Based on the excitement level in our house, Christmas has to be close. Over the past few days, the boys have gone from counting days until Christmas to, with a little help from dad, calculating minutes and seconds.
Over the weekend the boys let their enthusiasm fuel a new tradition into the advent season. At least for the last week of this advent season, whether or not it carries on remains to be seen. Whether or not I desire it to carry on remains to be seen. But each of the last few nights the boys have gathered Katie and me into the living room to listen to them perform a Christmas song they had been feverishly rehearsing for at least 2 or 3 minutes prior to the big show.
Each night they've waited patiently for Katie and I to take our seats on the couch. Last night I asked if anyone would be serving popcorn and drinks to the audience. They gave me that annoying look they give me when they think I'm trying to insert my comedy routine into their musical. I shut up. They started singing.
Now last night's song wasn't familiar to me and certainly can't be found on any billboard lists of the top Christmas songs of the last few years, but it certainly captured the spirit and the singular line of thought and song in the Cartwright house these past few days.
So grab a seat. Sit back and listen. But whatever you do, don't ask for popcorn and a drink.