Today is special for Benjamin. It is the first day to open a door on his advent calendar. Not only does he have the ninety-nine cent one with chocolate shapes, he will enjoy the one I bought with mini puzzles.  For the twenty-four days leading up to Christmas, Benjamin will begin each morning with a surprise that crescendos. 

 

Some might wonder whether Benjamin would cheat. The possibility of peeking much less preemptive snacking would never, ever occur to him. I cannot say the same was true of me when I found out where the stash of gifts was hidden, back when I was eight. I broke the rules, and learned not to. There was no confession, but my mother is smart. She no doubt observed the rewrap. 

 

Benjamin prefers to know what happens next. He also keeps a tight grip on what already transpired. On any afternoon in December I can and will ask him to recount in order the shapes of his chocolate. He will be pleased to keep me abreast of these developments. 

 

I can manage my own celebratory markers. Perching ornaments on the tree that presides in the living room, addressing cards to friends, and changing the wall quilts to reflect the holidays will keep me in a festive mood. 

 

The misdirection involved in such diversions is subtle. Under the pretense of helping to curtail your impatience, advent calendars and stamped envelopes are fun all on their own. While the morning we celebrate the birth of Jesus is marvelous, the events leading up to it are also pregnant with joy. It turns out that it is never too soon to welcome innocence.