Early in the morning...
Merry Ho Ho Ho, everyone!
I was lying in bed this morning around 3:30, completely unable to sleep and began thinking about Christmas pasts. Nah, don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to launch into a queer telling of The Christmas Carol... these memories were primarily of the early morning variety; specifically between the hours of 4am and 5am. You can’t imagine the extent of trouble three small children can get into during the waking hour of Christmas morn.
WAAAAAAAAAAAAY back in the day... back before church crept in and invaded every waking (and some not so waking) hour of our holiday lives (and of course way back before church crept out)... my brothers and I would rise at the first sign of... well, at the first realization that it was Christmas morning. Whoever realized this fact first came to rouse the last two who were still, foolishly, sleeping warmly in their beds.
By no means can I remember specific years or who played the rooster during most of these events, but the basic story line would be near impossible to forget.
Now we did all the normal stuff kids do in order to be sneaky. We knew full well that we weren’t to open any wrapped gifts before Mom and Dad got up and made their coffee, but there were no rules guarding the contents of our stockings. Getting into our Santa loot was quite the quest. First we had to actually get into the living room which involved scaling one of those “keep the children/animals out” fences, a difficult feat given our short stature. Lucky for Scott and me, our big brother, though only three years my senior, was already growing into his destined height of being disturbingly tall (present day he stand at 6’9”) and was capable of pulling our midget butts over the gate. Then we would meander into the room filled with toys and stare up at the next leg of our journey: three full stockings lying in wait at the top of the mantel. Reaching said stockings was difficult even for the future giant but we of course eventually managed, even if it meant pulling down all the mantel decorations in the process.
One year we decided the parents were taking way too long to get up so we tried to break into wrapped gifts and rewrap them. We only got through one or two packages before realizing we’d never get away with this. One year we decided to get the parents up early and have coffee waiting for them. I believe I was in charge of brewing the beverage. I also believe that it was so thick a spoon could stand up right in it. Who knew a (very) little bit of water and the majority of a bag of beans did not a pot of coffee make?!? But my favorite and most vividly remembered year involved a much noisier start to the day.
Picture this, a very sleepy me and a toddling Scott standing, yawning, clad in pajamas, Scott’s arms wrapped securely around his Kanga and green blankee, neither of us anywhere close to being even half awake, staring up at a bouncing Adam who is claiming to have just seen Santa outside wheeling our new bikes up and under the porch. Well, of course this news sprang Scott and me into action. Figuring we could take the shiny new toys for a spin before the ‘rents woke up, we checked out the window to be sure the coast was clear (we didn’t want Santa to see us out of bed... he may have taken our gifts back!) before working together to unlock and pull open the big, heavy front door. SUCCESS! The door was opening and we were mere seconds from our pretty new bikes... but, wait, what the hell??? What’s that awful noise? We had tripped both the indoor and outdoor alarms and they were howling something fierce. Dad flew into the room, they got everything turned off and answered the phone when the security company called to make sure we were okay.
That was the year the ENTIRE neighborhood got up before the sun.
It took many years there after for me to figure out why it was that Santa never tripped the alarms.
Okay, well there are many more tales but that’s enough for now.
Have a wonderful day all! Hugs and loves!
I was lying in bed this morning around 3:30, completely unable to sleep and began thinking about Christmas pasts. Nah, don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to launch into a queer telling of The Christmas Carol... these memories were primarily of the early morning variety; specifically between the hours of 4am and 5am. You can’t imagine the extent of trouble three small children can get into during the waking hour of Christmas morn.
WAAAAAAAAAAAAY back in the day... back before church crept in and invaded every waking (and some not so waking) hour of our holiday lives (and of course way back before church crept out)... my brothers and I would rise at the first sign of... well, at the first realization that it was Christmas morning. Whoever realized this fact first came to rouse the last two who were still, foolishly, sleeping warmly in their beds.
By no means can I remember specific years or who played the rooster during most of these events, but the basic story line would be near impossible to forget.
Now we did all the normal stuff kids do in order to be sneaky. We knew full well that we weren’t to open any wrapped gifts before Mom and Dad got up and made their coffee, but there were no rules guarding the contents of our stockings. Getting into our Santa loot was quite the quest. First we had to actually get into the living room which involved scaling one of those “keep the children/animals out” fences, a difficult feat given our short stature. Lucky for Scott and me, our big brother, though only three years my senior, was already growing into his destined height of being disturbingly tall (present day he stand at 6’9”) and was capable of pulling our midget butts over the gate. Then we would meander into the room filled with toys and stare up at the next leg of our journey: three full stockings lying in wait at the top of the mantel. Reaching said stockings was difficult even for the future giant but we of course eventually managed, even if it meant pulling down all the mantel decorations in the process.
One year we decided the parents were taking way too long to get up so we tried to break into wrapped gifts and rewrap them. We only got through one or two packages before realizing we’d never get away with this. One year we decided to get the parents up early and have coffee waiting for them. I believe I was in charge of brewing the beverage. I also believe that it was so thick a spoon could stand up right in it. Who knew a (very) little bit of water and the majority of a bag of beans did not a pot of coffee make?!? But my favorite and most vividly remembered year involved a much noisier start to the day.
Picture this, a very sleepy me and a toddling Scott standing, yawning, clad in pajamas, Scott’s arms wrapped securely around his Kanga and green blankee, neither of us anywhere close to being even half awake, staring up at a bouncing Adam who is claiming to have just seen Santa outside wheeling our new bikes up and under the porch. Well, of course this news sprang Scott and me into action. Figuring we could take the shiny new toys for a spin before the ‘rents woke up, we checked out the window to be sure the coast was clear (we didn’t want Santa to see us out of bed... he may have taken our gifts back!) before working together to unlock and pull open the big, heavy front door. SUCCESS! The door was opening and we were mere seconds from our pretty new bikes... but, wait, what the hell??? What’s that awful noise? We had tripped both the indoor and outdoor alarms and they were howling something fierce. Dad flew into the room, they got everything turned off and answered the phone when the security company called to make sure we were okay.
That was the year the ENTIRE neighborhood got up before the sun.
It took many years there after for me to figure out why it was that Santa never tripped the alarms.
Okay, well there are many more tales but that’s enough for now.
Have a wonderful day all! Hugs and loves!