Child's eyes tell holiday story

Resslin' Around, by Casey Ressler

A child's eyes tell the whole story about Christmas -- and let you know as a parent when that rite of passage occurs, when Christmas is theirs, not yours, anymore.

The tell-tale holiday look starts just after Thanksgiving, when a month of hyping Santa Claus begins with threats to call the jolly old man when nap time becomes a fight, bed time becomes a battle and getting dressed becomes an all-out war. Fear is frozen in those little eyes when they realize that not only do you have Santa's phone number, but it is already programmed into your cell phone.

Then, when they first see Santa Claus at the mall -- or in our case, Colony Christmas -- the excitement and pure adulation can be seen in their eyes as they realize this is their chance to talk to the legend, and fill him in on what they want for Christmas.

On Christmas Eve, the eyes tell a story of changing emotions, from joy to anticipation.

Late Christmas Eve night, after the traditional party, our 3-year-old daughter gathered a glass of milk, a handful of carrots for the reindeer and several of our homemade gingerbread cookies for Santa. She put them on a tray near the Christmas tree, "because that's where he is going to do his work."

Her eyes were barely open, but she battled her tiredness because she knew she had to leave the goodies. She fought sleep as much as possible, "because I want to see Santa Claus." Finally, her lids drifted shut, no doubt filled with dreams of what was coming.

On Christmas morning, the first glimpse under the tree by a child tell you all you need to know. The first look is amazement -- with all those presents under the Christmas tree, everyone but the person paying the credit card bills for the next 11 months is amazed.

Then, amazement gives way to astonishment -- Santa Claus, yes, Santa Claus, was in our house last night. You can read a child's eyes at that moment and know immediately what they are thinking: "He didn't even make a sound, and I missed my chance to see him downstairs because I fell asleep. And he ate my cookies!"

As the astonishment passes, joy sets in for the rest of the day. There are the occasional fits of pure excitement -- like when opening the Care Bear Castle or a new Strawberry Shortcake toy -- but for the most part, the joy stays with them all day, a true wave of fun.

For parents, it's those looks that make Christmas so special. Those moments are when you realize that for all of your life prior to that day, Christmas didn't mean as much as it does from that point forward. And you never even realized it until your child opened their eyes Christmas morning and asked if Santa had made it to the house.

Finally, late Christmas night, you can't see much in a child's eyes, because all of the day's excitement catches up with them and they crash, sleeping off a day's worth of opening presents, visiting with grandparents and other family and being the center of everything. The peaceful look on a child's face as they finally let go of the day's activities and drift away into dreamland is one to cherish as well.

Then, and only then, does a parent have a minute to themselves on Christmas -- but it's a small sacrifice for the day your child just finished.

Casey Ressler (valleylife@frontiersman.com) is the Valley Life editor. He was asleep 37 seconds after his daughter was on Christmas night.