Over the years, I've picked up quite a few children's Christmas books. (I also have some vintage Golden Books not included with the general stash, as they're a little fragile.) I generally let the kids peruse them on their own, but try to make a point to read a few aloud each year.
I like to remind my kids, especially Lily, who has read the Little House books multiple times, how blown away Laura and Mary were to receive tin cups, oranges, and some candy for Christmas. Keeps things in perspective. (At least that's what I like to tell myself.)
This year, I again read aloud The Story of Holly and Ivy, by Rumer Godden. Rumer Godden is an accomplished author, and like Kipling, was one of those British Colonial writers raised in India. But her children's story, set in a snowy little English village, is one of my very favorite Christmas books. I read it first as a child, and sometimes I get a little choked up reading it to my own children.
Like the first line says, it is really a story about wishing: for a home, for family, for a place to belong.
And how could we not own this one, with a Tucker of our own?
Yeah Santa Mouse, where are you? I have my original copy of the first Santa Mouse book somewhere in the garage, but can't find it. Both my husband and I grew up with Santa Mouse (his mom has a vintage, ragged little stuffed mouse, too). Santa Mouse Where Are You? is the sequel, but it's not as cute as the original.
And let's not even get started on this one. I bought it this year, but I'm not convinced it's destined to become "A Christmas Tradition" in our house. More like, "hey mom, remember the year we had that elf that you had to move around every night?" (Confession: This week I woke with a start at 3am with the realization that I hadn't moved the elf. There I went, out of my warm bed, bleary down the dark stairs, to move little "Nicky Jack" to another position. Really?)
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