The magic of Christmas

N on left, me on right

Boo has been making Christmas cards for a few years now. I'd say three, maybe four. She has always enjoyed doing crafts, so it seemed like a good way to channel her energy for the weeks leading up to the holidays. I always had extra store-bought cards for if/when her creativity dried up. I certainly didn't want to be some horrible mom, forcing the poor kid to make card after card, the tears and the glitter mingling.

It's supposed to be a happy memory.

Which is why I only make Nea do one or two cards a year, since she hates crafts.

Anyway. One step in our creative process is cutting up the more useable cards from the previous year. I give you one such repurposed card, surrounded by more innocent efforts.

I wish you could see the glitter in the fartcloud better.

N and I really egged her on, among our peals of laughter. Her comment was "Are you sure this is appropriate?" Great. Outdone in maturity by a seven-year-old. Ouch.

My best effort for what the inside of the card should say was, "Wow, even his farts smell like Christmas!" I think N's was, "The magic of Christmas lies in your farts," but I could be misremembering. I was laughing pretty hard.