The raucous battery-powered singing of a pair of bobbing carolers, a snowman and a little boy, is the herald of Christmas in our house. It has been since long before the Monkeys.
On the occasion of the first or second Christmas of my now thirteen-year-old nephew, my sister's mother-in-law bought the singing duo from an Avon representative as something to entertain the baby. My sister promptly classified it as a great babysitting toy to live at Auntie's house. It does entertain babies, and my parakeets loved it too. The snowman and boy are soft, their heads bob up and down most charmingly, especially when held in a half-nelson under each arm of a toddler, and they sing, alternating lines of their little song. When I moved out of state, the carolers went with me.
When I had babies, they were a big hit. A favorite Christmas home movie is one St. Nicholas Day morning when Monkey2 was almost nine months old. As I read a book to Monkey1 and repeatedly pull things out of Monkey2's mouth, the final straw is when I take away a little box of maple candy. She starts to howl, I squeeze the trigger of the carolers, they start shouting/singing and bobbing their heads, which immediately silences Monkey2 for about three seconds, after which she is laughing and clapping. The Monkeys find all the baby home movies entertaining, but this one tops the list. It also means that the existence of the carolers is burned into their memory.
As soon as Advent started this year, Monkey2 started asking where the snowman and the little boy were.
"When we get the Christmas tree, and decorate it, they come out," I told her.
Imagine my bafflement when I opened the box of Christmas decorations and the carolers were not there! There was only one place I could imagine them -- on my husband's tool table. Since this is a catch-all pile of tools, toys to be fixed, potentially useful bits and pieces, and assorted items that do not have a home anywhere in particular, I appealed to my husband. He dug the carolers out in minutes, and then we both remembered that one had stopped working during last Christmas.
No matter, at least they were found.
The boy sang and bobbed his head valiantly, while his snowman friend remained silent and motionless, and then he quit too.
It's not the batteries.
My husband examined the wires, triggers and connections. While his degree is not in engineering, most of his college buddies were on that track, and I believe I've heard a story or two about the lot of them re-wiring the dorm elevator to take you to all the wrong floors. (And I don't think this was done during a power outage, but done with everything still live/hot.) So my husband fixed the snowman and diagnosed the little boy, who has an intermittent problem that can be fixed with a part from Radio Shack.
This afternoon Monkey2 is wandering around, contentedly making the raucous carolers sing, and talking to them. I can almost remember the particular note of squawking joy my parakeets would add to this sound of the season.
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