Flotsam
The living room still has a visible high-tide line from the flood of presents last week.
There are all kinds of books: oversized hardbacks with fragile pages for parents to read out loud; small sturdy cardboard ones for baby to turn the pages himself; cloth books suitable for chewing on; books about Christmas and a funny stuffed book shaped like a car with genuine vroom sounds.
There are stuffed animals galore, with and without batteries: classic teddy wearing a knit hat that was too small for baby; orange knit teddy; assorted jungle friends with noiseboxes inside; teal hand puppet octopus; soft horse playrug; hand-knit koala bear, baby seal and platypus; Eric Carle’s very hungry stuffed tomato worm; singing Little Drummer Boy Tigger; Leapfrog musical caterpillar for Very Advanced children.
There are jammies, hoodies and outfits; a wooden racing car; an outdoor swing; a teething ring with Cookie Monster wearing a Santa hat. Amaryllis and a silky scarf for Momma; legos and a knit hat for Daddy.
There are presents on the couch, the coffee table, in the dining room, waiting to go upstairs. They are in the middle of the living room floor where we were playing, and pushed to the edge of the carpet so we could walk. The tissue paper, wrap, gift bags and ribbons have been cleaned up and put away, but there are still dozens of holiday cards up on display, three big stockings and a kitteh-sized one hanging by the fireplace, and half-written thank you notes in a neat stack.
The tree will stay up into the New Year. The presents will slowly make their way up to the nursery and take turns in the downstairs rotation. There may be another package coming, but the flood waters are receding. Until summer, anyway, until his birthday.
