As I thought about what to write this week, I decided giving everyone a glimpse into Christmas Day at the Woods’ home would be fun.
Every year I think, “this will be the Christmas that my children let me sleep in a little.”
Every year at the crack of dawn I am awakened to a stinky-breathed little boy whispering directly into my face, “Santa came!” His eyes are lit up as bright as the stars, so I smile and jab my husband in the ribs to wake him too. I’m not going to suffer through this exhausting day alone. We sit with our coffee and soak up the kids’ joy.
After the gifts are opened, my husband and I man our battle stations. He grabs a tiny screwdriver, a bucketful of batteries and sets out to work on toy assembly. I watch him from my own station in the kitchen, grateful that I have someone to do the tasks that I just don’t care to take on.
Sometimes as I see him get as excited as our boys about the newest Nerf gun or Lego set, I just stop and watch them with a smile. But not for long, there’s work to do.
It’s breakfast-feast time and I am at the top of my game. Cinnamon rolls? Boom ⎯ in the oven. Bacon cooked to crispy perfection? On it. I am in the zone and I am loving every minute of it. I know it’s silly, but I am decidedly old-fashioned about certain meals and Christmas morning breakfast is one of them. The serving dishes make their way out of storage. No one leaves the table until the sugar rush hits and we can’t contain the children any longer.
The rest of the day is a whirlwind of …
“No, you can’t have another cookie because you’ve already had six,” and
“It’s broken already? You got it three hours ago!”
We make our way to my family’s house off the Hill where the boys get spoiled to the point of almost rotten and we feast again. After the festivities have worn us out, we drive home and there is little fight from the kids about going to bed.
By 8 p.m., the Christmas carol lyric, “Mom and Dad can hardly wait for school to start again” is on repeat in my head as I pour another glass of wine and count the days until the break is over.
It’s loud and there are always bits that go horribly awry.
Did you know burned pepper bacon fills the house with the equivalent amount of smoke as pepper spray?
Oops! But we keep it jolly and I love every bit of it.