They’ve had their (allergy-friendly fake) tree up since just before Thanksgiving because Mathias was declaring every pine they passed “Christmas tree!” when they moved to their new state. Whether he remembered that phrase and concept from a favorite book or somehow from last year I don’t know, but in Washington, that’s what the pines all are. He said so.

I’m not quite sure what he’ll make of it when theirs comes back down till next year.

We were on FaceTime and their box had just come. With assurances that everything was wrapped (other than the figs stuffed with peaches stuffed with honey from Andy’s I’d wangled in there at the post office on my way back from his farm), Sam opened it up.

Ooh! Bright! Shiny! Colors!

Mathias took each red or gold one out in delight and had to be reminded not to tear them open yet–so he didn’t. But he put them under the tree, he put them in another box, he toddled off with this or that towards his room, he crinkled and wrinkled and made fun sounds and giggled.

And then he decided it was clean up time. So he put them each back in the box.

Then he took them out and played with them some more and stuffed some in a different box again.

Then he put them away back in our box, only now they were overflowing and there was at least one extra whose wrapping paper sure hadn’t come from our house. But you put away your toys, so he was doing that every time he decided it was time to.

The baby needed attention at last and so we signed off.

A little later a picture popped up on our phones: chocolate, butter, sugar. Mathias was helping his mom make cookie batter and that’s as far as she got before she had to confiscate his shirt before what had missed his face got worse.

I so love two year olds!