Twelve days separate us from Christmas morning. Today we got up, had a quick breakfast (because it was way later than it should have been), dressed in our outdoor finery, and headed to town for the Victorian Christmas celebration. While there we took in story time, snacks, and crafts at the library; met and pet a real live reindeer (Donner, if you ask the elf who was handling him); and walked into downtown Dexter to watch ice carving demonstrations (now really, I don't think chainsaw powered ice carving can actually be considered Victorian). Also there, in the middle of the park, was Saint Nicholas, with whom Calvin has been eagerly awaiting a short visit. He was patient waiting in line and when his turn arrived waltzed right up, without parental chaperone, and was quite at ease when Santa picked him up and placed him on his lap. He wouldn't look at me for a picture - I have no idea what he was looking at - but he was chatty enough with Santa himself; when asked what he wanted for Christmas he answered, without any pause, and just as crystal clear as you please, "an African Wild Dog". Now, do you think that's better or worse than wanting a hippopotamus for Christmas?