Jolly Old Saint Nicholas

Last night Baba told the boys we had to clean the living room so Saint Nicholas could come fill our shoes for the Feast of St. Nicholas.

"Saint Nicholas can't come and put Christmas presents in our shoes," said Louis laughing. "That's rude."

Somehow I don't think Louis knows what "rude" means. He has a great vocabulary for a just-turned-4-year-old, but he does get words confused. One day he told me, "When Baba was little, he ran in his grandma's house and broke his head open and they had to give him twelve dishes!"

There's a Cars 2 character called "The Professor"; Louis calls him--much to my delight--"The Confessor." The other night the song "Cannonball" came on the CD player. "Baba likes this song," Louis told me. "It is called 'Cottonball.'" Oh, how I wish it were.

This morning the boys got dressed quickly and without any complaints. Then we went downstairs.

The best part of St. Nicholas Day is that expectations are so low. You don't sit in anyone's lap or send a list. You don't stay up late the night before listening for hooves on the roof. You don't even prepare a snack. You just leave your shoes out and see what happens.

We're all about meeting--and maybe slightly exceeding--low gift expectations here.

Look at Michael. What will he reach for first? A Kit-Kat? A stuffed reindeer? A Chinese dragon train car?

Guess again.

After all, it's not every day you get to see a bottle of real lemon juice. He didn't want to let it go.

And, as his Aunt Treasa said today, "If I had gotten a SpongeBob shirt in my shoe, I definitely would have gone for the lemon juice."

Our boys--especially Michael--have been under the weather this week, so St. Nicholas avoided food gifts. But our food fans didn't complain.

And Michael's new SpongeBob shirt came in handy sooner than we had expected.

Considering Kit Kats a breakfast food for an almost-2-year-old with a sensitive stomach? How rude.