I'm not sure I'll ever really understand how anyone can sleep in on Christmas Day, what with the anticipation of amazing gifts wrapped in Christmas fabrics but I've spent the last 15 years literally trying to sleep until 8. I've made slow and steady progress; my initial goal was 5AM.
Husband, furthermore, not only sleeps in as late as he can, but he also insists on taking a shower- A SHOWER!- before beginning our festive feeding frenzy. It's almost enough to drive a woman mad.
When I rolled over and glanced at the alarm clock to read 7:40, I was quite proud of myself. Then, I was pouty that the children (one of whom had his head in my armpit and legs draped over Husband) were still sleeping and what the heck?
My parents were able to come for the opening of gifts this year-- and true to form, they rolled up around 7:42 (they had to leave Amherstberg at like, 5am on the 23rd to get here -- quite the commitment). The three of us marveled over what Santa brought the children-- Kiddo #1 had asked for a "marble necklace" which is a necklace that holds a marble in the pendant that can be switched out to match whatever you're wearing. Kiddo #2 had asked the big guy for "Thomas trains. ... And tracks."
Per the polite requests, Santa left out a pretty, pretty necklace for Kiddo #1 (that story is for another blog) and on the (large) living room coffee table, Santa spent upwards of an hour assembling a rather elaborate mini-Sodor for Kiddo #2. In the dark. So the kids wouldn't wake up. And, every few seconds, any of the battery-operated, motion-detecting parts would shout out "Welcome to Brendam Docks!" or "Ding! Ding! Ding! You're a really useful engine!" making Santa grab the offending part, run with it tucked under his shirt-- er red coat, into the kitchen curse-praying the kids wouldn't wake up. Oh Santa!
Once Grandma and Grandpa arrived at 7:42, the three of us began (noisily) making breakfast. After about 15 minutes of passive-aggressive clanging that brought dead relatives back to life in beautiful sugar-skull costumes, I finally gave up and went directly into my bedroom and gently (not so gently) shook Kiddo #2 awake. He rubbed his eyes and said, "Bunny? Why you wake?" I said, "Well, Kiddo #2, Santa came last night."
His sleepy eyes searched quickly for Poochie while his body propelled him onto the floor. He pounded his way to the door of the bedroom while I said, "Kiddo #2, what did Santa bring you?"
Unbeknownst to me, Grandpa (Kiddo #2's best friend) was standing in the hallway looking at him. Kiddo #2 squealed with joy and yelled, "Grandpa, Grandpa! Santa bringed me Grandpa!" and raced into Grandpa's arms.
Cuz if you're not bawling at Christmas, you ain't at my house.
So we all reached for the nearest tissues while Grandpa said, "Hey Kiddo #2. Let's look around and see if Santa left you anything." And that's when Kiddo #2 saw it; a Mini-Sodor is possibly the only present that could possibly drag him from my father.
He ran up to the table and screeched to a halt. He bent right down to look at the tracks, to peer at the various trains, naming them without reading. He walked the entire table stretching up to see in further, and squatting down to check out the different levels of track Santa had created. After about ten minutes of (mostly) silent observation (while I awoke Princess Aurora from her deep slumber) Kiddo #2 looked Grandpa in the eyes and said, "Grandpa, you play with me?"
And the crying started all over again. I mean seriously, it's a wonder there wasn't a flash flood on Sodor that morning for all the touching words Kiddo #2 didn't realize he was saying.
While all the crying and waking was going on, I (in classic Me fashion) was cooking breakfast burritos on High in the kitchen. I wasn't cooking them On High, like in biblical terms. I was cooking them using Max power (aka the only heat level that exists on my stove. Off or Max. Commit to cooking or just have an apple, I say)
Did you know that getting kids up, making old people cry twice and incredulously pouting that Husband is actually, for real, taking a shower on CHRISTMAS DAY!?! can really distract a person from the potatoes she's cooking on the stove? Did you know that a wok gets super hot, super fast?
The next group-cry that occurred happened because the billowing clouds of smoke got in our eyes before I could put the wok out the back door. Charred potatoes make for some naaasty smoke.
Searching for life through the thick smoke, Husband appeared from the bathroom in his towel and said that if I just wanted to have Cherrios and apples for breakfast, I could've just said that instead of burning all the other options first. He's quite the comedian. Kiddo #2 appeared in the kitchen with Belle and Flynn, the two fire engines on Sodor, and told me to hook up their hoses, "I help you Mommy!" Apparently, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
For the rest of the morning, Kiddo #2 played with his Thomas trains. He literally opened nothing else-- anything unwrapped with his name on it was done by Kiddo #1 while he glanced away from the tracks to see what was inside. It's not that he's ungrateful, it's that he couldn't imagine he could possibly get anything else.
And on Boxing day, which is the day after Christmas Day, a whole other Christmas went down...
No comments:
Post a Comment