the Christmas crash

Three months of shopping, planning, searching out sales, wrapping, hiding, and sneaking things into the house. Putting it all out perfectly around the tree, making cookies, hot cocoa, buying new pj’s so they look good in the photos.

The anticipation of seeing there faces when they rush into the room, and see all the things ‘Santa’ has left for them. Hoping that their Christmas dreams come true. In your mind, you’re sure it will be as picturesque as a Norman Rockwell painting. You’re waiting for that moment when they look up at you and say: “this was the BEST Christmas ever!”
Well…

In a little over thirty minutes the perfectly wrapped gifts are ripped open and tossed aside. They are completely lost in the frenzy of Christmas morning. The once perfectly presented room looks like the Tasmanian Devil has taken a spin. Inevitably, the question that has the power to deflate any mother in seconds …
“Is that it? Are there any more presents for me?”

WHAT?

Breath, breath … they are little boys who are caught up in the ‘high’ of Christmas morning. Even though what you’re really thinking is: “You little brats! Do you know how lucky you are? Some children don’t get any toys” … the speech goes on and on, in your head, and usually ends in Africa where the children are starving. Sigh. I will refrain form lectures this year, and just breath.

Who know, maybe this year will be different. This year, they will take turns opening the gifts. Everybody will ooh and ahh, and it will take all day. Here’s to hoping … Merry Christmas!