Let us begin...
[Photos taken during our annual Thanksgiving Turkey Trot, look in vain for Jude, he opted out this year, frowny face.]
All I want, at all. Is forty pairs of my own underwear. Forty pairs, no more, no less. Of my own underwear that no one else can use under any circumstances. That's it, that's what I want.
(Mom's note: Peter and Jude do share clothes but have previously drawn the line on underwear. Before the move and the tiny washer in the beach house, this hasn't been a problem, and everybody had their own clean underwear. I now constantly have large stacks of unwashed clothes, which leads to panicked, searching moments in the morning, and horror of horror, shared underwear.)
I want Santa to bring me Polo swag and cold hard cash.
(Our resident non-materialist, obviously.)
(Imagine tears running down his adorable baby-faced cheeks, and agonized gasping breaths as he cries this.)
I don't know what I want!!! I don't know yet!!! I'm still deciding!!! Don't make me decide, I'll just change my mind!!!
I want an MP3 player so I can listen to my own music when I am working, cleaning and running. This house is too loud!
What I want for Christmas is a new bike because my old one rusted all away, and a pony that we can keep in the yard. Do you think I'll get a pony? Can I really have a pony? I mean my own pony that I would own.
Me: Isaac, what do you want for Christmas?
Me: Do you want a present for Christmas?
Isaac: I want for Christmas...a present!
Me: Good deal.