A Very Squirrelly Christmas

It was a day or two before we left for Christmas in Ohio. There is a chill in the air but no snow on the ground, a hodge-podge of poorly wrapped presents are piled under our tree, and Cass and I are listening to Sufjan Stevens' Christmas tunes. The glittery-glass squirrel ornament we ordered Cass arrived, and I'm looking for the perfect spot to hang it, making up stories in my head about Christmases to come--when Cass will be of walking-talking-memory-forming age. We will tell him the story about how we bought this squirrel ornament, because every day, when Ryan gets up early with Cass, they sit in the window, greeting daylight and watching the morning quietly unfold--until, that is, Cass spots a squirrel. Surprise and glee take turns across his face, while tiny arms spring into action, banging the back of the chair like a battery-powered toy drummer with no instrument.

I’m overwhelmed with a rush of love so intense I think I could actually eat Cass. His busy arms, chubby legs, soft as butter belly, the dimple on his right cheek, his toes that look just like mine. And in that instant, I begin to understand the hoopla of Christmas. I understand why families trek out to rural pastures to cut their own Christmas trees, and moms bake until their hands bleed, and dads sing goofy songs, don santa hats and behave like 14-year-old versions of themselves (see above photo). I even understand why people knock each other over at Thanksgiving Day sales, spending money they don’t have, buying into the ridiculous notion that Play Stations and iPods are the currency of parental love. Because parents have no idea how else to express this all-consuming feeling that is so strong, so big and so deep. They’ll do anything to see their kids happy (again, please reference photo). And I have a feeling it doesn’t always come as easy as spotting squirrels in the front yard. But at least for now, it does.

Inside Edition: Go Behind the Scenes of Baby's First Christmas Photo Shoot

Every year, your mailbox fills up with glossy Shutterfly holiday photo cards from the proud parents of wee ones. You think--"cute kids"--and toss it in the waste can hang it from the mantel. Never do you consider every minute detail that makes the masterpiece, noticing how lovely the red velvet skirt looks fanned out without so much as a single wrinkle (miracle!) or how the skis of all three kids are lined up exactly parallell and equidistant (magic!) on top of the mountain overlooking a magnificent vista.

In honor all of those meticulous parents, who painstakingly arrange the hairs of a cowlick, color-coordinate holiday sweaters and style winter scenes rivaling the J Crew catalogue, I offer you an exclusive behind-the-scenes peek at the utter ridiculousness that goes into creating the facade. Because 7-month-olds do not sit happily, giggling and smiling with abandon, in front of the perfectly proportioned Christmas tree at the exact spot that hides the ugly tree stand, not at all interested in fondling and/or eating the props.

Go ahead, see what it takes.

Why Babies Should Not Play with Expensive Computers

aside from drooling on the keyboard and smudging up the screen i normally only wipe with a very special, surface-specific cloth.