Trying to maintain some measure of dignity, I informed my impressionable daughter that no, this was not a card that needed to be displayed in our living room. But, as usual, my undernourished proper side was overwhelmed by my all-too-healthy wicked side and I couldn't resist asking if she thought we should send out a similar card.

"Oh no, Mommy, you can't do that! She's showing her belly button," protested my wise little angel.

Ah, the blessing of celebrating another December in the company of such innocence. There is simply no substitute for kids when sharing the joys of tree-trimming, present wrapping, or better yet unwrapping, and all the other little pieces and parts that makes each Christmas season so special.

I should come clean and admit that as a single adult I would hang a tree-shaped piece of green construction paper and call it good. What a Grinch! Of course, I blamed my meddlesome housecats as my handy excuse. They spent plenty of quality playtime suspended from the curtains, I saw no need to add another climbing structure to the room: especially one with tinsel, lights and other alluring feline delicacies.

One year my decorating resolve weakened and I was rewarded for my effort with months of vacuuming pine needles out of the shag rug and one whopper of a vet bill. Yup, you guessed it. The world's stupidest cat - truly no exaggeration - stripped the tree of a silken thread-wrapped ball, enjoyed her own private holiday feast, and was promptly rushed to the hospital for major abdominal surgery.

Alas, now that I have more kids than cats in my house, I was forced to embrace all manner of yuletide cheer and can honestly say that I am no longer the Scrooge of my youth.

Just recently, I was utterly charmed when my son announced that he had "this whole Santa Claus thing all figured out." In perfectly reasonable seven-year old logic he opined that Santa knew if you'd been bad or good because God passed along that information. He came to this conclusion, he said, by reciting for me the opening prayer read each week at our church, which states "Almighty God, unto whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid..."

Surely no sticks and coal would ever be placed in the stocking of a child so precious. Nope, this year it's more like a heap of Legos for him and oodles of glitter pens and fancy paper for my daughter.

Now if I could just find that phone number for my, um, friend, Victoria: I could finish my shopping!

Laura Douglass writes for The Seven Lakes Times where this column originally appeared.