The three of us kids would wake up and we had strict orders that we were not to wake the 'rents. AND we could not leave the second floor of our home. In fact, we had to have at least one body part touching the top step at all times... which, of course, led to many attempts to stretch down the stairs without killing ourselves.
Once mom and dad woke up - way earlier than they had hoped - Dad had to go downstairs first. Alone. To make sure we didn't interrupt Santa, of course. Because, really, who knows if we were the last house on the list or something... he might not be back to the North Pole yet!
So dad went down first. And as I got older, I learned that dad would start the pot of coffee for mom (in the days before coffee pots had automatic start features). And turn on the lights on the tree. And turn on Christmas music. And in general take as long as humanly possible - or at least it seemed like it to us!
THEN - and only then - were we invited to go downstairs. We could look at the tree, but not touch anything under it yet. First, we did the stockings. But we couldn't touch those either. We had to sit patiently while mom got her coffee and dad teased us a little bit more.
Once we were given the go-ahead, we tore into the stockings. At the top was often a puzzle book or stickers or a pen. Further in there would be chocolates and other goodies. One year Santa had found a gourmet chocolate shop near our house in Pennsylvania. All three of us got something chocolate: mine was chocolate-covered potato chips (OMGoodness.... soooooo good), Josh (the youngest) got a giant cupcake-sized peanut butter cup, and Matt - poor Matt - got what should have been a clever gift for him. Honestly, it was 2 things he loved - but it tasted about as you would expect. Matt got a chocolate-covered pickle. Yeah. I think he got something else from the store later that week as a make-up gift. ;)
Anyway - tic-tacs, packets of hot chocolate, Hershey's kisses. Lots of treats in the stocking. And always in the toe - an orange. To this day, I expect to see an orange in my stocking and get confused if it's not there. Funny thing is - I don't really like oranges. I always gave them to my brother or my dad. But I wanted one in my stocking, just the same.
After the stockings were somewhat cleaned up, we had to have breakfast. Again, I think my dad enjoyed making it last forever and seeing us dance around trying to hurry up and get to the tree! Breakfast was always - and still is, for me - popovers. It is not Christmas morning unless we had popovers. And as kids, we had hot chocolate. Now that we're grown with children of our own - coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. And if we're at mom and dad's house - mimosas made with fresh-squeezed Florida OJ and bubbly that Matt would bring over.
Now we can move into the living room, take up our 'spots', and begin to uncover the riches and blessings under the tree. No matter how much or how little we had in the way of material blessings - we had so much love. I honestly never really knew how much of a struggle the early years were - I remember the love and family and friends and fun.
I have random memories of some gifts through the years. A giant panda bear from my aunt. Roller skates. My first bike. The mysterious box of handmade barbie clothes - to this day I have no idea who they were from. The year we moved to a new house just days before Christmas and our church family made sure we had a tree setup - even if nothing else was ready. The year we got TVs with VCRs in them - and the scavenger hunt mom and dad had us play (in our rooms) while they arranged them in the living room. Tickets to my first Broadway show ever - Phantom. My junior year in high school when all our gifts were Disney themed, but we still didn't realize what the "big gift" was - tickets to Disney World. The year many of our Aunts and Uncles and grandparents came to Pennsylvania to have Christmas in our house - we were all squished in, but it was amazing. The VonHoward family singers and our impromptu Christmas Carol Sing around the piano in the living room.
I remember special gifts I've given, too. Mom's first snow globe - given when I was an adult. The joy on her face - priceless. The train set I gave to my dad for under the tree. He had a beautiful real model train in the basement that we had been working on for years - but never a train under the tree. So one year I got a silly little plastic Disney train. And after mom and dad went to bed, I got up and played Santa to surprise dad: I set the train up around the gifts so it was ready to run as soon as we got downstairs. What fun it was to give my daddy a little moment to be the kid.
Even though I can't be with my parents and brothers and sis-in-law and nephews in Florida this year, I'm remembering our past Christmases. And imagining their day today - with two little boys who are 2.5 and 5.
And I'm enjoying new traditions with my new family here in Phoenix. Lunch and dinner with my husband, his daughters, his mom and her fiance, his sister, his Aunt, and anyone else who is in town. I am loved and blessed.
And none of the stuff matters - though it is appreciated. What I treasure the most, year after year, is the time together. The memories that we are making. The love that we share.
Happy Christmas to all my friends and family.
I love you; I thank God for you; and I pray God will bless you in the New Year.
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