or this evening:

Me: Do you want to pick out the noodles for dinner tonight?

Gillian: How-bout . . . crackers?

Me: Gillian, that's not crackers. Those are cinnamon sticks.

Gillian: Yes. Is.

Me: No, it's not. They're cinnamon sticks.

Gillian: Yes. Is. Yes. Is. [Then toddling around the kitchen laughing with delight at her own crazy opinions, or the liberation of being able to express them--] Yes. Iiiiiiissss!

Allison Clare is also at a new stage of development, where she is beginning to understand the traditions and events that surround Christmas. She's learned a little from school, and a little from setting up the Nativity scene we have on our mantel. She understands that an angel came! And said, "Don't be afraid, Mary! You're going to have a baby!" And it's God's birfday! (However, the relationship among all of these facts is a little hazy, and where Jesus fits in is a mystery.) Similarly, she knows that Christmas will come when it gets cold and snows, and that Santa will bring presents for good little girls but maybe not naughty ones.

We didn't realize until this morning that she thought that decorating the tree was the act that would invoke Santa's presence, though this does explain why she was so excited about getting the tree. Thursday, we told her we'd get the tree the next day, and she asked us eagerly on Friday, "Is it tomorrow now?" We decorated the tree last night, and this morning, when she woke up, she rolled over in her blankets and asked with sweet expectation, "Can I go see my presents now?" And thus it fell to me to break the bad news that there were yet 20 days to wait. She rolled back under her blankets and remained there for another 40 minutes, only peeking out periodically to keep us updated: "I'm just really sad because I wanted Santa to come and bring my presents." She's hoping for Jessie and Bullseye dolls. Much easier than last year, when she wanted a baby grand piano.