It seems that Christmas cards have been slow in coming this year (not that I'm complaining, or have any right to given that we haven't even started on ours and very likely won't get to them at all). Up until today, we'd received just three of them, at a rate of about one per week. Then, suddenly, in the mail were four more lovely snail-mail holiday greetings.
Tom brought them downstairs for my inspection, saving the fattest, heaviest one for Abby. By the thickness of the envelope and the sender's history, he'd concluded that the card inside was likely one that played music when opened. He was not disappointed.
This year's selection contained a short clip of Holly Jolly Christmas, which Abby proceeded to play and replay ad nauseam as I began slipping my fingers under the lip of the first of three envelopes remaining. As I pulled each new card from its sheath, I heard the same question pipe up eagerly from my right-hand side: "Does it play music?"
My answer, too, was the same. "No, Abby, just yours. Your card is very special."
I could never determine (and perhaps, she herself could not either) whether she was pleased to hear a reaffirmation of the uniqueness of her own card, or disappointed to find that there was not another like it.
Regardless, she remained quite pleased with her new acquisition and its brief musical offering straight through until dinner time. Let's just hope that this year, she shows enough restraint to keep it in one piece at least until Christmas Day. Cards are meant to be opened (and closed), after all, but they do have their limits...