It's NOT January

"You're Santa. I'm an elf. Get me some wrapping paper," commanded Charlie, a little fuzzy on North Pole hierarchy. He's still mourning the end of the Christmas season.

So we played Santa's Workshop for a while, wrapping bits and bobs from the toybox in napkins and dishclothes and loading them onto a sleigh. "This is Frieda," announced Elf-boy, gesturing to Brown Dog. "Frieda is Santa's dog. Brown Dog is back in Lunenburg. Frieda likes to watch the elves make presents. Good boy, Frieda!"

From there we went to inspect the North Pole on the map. "The North Pole is here," said Charlie, pointing to somewhere in the middle of Manitoba (close enough). To get to Lunenburg, we go here, and here, and here, and here," demonstrating a haphazard route across Canada. "To Lunenburg. Hooray!"

Hooray indeed. Where are my cookies?