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I have heard that we go through four stages in life. 

This week our local fire department drove down our road with bells ringings, lights flashing, and sirens howling. There was no emergency. Santa was riding along to wish the children merry Christmas. He tossed candy canes as he passed. 

This has happened before. But my memory was too overcrowded with menus and arrival times to think about fire trucks. Benjamin on the other hand was worried. Had he missed it? Was he in the wrong part of the house? Ben's anxiety surfaced and his siblings searched the web for local Santa appearances. It looked complicated. Then my daughter, whose hearing is much better than mine heard the sirens. We raced outside to look, and I posted on Facebook asking if he was indeed coming. 

"He was just at our house ten minutes ago!" came the speedy reply. 

Benjamin was scantily dressed for greeting such a celebrity so three of us poked his feet into shoes and pulled his arms into coat sleeves. He probably felt either like British royalty or an octopus wrangling with a marine biologist. 

"Santa is here!" we shouted. 

Ben tromped out the door and looked enraptured as the trucks came towards him. He waved and smiled his toothy grin. Santa tossed a candy cane at his feet. 

We exhaled. Benjamin's life was complete. 

While I am currently married to someone with a white fluffy beard and hearty laugh, it brings me joy to share the season with someone for whom a candy cane and a mittened wave is enough of a reason to feel glad.