December 28, 2011 13 Comments
I feel like I should have bits of tinsel in my hair, a broken twinkle light clutched in my fist, powdered sugar on my cheek, eggnog in my hair, and wrapping paper shrapnel all over my body because I survived my first Family Christmas. Holy bejezzus but I think these people might be a little bit crazy.
So after my extra bit of liquored up fun — and some really quick outdoor making out during which clothes stayed on because 42F only feels mild until your willy’s hanging out — I slept like a Christmas snow angel all through the night. I slept deeply, noisily, and only moved when he moved me, or so I was repeatedly told later.
Then, through the darkness came a tiny voice:
“Can we get up yet?”
Since I don’t hear a lot of tiny voices at home, I was totally awake in an instant and wondering what was happening. Then things clicked and I knew it was one of the nephews, knew why he was asking, and OMG it was 4 AM! Was I like that when I was little? I can remember wanting to get up, bugging my parents, but I don’t remember any such ungodly hour.
“Not yet, Clayton. Go back to sleep.”
Clayton’s 8 and he’s in charge. If there’s blood, something that smells, or a dead thing he wants to see it. He likes his trucks big and loud, his movies full of talking animals, and his food covered in ketchup or cheese. He kicks butt at anything requiring a game controller like he created the damn things. He’s a really smart kid and I like him because he killed a spider for me and didn’t laugh at me about it. Well, I like him for more than that, but that was a great start.
“But Santa’s been here, right?”
Tucker’s 5 and follows his own beat. He’ll play trucks or whatever with Clay, but he’s much happier in his little play kitchen cooking plastic pasta or dressing up in play clothes while singing. Take a walk with him and he’ll insist on bringing along his baby doll Trevor in Trevor’s stroller. If you’re sensing something “coming out” in Tuck’s future, so is everyone else. I love that kid and I love his parents for letting him be whoever it is he’s going to be.
“Maybe not, so go. Back. To sleep.”
That all went on until 6 when I was going to start asking if we could just get up now. When Sophie said “yes” everybody cheered all over the house before two kids shaking like crack addicts looking for a fix vibrated in the hallway. No one was allowed to go downstairs until Papa Bear gave the all clear that Santa had actually been there and really was gone now. Standing close to the boys was all the caffeine any of us needed to get hyped up enough to troop down the stairs once it was safe to proceed.
The only thing that kept what happened next from turning into a frenzy of shredded wrapping paper was the requirement that the boys had to take turns and had to read the tags on every single gift. I’m really quite proud to say Jazz and I are responsible for a new red dump truck for the fleet and Trevor’s little sister Evelyn.
Once the boys finished and any presents requiring freedom from plastic bondage were liberated, it was the adults’ turn to shred paper and squeal at each other. The highlight of my gifties was a little red iPod nano to replace my “ancient” clunky iPod that bops around in my pocket when I’m running the track at the gym. Now I can clip and go! What I love most about it is that Jazz paid attention to a need of mine and acted on it. I was also inundated with gift cards which is like telling me “I love you and want you to have everything so go forth and shop!” (Of course, the shopping isn’t allowed to happen until after my birthday next month, so right now it’s staring at the gift cards and imagining all the shiny I will soon have.)
And yes, there were some naughty presents given and received on a particularly thrilling milk run as well as the ones waiting for us at home when we get there tomorrow