One of the looks, of course, are the Christmas lights that decorate the houses sometime after Thanksgiving. I admit, I like the lights, but there are people who add a little more bling to thier yard than I appreciate. The proliferation of huge holiday inflatables is one tradition I don't intend to start in my own yard.
So, when we were driving home one evening, and saw a rather tiny yard with about 20 inflatable santas and more lights than JFK airport, my inner decorator cringed.
Jonah piped up from the back seat, "Mom, isn't it bee-u-ti-ful!" in the unadulterated accent of a four-year-old. Miriam "oohhed" from her perch in the car seat.
It was pretty, and I had dismissed it as overload.
Even yesterday, driving home in the snowstorm that put a damper on our pre-school fundraiser, Jonah declared again, "It's bee-u-ti-ful!"
To the heart of a child, zipping up a coat, the first snow, and a glass of chocolate milk are reasons for celebration.
May my eyes be cleared of the haze of age and adversity, and see this season with the eyes of my children.
A baby, lying in a manger, cold and alone, is always "beu-u-ti-ful!"
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