Tikkabik

It's not even Thanksgiving but James, Emme and Robert can all smell Christmas in the air. I wonder what gives it away? Is it the incessant holiday advertising on TV? The red bow-laden balsam wreaths that grace the fronts of stores? Or the depressed glower of their father as he contemplates suicide?

They're making their lists and checking them twice. The other night Emme was positively obsessing about printing out her list, which she's written on the Mac (of course), to the point where she was crying when I told her not to, at least not yet. It took me about 15 minutes to talk her in off the ledge by explaining to her (several times) that there was no need to print it out yet, as her mother and I had no intention of buying Christmas gifts yet, and we already had a general idea what she wanted.

James is setting his sights high this year.

He sat next to me on the sofa last night as I was plugging away with some late work on my PowerBook G4.

"Daddy, I've decided I want my own computer," he told me. He's tired of sharing with his brother and sister, since they each have their own computers and they tend to hog them.

"I want a yaptop," he said. At six, he's still having trouble making hard "L" and "R" sounds.

"OK," said I. "But I don't really think we can afford to get you a laptop this year."

"I'll ask Santa to bring me a yaptop then," he said, decisively.

"I'm not sure, honey, but I don't think Santa's elves make laptops," said I.

"Yes, they do," he said with firm resolution.

Ah, Christmas. That time of year when the young and innocent have an unwavering faith in magic.