There were two blonds who went deep into the woods searching for a Christmas tree.
After hours of subzero temperatures and a few close calls with hungry wolves, one blond turned to the other and said,
“I’m chopping down the next tree I see. I don’t care whether it’s decorated or not!”
The Season of Advent was beginning, and I wanted to inform the children that, according the Bible, Jesus is coming twice, once as the baby in the manger, and then as King.
So I asked the children, “How did Jesus come the first time?”
One child answered, “Down the chimney.”
Here are some signs seen around Christmas time.
Toy Store: “Ho, ho, ho spoken here.”
Outside a church: “The original Christmas Club.”
At a department store: “Big pre-Christmas sale. Come in and mangle with the crowd.”
A Texas jewelery store: “Diamond tiaras — $70,000. Three for $200,000.”
A reducing salon: “24 Shaping Days until Christmas.”
In a stationery store: “For the man who has everything. A calendar to remind him when payments are due.”
Bridal boutique: “Marry Christmas.”
Last year at Christmas time, I dressed up in my Santa suit and after greeting my children, my wife asked the kids if they wanted to take Santa to a relative’s house.
They said yes.
So I got in the minivan and went to the relative’s house. While at their house, my son started misbehaving, so I said in the most bass voice I could muster.
“Son, you better behave or Santa won’t bring you any presents.”
My innocent 5 y/o son turned to my wife and said,
“Mommy Santa’s walking home.”
Sarah and her thirteen-year-old sister had been fighting a lot this year. (This happens when you combine a headstrong two-year-old, who is sure she is always right, with a young adolescent.) Sarah’s parents, trying to take advantage of her newfound interest in Santa Claus, reminded the two-year-old that Santa was watching and doesn’t like it when children fight. This had little impact.
“I’ll just have to tell Santa about your misbehavior,” the mother said as she picked up the phone and dialed. Sarah’s eyes grew big as her mother asked “Mrs. Claus” (really Sarah’s aunt; Santa’s real line was busy) if she could put Santa on the line. Sarah’s mouth dropped open as Mom described to Santa (Sarah’s uncle) how the two-year-old was acting. But, when Mom said that Santa wanted to talk to her, she reluctantly took the phone.
Santa, in a deepened voice, explained to her how there would be no presents Christmas morning to children who fought with their sisters. He would be watching, and he expected things to be better from now on.
Sarah, now even more wide eyed, solemnly nodded to each of Santa’s remarks and silently hung the phone up when he was done. After a long moment, Mom (holding in her chuckles at being so clever) asked, “What did Santa say to you, dear?”
In almost a whisper, Sarah sadly but matter-of-factly stated, “Santa said he won’t be bringing toys to my sister this year.”
After some last-minute Christmas shopping with her grandchildren, my friend was rushing them into the car when four-year-old Jason said, “Grandma, Susie has something in her pocket.” He reached in and pulled out a new red barrette.
Though she was tired, my friend knew it was important for Susie to put the item back where she had found it. They did just that. Later at the grocery store checkout, the clerk asked, “Have you kids been good so Santa will come?”
“I’ve been very good,” replied Jason, “but my sister just robbed a store.”
I figured that at age seven it was inevitable for my son to begin having doubts about Santa Claus. Sure enough, one day he said, “Mom, I know something about Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy.”
Taking a deep breath, I asked him, “What is that?”
He replied, “They’re all nocturnal.”
A 4-year-old boy who was asked to give thanks before the family’s Christmas Eve dinner. The family members bowed their heads in expectation.
He began his prayer, thanking God for all his friends (naming them one by one). Then he thanked God for Mommy, Daddy, brother, sis, Grandma, Grandpa, and all his aunts and uncles.
Then he began to thank God for the food.
He gave thanks for the turkey, the dressing, the fruit salad, the cranberry sauce, the potatoes, the rolls, the butter, the drinks. Then it was on to the desserts, the pies, the cakes, even the Cool Whip.
Then he paused, and everyone waited–and waited–and waited.
Finally his mother told him to go on and thank God for the broccoli (the only item he hadn’t mentioned yet).
After a bit longer silence, the young fellow looked up at his mom and said, “I can’t! But I know I should, so I don’t know what to do!”
“What do you mean, dear?” asked his mother.
“Since it’s Jesus’ birthday, I bet he’s listening closer than usual,” said the boy. “So if I thank God for the broccoli, he’ll know that I’m lying, won’t he?”
Rick, my husband, and I had a hectic holiday schedule encompassing careers, teenagers, shopping, and all the required doings of the season.
Running out of time, I got the stationer to print our signature on our Christmas cards, instead of signing each one.
Soon we started getting cards from friends signed “The Modest Morrisons,”
“The Clever Clarks,” and “The Successful Smiths.”
Then it hit me.
I had mailed out a hundred cards neatly imprinted with “Happy Holidays from the Rich Armstrongs.”
A friend of ours waited until the last minute to send Christmas cards. She knew she had 49 folks on her list. So she rushed into a store and bought a package of 50 cards without really looking at them.
Still in a big hurry, she addressed the 49 and signed them without reading the message inside.
On Christmas Day when things had quieted down somewhat, she happened to come across the one leftover card and finally read the message she had sent to 49 of her friends.
Much to her dismay, it read like this:
This card is just to say
A little gift is on the way.
Suddenly she realized that 49 of her friends were expecting a gift from her.