If you haven’t come up with a Christmas plan yet, consider this your two-week warning!
My parents never had a plan unless you count, “Santa won’t come until you’re asleep.” And honestly, that was enough.
One of my most memorable Christmases began with my parents sending me and my two sisters to bed at 7 p.m. sharp on Christmas Eve. Looking back, I’m pretty sure it was less about holiday magic and more about needing a break from three sugar-rushed girls.
We lay there in the dark, barely containing our giggles, knowing that tonight was the night. The night before toys, historically made by elves, would somehow show up in our house despite the very obvious lack of a chimney. I’d spent weeks circling toys in the Sears catalog, only to scratch them out with a dramatic NOT THIS ONE every time I discovered something better.
My oldest sister, recently baptized, tucked us under the same thick blanket (a rare act of sibling cooperation—Santa was watching, after all). She read the Christmas story from the Bible, and nine-year-old me asked far too many questions, including why baby Jesus didn’t get any toys. She didn’t appreciate my curiosity.
Around midnight, after a brief “nap”, we quietly snuck into the living room. Under the warm glow of those old-school incandescent lights were boxes wrapped in bright paper, little mysteries that we dared not touch until the parents woke. We didn’t have much that year, money was tight, but right there under the tree was my Cabbage Patch doll. Unwrapped. Sitting patiently beneath the branches like she’d been waiting for me all night.
I must have squealed because I was immediately shushed. But I didn’t care. I scooped up that orange yarn-haired doll and carried her back to bed. I fell asleep with Constance Carrie tucked under my arm, absolutely convinced my life had changed forever.
When the sun rose, we had the kind of Christmas morning you never forget. We inspected every gift, learned exactly how everything worked, and even watched our parents play along, the kid in them surfacing for a few sweet hours.
By noon, in true family tradition, Christmas was over.
Bing Crosby sleeved.
Tree removed.
Garland stored.
But that’s a story for another day!
Is there a Christmas you always come back to year after year? And what memories are you creating for the little ones in your life this season?