Last year, when I asked you want you wanted for Christmas, you pondered the question for a moment, then replied very earnestly: "I want two things: a backpack and an oven mitt."
You later amended this to include a third item, the My Friends Tigger and Pooh Christmas DVD. Thanks, Playhouse Disney.) But all through the holiday season, you stuck to those three items. When anybody -- grandmas, teachers, people at the mall, random waitresses -- asked you what you wanted for Christmas, you had your reply down pat:
"I would like three things: a backpack, an oven mitt, and myfriendstiggerandpoohdvd."
And these people would give us a quizzical look, like, "Have you not told this poor child about real toys?" And we smile, shrug our shoulders, and think - "How sweet. How wonderful. The commercial crush of Christmas has not spoiled our precious little girl."
Fast forward eight months.
We're playing in the basement playroom, cleaning up our toys, when you asked the following: "Mommy, you know what I want for Christmas?
"What, sweetie?" I reply. (Oh, what lovely, thoughtful things would she like this year? A new school bag... a donation to the homeless...)
"A Hannah Montana guitar and a tv for my room."
And scene.
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