Santa and cookies -- oh my!

In the category of kids say the darnedest things:

Who I was worried about Santa and all the cookies he eats. Not so much his waistline, mind you, but the -- shall we say, residual effects? -- of all that sugar. So she asked daddy a Very Important Question before hitting slumberland on Christmas Eve.

Who I: "Daddy, what if Santa eats all those cookies and has to poop?"

Daddy: "Um, I think he feeds some to his reindeer, so it shouldn't be a problem."

Who I: "But Daddy, what if he has to poop in our BATHROOM?"

Daddy: Speechless. Finally, "I think Santa has a trap door that he can use if he has to poop while he flies his sleigh."

Who I: "Ewww. But I don't want him to poop in our bathroom. That would be DISGUSTING!"

I'm pleased to report that Christmas has come and gone with no Santa "presents" in the commode, just under the tree as planned. We have survived a church service in which someone -- hint: not me -- decided it was a good idea to give two 4-year-olds a lit candle for the final song. I had visions of having to invoke "Stop, drop and roll" in the church balcony as tendrils of nicely coiffed hair drifted perilously close to the flame. Super Daddy survived potential hypothermia as he assembled Santa's gifts (including the aforementioned eBay toybox, which looks lovely, I might add!) in 20-degree weather in the garage. And I, mama, plan to don my kerchief for a long winter's nap this evening as I prepare for my return tomorrow to the working world after three blissful months as a full-time mom.

But before the hurly burly hits full-force, I'd be remiss not to acknowledge all we've been blessed with. Our riches can't be counted in dollars and cents; two adoptions in 18 months does not a happy bank balance make, and nearly three months with only one income is the nail in that coffin.

Rather, we have Who I, who came home from grandma's tonight with her new camera and announced she was "going to turn on the beautiful Christmas lights and take a picture to remember Christmas."

We have Who III, who might never had had a Christmas with us if not for the hard work of our adoption agency and a lot of divine intervention.

And we have Who II, our daughter who went to hell and back in her first three years, clamoring for my attention in the car on Christmas Eve. Suddenly, sweetly, she proclaimed: "Mommy? I love you."

All may not be calm in our household, but it's certainly bright. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.