Noel, Noel. (Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel.)

We put up the Christmas tree this weekend. I always get a little thrill of excitement when retrieving the boxes of ornaments and decorations from storage, unwrapping the angels and snowflakes and Santas from their tissue paper, plugging in the strands of Christmas lights to make sure none of the bulbs have burned out.

Of course, this year the little thrill was better than usual, because of this:

There are many reasons I love this photo: the old-mannish sweater; the slightly elfin chapeau; the chubby legs sticking out of pants that are decidedly too short ("Capri pants are not a good look on baby boys," my good friend Wendy would say). But most of all I love, love, love that open-mouthed grin. Here, take a closer look, why don't you:

Could he be more charming, I ask? Could he? I think not. He was just so pleased by the whole thing, so enamored with the lights and fascinated by the ornaments. He would have cheerfully spent the entire afternoon examining the giant thing full of colors and textures that had magically appeared in his living room. It even motivated him to work on his scooting. (Although he still hasn't figured out how to go forwards, and thus he spent much of his time accidentally propelling himself away from the tree. Much frustrated grunting resulted.)

Anyhow, as far as Gabe is concerned, the Christmas tree is the best toy ever. And he hasn't even noticed the wrapped packages underneath the tree yet. Never mind that I suspect the wrapping paper will entice him far more than the actual toys contained in the wrapping. As far as Gabe is concerned, Christmas decorations are a huge success!

Wait until we get to the menorah! That involves fire!