The show started with the preschoolers. We have not personally owned or operated a preschooler in four years and had forgotten how teeny tiny they are. They have completely functional and moving parts, as evidenced by their ability to carry out the choreography to the Santa poem, and audio capabilities similar to the sound of baby angels.
And they love to be in the spotlight. They love nothing more than being in front of grownups, singing about Christmas and showing off their new dresses or tie.
(Except the token crier, of course, who is always the first kid in line for cookies to cope with the PTSD of public performance.)
Our neighbor, Mark, was sitting on the aisle, and I was next to him, both of us marveling at how deliciously precious they were. As the kids filed back down the aisle after their time in the light, I asked Mark to grab one for me to take home and put on my mantle.
"They're just so cute!" I whispered, watching their teeny legs cart their teeny bodies down the long center aisle, unaffected by the cooing of their fans.
"I know," Mark said with wonder in his eyes. "And they look so real!"