"PRESENTS!"

In the aftermath of the All-Spew Special, I became the Island of Hurl, with my nephews permitted nowhere near me. Once or twice my sister carried Will The Baby Nephew to my doorway, where he waved to his admiring one-person throng, Pope-like. I was left to lift the massive heft of two pillows and inch my way down the hall to the top of the stairs, where I lay on my stomach so that I could at least hear the kids playing. This is not at all creepy, especially when you take into account the fact that every now and then I attempted to flick fuzz down the stairs, calling weakly, "See? Aunt Beth loves you! Come play!"

Because Will, he even sounds cute. He is one adorable noise-emitting child. I've read about babies gurgling and cooing, but Will is the first one I've ever met who actually does it. He'll just be lying there, and suddenly smile and go "Awwwwwuh!" and it's so cute every woman between the ages of eighteen and forty within a ten-mile radius spontaneously ovulates.

Jim The Small Child Nephew, for his part, is of an age when he tends to act as a conception deterrent. "HathathatHAAAAAAAT," he shrieks before leaving anyplace at anytime, lest he appear in public without a complete ensemble. But he was inspiring at Christmas, because he's starting to grasp the glory of presents-- any present. He doesn't care if it's for him or not; it's a present, and it's going to make somebody happy, and this is the best thing ever.

On Christmas Day, he didn't even want to open his. He just stacked them.

"Presents!" He didn't care about what was inside, preferring the anticipation, the careful wrapping, the boxes for what they could be.

He'll be getting gift cards in about ten years. Still easy to stack.

Not as easy to crawl down a hallway for.