I was discussing the upcoming holidays with C in the car today. I was singing the praises of Santa Claus, and how we could send him a little Christmas list, and how he lives at the North Pole and has elves that make toys for him (I have no shame or guilt even when it comes to Christmas lies, none, I love them).... C didn't seem overly excited, more cautious and a little nervous. She said,
"And Mom, he has those claws, too. He has little claws."
I was baffled for a moment until I realized that she has been hearing Santa Claws all these years, which explains her reticence, and the several times she has admitted to being just a little scared of Santa. And rightly so, if he sports a little red cap and suit and black boots and sneaks into your house at night and has...claws. I would be too.
I hastily explained that it was just a last name, and that he didn't have claws ("Just little fingernails?" "Yes just like you and me").
And backing up to the current holiday, I'm all cooked out for the day, especially since I am sharing the kitchen with my enthusiastic 9 and 10 year old sons. We've all lived through the day, and have managed to produce a beautiful pumpkin tart (courtesy of F, the 10 year old), truffles (M, the 9 year old-- the shapes are a bit funky, but how can they not taste good with just chocolate, cream and butter?), and cheesecake with cranberry/cointreau topping, marinated mushrooms and artichoke hearts, and a 20 pound turkey dry brined and awaiting its fate (me).
Much more to be made tomorrow.