It was our Christmas. And for us it happened twice a year because whoever's birthday it wasn't still got a couple of presents.
a troll doll
a guitar
The rustling of packages being snuck into the house, the sneaking around the closets
a real doll baby
an owl bank
figuring out ways to open the presents without leaving a trace, the desperate wait on the eve of turning older, the early morning rush into the living room or the kitchen to
books
books
books
the pile, the pile, the wonderful wonderful pile of presents, everything we could of wanted or hoped for or wished for and even if it wasn't it was thrilling a day where abundance showered upon us.
a real bra
a tin rolling fish
a microscope
There was no other time during the year this kind and delicious and rich.
*A.A. Milne
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