I've made it clear that in my house we believe in Santa. Period. House rule. The boys have always had friends that didn't celebrate Christmas. Rule applies to them too. The friends know there is no dissin' the Santa in my house.

They have both tried the staying up trying to catch us thing. They are ill equipped to catch the Holt Santa. Most of the gifts are wrapped from parent stuff that is out long before. It is only the unwrapped stuff that appears Christmas morning that is from Santa. And stocking of course. No oranges, but if I was up north I would do that.

Laura's house will be our house. Santa exists. Period.

I saw the "Little House" where Almanzo's brother said he didn't believe in Santa and he got nothing. Eff that. Santa exists.

Hec, won't you be surprised if Emmett wakes up on 25 December with super-powers.

He wants the ability to turm into a wolf.

The fewer photos the better.

I speak for all of us when I say, "Pffft!"

Which I also direct toward your DH. Fat calipers? Raq's beauty cannot be measured with such crude and offensive devices!

Laura, I was incensed to hear about your purse theft. I'm afraid my thoughts toward the thief fell somewhat short of What Would Gandhi Do.

Unless Gandhi liked to imagine using a Garden Weasel as a proctology probe.

He has a couch.

This is kinda cool!

Fat calipers?

In his disbelief, Hec is me.

{{{Bitches}}} {{{{{Cash}}}}} You know where to find me if you need anything, lady.

Of course, the DH and I are currently not speaking because he bought some fat calipers and has been measuring his body fat, and he's demanding that I measure mine, and I declined. He is royally pissed off, because it's CRUCIALLY important that he know my body fat percentage RIGHT NOW, and I see no benefit whatsoever in it.

Oh, honey! I think he has indirectly suggested the perfect place for storing the calipers. You know the spot -- right where his head must be inserted, given the ridiculous demands he is making of his gorgeous wife.

And you? GORGEOUS. I looked at your picture of (the also gorgeous) Mal, today, and when I saw you, all my Body Image and Bad Hair demons bit me, at once.

He has a couch.

So, sort of Santa Freud.

It's nicely eccumenical.

"Have you beeen a good liiittle Boy, leipchin? Vat should bring you for Christmas? Tell me, vat do you thiiink of your Mommy, does the nurture you enough? Too much?"

I like it. Hecubus. Has a certain West Baltimore justice. Note to self: However, never really piss off Hecubus. The Santa thing? I wanted to hold onto it for longer than I really believed in it.

I'm still stuck on these fat caliper demands.

He's a diplomat, right? How long have you two been married? Are you the only female he's ever met?

{{{Cashmere}}} Oh, honey, I am so sorry about everything.

I've made it clear that in my house we believe in Santa. Period. House rule. The boys have always had friends that didn't celebrate Christmas. Rule applies to them too. The friends know there is no dissin' the Santa in my house.

This is my parents' house. I believe and I still get prezzies from Santa.

Raq, your DH is being insane.

Hee! Cindy is me in everything today, including the multitude of disbelief about the fat calipers (and the damned demons). Calipers? Jeeze, Raq, Has he met you? Beauty.

Stockings, when we lived in Alaska, always included an orange, either mandarin or navel; a handful of nuts; and Christmas candy. It might also have an apple or a pear, but the orange was a requirement. It wasn't for putting toys in. I can't remember when the little toys started appearing.

I just remembered the other day that stockings often appeared at the end of our beds during the night. We had a wood stove, but no fireplace/mantel thing. Some years, I believe the stockings appeared on the knobs of our bedroom doors.