It is always the job of the youngest member of a family to distribute gifts from under the tree to the sleepier, snackier members of that family, who are invariably seated on the couch or lying on the floor on Christmas morning. The job is a double-edged sword; you get to decide how and when the joy is doled out (both as givers and recipients of gifts), but you are cursed to know with deep intimacy the arc of the gifting—and when the gifts will run out, most notably for yourself.
So it came to pass, then, that Kina saved for herself a single gift—the last gift of a long, slow Christmas morning—under the boughs of the Christmas tree and burst into incongruous tears.
The job is a blessing and a curse, but she availed herself well of the opportunity, and she relished every gift—no matter who the recipient was. We are very proud of her, and grateful for what we have been able to share this year.
We hope the same for you.
Kina insisted on doing almost nothing at all for today’s Parade, but we eventually convinced her to write her name, and then to cut out the cat that Laurea had drawn, and then to place it on the paper. After that, the decisions to draw a cat bed, a blanket, a steam radiator, three check marks, and the word “Parade” were all her own. The thumbs-up is mine.