"And these are for the reindeer!"

the twins tell me.

I had heard the twins coming down the path to the front door before I heard them. They were running, calling out to their father as they came. Their excitement was obvious even before they reached their destination.

Their destination was the front door of this house. I had left small Christmas presents for them and their little sister as well as their young friends across the street.

"You aren't Santa!" they tell me quickly before their father turns into the driveway and comes down the path. His progress has been slowed by the "baby" who is now a toddler. 

"No, I'm not Santa. Is Santa coming?" I ask them. They look quickly at each other and then one of them says very softly,

"Daddy is and Mummy is...but don't tell them."

They hold out the cards they have written for me. The cards reflect their personalities. The writing on one is extraordinarily neat and tidy for a child of her age. The other is more the sort of untidy script you expect from a child that age. 

"And..."they tell me together, "these are for the reindeer. They need something to eat every time. We made them." They hold out some very carefully wrapped home made biscuits. The biscuits have a slightly wonky look.

"Did you make them?" I ask and they nod looking even more pleased I have recognised their efforts. 

Their father gives me a look of sheer exhaustion mixed with pride. I know he has already taken them to spend time at the local library as a way of getting them out of the house on Christmas Eve.  D..., their mother, is more used to dealing with such things but how she has time to help them make biscuits of any sort is beyond me. 

The twins tell me what they are doing on Christmas Day. It will involve less work for their mother this year. S..., their father, is a willing helper but once admitted, "There are things D... does far better than I do."

I do know something though. They are good parents who are involved in the lives of their children, who expect them to say "thank you" and who will go along with the Santa pretence until the youngest child is old enough to stop believing in one sort of Santa and can believe in an even more important version.  

And I can treasure the "thank you" those cards represent.