For the second year running, Baby-Girl has taken it upon herself to decorate our bed. Last year, she noticed several rolls of ribbon I once used with garlands on a front porch we had in Chicago. I’ve yet to find a great spot for them since we moved to the beach, so when Baby-Girl asked if she could use the ribbons to decorate, I encouraged her. A few experiments in various parts of the house ultimately met with her disapproval, but eventually I found her standing on our bed, draping the ribbons over and around the canopy frame.
I know Elf on the Shelf is controversial, and as I mentioned in Who’s Dissing Elf on the Shelf, I can see both sides of this issue: creepy and high-maintenance vs. the entertaining mystery of where he/she will end up next. My people, we’re Elf folk, indoctrinated lo these many years ago by Grandma. (This is the same woman I almost bought a sign for last week that read: “We don’t need Santa. We’ve got Grandma.”) So we’ve embraced our little red friend, christened him Elfred, and given him free reign of our home. Thus, it was interesting to note the other morning, as we rose to get ready for school, this:
On Christmas Carols:
Finally, Baby-Girl is taking piano lessons and decided to learn to play “Go Tell It on the Mountain” for Christmas this year. She’s familiar with the song, having sung it for years. But as we drove home from her piano lesson the day she selected the song, she informed me that the title was incorrect on the copy her teacher gave her. I inquired further, and she explained, “It’s supposed to say ‘Go Telling on the Mountain.’”
That poor, poor girl. I laughed and explained that that sounded like the song was about a bunch of tattletales. I kept picturing a crew of messed-up, mountain-dwelling, von Trapp-like kids, yelling, “I’m telling!” to their friends, running home to tell on each other, and then regrouping to sing about it on cue in a joyful yet soothing melody, the surrounding hills alive with the sound of their music. And of course, when we got home, LCB took it up a notch and provided a short reenactment of the musically inclined tattletales over dinner. As usual, he had his vocal subwoofer cranked, so I can only imagine what the neighbors must have thought.
That poor, poor girl. Good thing it’s almost Christmas.