As I have mentioned before, I am a badly lapsed Catholic so until we sort out a religious philosophy, Christmas seems to be about presents, Santa, and evergreens. Right now I'm okay with that--and The Boy marked his first Christmas as a sentient gift recipient being very okay with that.
But, as we took down our decorations, he got sad. "Christmas is over," he announces somberly whenever we see old Christmas trees waiting for recycling on the curb. He is ecstatic when we pass a house that still has its decorations up--including, most recently, a giant inflated nativity scene:
"Who's that?" The Boy asked, pointing at the manger.
Hmmm. The only begotten son of God, who died to take away the sins of the world? Too much information? I decided to go with, "That's baby Jesus."
"Who's that?" He asked, pointing at Mary.
"That's Jesus's mom." Easy enough.
"And that?" Pointing at Joseph.
"That's Jesus's dad." Basically true. Sort of true. I looked around for lightning bolts or mortified neighbors.
He was quiet for awhile looking at the nativity scene, and I wondered if he was thinking about the Big Question: Who is baby Jesus and why is he so special that he gets his own inflatable form? I hoped he wouldn't ask because I wasn't ready to go there.
"Okay," he said, meaning that he was ready to go. He took a few steps away and turned around to wave goodbye. "Bye Donkey! Bye Sheep!" He said to the heretofore undiscussed animals on either side of the Holy Family and trotted down the street.
Huh. I guess I've got some time.