Every Christmas Eve, Santa goes to S#3’s house with pajamas for the children. This year there were seven Believers and three teenagers (veterans of the ritual) lining up for PJs.
These festivities mean bedtimes are a bit later than usual for the Littles but it doesn’t necessarily mean later risings Christmas morning.
At S#2’s house, the two little girls get up at 7 a.m. every morning no matter what, and Christmas morning was no exception. The two were up and bouncing on the dot.
At GS#1’s home the little ones didn’t stir and he couldn’t stand it so he woke them up. GGD#2, who is two, took a liking to a remote controlled car which she had buzzing all over the place.
At GD#1’s home, the first one rose at 3 a.m. She was told she could open her sock and Santa present. She did, then went back to sleep. At 7:30 a.m. the second person bolted out of her room yelling and whooping. She woke up her little brother and flew at her presents. Brother, who is four-and-a-half, is not a morning person, even Christmas morning. He got up, but watched the proceedings for a bit before he got interested.
There are no children at GD#3’s house. There are two dogs. Both obligingly wore holiday outfits but the younger dog misread the festive spirit and kept chewing the wrapping paper off the presents under the tree.
GD#1’s children didn’t mind when Clyde (the elf on the shelf who reports their behaviour to Santa all December) was put back in his box Christmas Eve. They were probably glad to get rid of him. However, their five-year-old cousin had become attached to his elfie and wanted to keep him out.
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As I write this, there is still no snow in town, but I haven’t spoken to anyone who feels badly about it.
Diana French is a freelance columnist for the Tribune. She is a former Tribune editor, retired teacher, historian, and book author.
