A Christmas Story

We decorated the Christmas tree Friday night, and set up about 50 Santas, tiny nativity scenes, candles, and assorted other holiday-themed decorations around our relatively tiny living room. It's cluttered and Christmasy, and looks especially sweet when the tree lights and candles twinkle in the dark.

I put a final sparkly ornament on the tree, and turned around. M. Peevie was bowed down on her knees in front of the tree in prayer, her head resting on her folded hands. I watched her for a moment, and then inquired, "Um, M. Peevie?"

"Yes, Mommy," she answered, her head still bowed.

"You're not actually worshipping the Christmas tree, are you?" I asked.

"No, of course not," she said. "The tree and the decorations make me think of Jesus being born. That's what I'm praying about."

Ahh. All-righty, then.

When we finished decorating, all the kids had different ideas about what we should do next.

"Let's all go downstairs and play Mario Party of Five!" said A. Peevie. "It would be a fun family thing for us to do together."

"I'm gonna go over and play at T-Dawg's house," said the teenager, anxious as always to zoom out the door.

"I know, I know!" said M. Peevie. "Let's sit around the tree and read verses about the Christmas story from the Bible!"

I thought it was a great idea, but everyone else just looked at her, wondering what planet she was from; and then they each reiterated their own preference. "I'm outta here," said C. Peevie, heading for the door.

"It would be more fun to play Mario Party," said A. Peevie, heading to the basement.

"FINE," M. Peevie said peevishly, "If you DON'T want to WORSHIP the LORD!"

That's my girl. If you can't teach 'em, shame 'em.