Christmas Dreams

The other day Madeleine, Hank and I were discussing Christmas wish lists and all the toys lately filling their dreams. I explained that Christmas can't bring too many toys because we can't possibly fit thousands of new toys in our house.

"Oh, Mom," Madeleine sighed.

"What?"

"I wish we could get enough toys to stretch all the way to Chicago," Madeleine said wistfully.

"I think we'd need a bigger house," Hank interjected. "But that would be OK."

"But guys, if you had that many toys and that huge of a house we wouldn't have any money!" I reasoned.

A long pause followed this logical nugget. I eased back against my pillow, confident the discussion was over and I'd reasoned them into whittling down their Christmas list.

A small, dreamy smile broke out across Madeleine's face. "Yeah, but at least we'd have a lot of toys."

Littlest Pet Shop Trip

Let's make this simple: Superdad and I have been bribing Madeleine with stickers so that she does a better job focusing when it's time for homework. After earning a certain number of stickers she earned the reward of picking out a small toy. We had to make good on our offer last night since her sticker chart was full and Madeleine was demanding her booty.

She chose a trip to Walmart to pick out a Littlest Pet Shop toy. If you've never seen one before you simply must follow my link. In short, they're homely little cats, dogs, mice and many other types of different animals about an inch or two tall with heads, twice the size of their bodies, that bobble back and forth. They come in various colors: black, white, stripes, brown, et cetera. Madeleine loves, loves, loves these things.

So there we are at Walmart, standing in line with her two newest, homely pets and she's gazing at them affectionately and talking about how this dog also comes in this color and this cat in these other colors and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. I inquired further about the colors, "Do they come in other colors, Madeleine, like pink and purple?"

Immediately I'm shot a withering look. "No, Mom," she explains patiently. "They're realistic."

Oh. My mistake.