They weren’t excited about Santa…nope, not at all. Just look at their faces as they laid their cookies by the fireplace. I will say around 11 pm I went into their bedroom and told them their blatant disregard for the big guy’s insistence on sleeping children was simply NOT SMART! NOT SMART I SAY! They were out within seconds.
I asked them to add letters to the cookies. A bit of a pre-thank you, if you will. It doesn’t hurt to leave warm wishes for a man working the longest night shift in history. Their personality differences couldn’t be more apparent:
Dear Santa, How are you doing? How are the reindeer? Hope you have lots of snow. Love: Sara.
A picture is an obligatory addition to all of her writing. Hmm…where did she get that theme? I love the care, the concern. I can just hear her tiny velvet voice, worried more for Santa’s welfare than for her impending gifts. Spelling? Whatever. No need to ask for help. Close enough. It’s the sentiment that counts.
Dear Santa, I hope you come to our house in Virginia. Love, Kelly
Kelly. Direct. Let’s not beat around the bush. I’m not in Indiana. You had better have gotten the message. I’m in VIRGINIA…and I hope you come HERE. HERE. WHERE I AM. LEAVING ME PRESENTS. Spelling? Perfect every time, even if she begs Mommy to recite every letter. Mommy wishes she’d try best-guess, but Kelly’s not having it. Spelling is a thing of beauty in Kelly’s eyes. Because I needed more evidence she’s my twin?
Santa left a note as well, thanking them for working hard at school and getting along so well as sisters. He might have left a suggestion to be more respectful to Mommy in 2013. Hey, his words, not mine. Santa’s spelling was impeccable. I should have known.