Happy Hanukkah
Raimi likes the holidays. He likes the lights on all of the houses, he loves the glowing inflatable snowmen and santas that seem to be big this year. We put up our tree, and just like last year, he immediately tried wearing the garlands of silver beads, and adorned our vacuum cleaner with one strand. He thinks it’s funny to look at his reflection in a silver christmas ball ornament, and he likes standing on mommy’s feet to slow dance to Nat King Cole.
He met Santa the other day. It didn’t go too well. Raimi did not say one word. He didn’t smile. He just kind of stared, stony-faced and silent. We had talked about Santa before they met — I had had to clarify that my dad (“Baboo”) is different from Santa and different from sailing captains and other men with white beards. He smiles now when he sees pictures of Santa, and knows his name. So Raimi likes Santa. Just not in person.
The first night of Hanukkah was magical. Raimi was so excited that we were lighting candles. He kept pointing and yelling, “candles! candles!” We tried to get him to say, “Happy Hanukkah Grandma” over the phone, and he did his best, quietly repeating a series of similar syllables.
He really liked the menorah, but then he kept trying (unsuccessfully) to blow the candles out. At first we kept firmly saying, “No, Raimi. No.” And then I realized that I had to explain that we blow out birthday candles, but let Hanukkah candles burn. He looked at me with an absolutely blank expression, but must have accepted that distinction because he went back to trying to pull ornaments off of the tree.