For me, at least, this week has gone by the way adults like/need the few days before Christmas to go, and that children despise the few days before Christmas to go --- slowly. Not at a snail's pace, mind you, but at a nice, manageable pace that let me breathe normally. I was able to do what had to be done without being frantic. I was able to check and double-check "What Must Needs Be Done" lists, deprived of that it-will-never-happen-now pit-of-the-stomach feeling.
Except for stockings. Stockings are my annual fifth column. They were a tad easier when the children were small, and little toys fit snug down in the heels and toes. Now, though, they are pretty tough.
Stockings, to me, have always been the secret weapons of Christmas. In all the hurry and flurry of getting to and unwrapping what's under the tree, they're sort of forgotten. When someone does remember to get to them, what an opportunity there is for a final hurrah --- a primo elfin gift or two to finish off the day. So, I tend to focus on stockings beyond candy and fruit --- hoping to find small treasures that will top the day off in a special way.
(I'm sure a good deal of that comes from having a father who was a jeweler --- lots of fantastic, sparkly things can fit very nicely into a stocking.)
Another reason I'm such a fan of stockings is that they can come shaped as cowboy boots:
I have a boot-shaped stocking which hangs on my bedroom door each Christmas. It's for decoration, as we each have cross-stitched stockings hanging from the mantle. But, if someone felt compelled to slip something into it, there wouldn't be a fuss made.
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