A Small Family Oddity

When my daughter was eight, a salesclerk asked what she wanted Santa to bring her for Christmas.

My child was struck speechless.

She didn't know you could ask for something in particular--she just was happy with whatever she received. (We like this attitude, and are glad her brothers are equally uninterested in compiling lists of wants. Minimizing their exposure to television ads helps, I'm sure.)

Stumped by the clerk's novel question, my daughter looked helplessly at me.

I shrugged. "Can you think of something you'd like?"

She nodded, stood up a little straighter, and turned back to the clerk. "Cranberry sauce!" she said.

The boys didn't understand why the clerk laughed, or why Jonathan and I were laughing. They wanted Santa to bring them cranberry sauce, too.

That's why, when Amy asks whether anyone really eats cranberry sauce, I can attest that indeed they do. They get cans of it in their stockings and think I am the most fun and permissive mother in the world because I let them eat it, along with our traditional cinnamon rolls, on Christmas morning. (It used to make me a little queasy to watch them, but now I'm actually starting to like the stuff myself--though not with cinnamon rolls or at breakfast.)

And hey--it's certainly an economical stocking stuffer.