This is it. Christmas Eve. As I sit here typing, three wide eyed children and one exhausted baby are upstairs hoping he’ll come. Andy is so busy getting up to check for footprints on the neighbor’s rooftops, he’s ignored our repeated warnings that Santa only comes to houses with sleeping children. So much for my plan of an early night. I still haven’t located all the presents I so skillfully hid. Next year I should make a map. But then I’d have to hide the map and I’d probably forget where I put that too.
I love having all believers. It’s fun. This is probably our last year of all believers. But the truth is, the charade is exhausting. I like the surprise of Christmas morning, but questions like, “Why does Santa have the same wrapping paper?” and “Why do we need to give to the poor? Santa will do it,” leave me fumbling for answers. It will be good to have Andy join the Santa ranks next year.
This afternoon, the kids and I took Paul to the sledding hill. Dads make everything more fun, don’t they? He had Luke peeling down the slope on his tummy, head first within five minutes and begging to go “again and again and again!” How’d he get him to brave the ride? Paul got on his stomach and had Luke lie on top of his back. Luke clamped on tight until the hill leveled off, then he extended his arms like an airplane and “flew” with Paul another 100 feet. He was hooked.
We came home damp and ready for some R&R. We caught the last 30 minutes of “Home Alone.” You know, the part where the bad guys get beat up and bamboozled by an eight year old kid? Great stuff. Tears of laughter. Tears.
We capped off our evening’s Nativity play and Christmas stories with hot cocoa with candy canes and ordered those kids to bed. Now, if they’ll just stay in bed until first light…
As for me, I’m off to go hunt down the last of the presents, eat the reindeer’s treats and go sprinkle a little Christmas magic around the living room. We’ve got a big day tomorrow!