Good morning, my friends, and Merry Christmas! (I feel I must capitalize that M, even though I know I shouldn’t. Forgive me, writer/grammar nerd friends.) Here we are, for the first time ever, waiting on my brother and his family to arrive and open all the wonderful things Santa brought. You see, traditionally everyone spends the night here on Christmas Eve, so we all roll out of bed and go straight to the gift opening first thing. With a child of any age (I’m including myself here), it’s just a preposterous idea to wait.
I’m old, 34 plus years old, and still it feels so weird to be an adult at Christmastime. It’s surreal to wake up, see the stockings stuffed and the presents piled all around the tree …
and not open them.
Instead, we had mimosas and scones and took photos of the tree.
I started Christmas dinner (standing rib roast with roasted, glazed rutabegas and turnips , sherry-asiago brussels sprouts and cheddar mashed potatoes (I used English cheddar for my brother). Brad’s bringing his new specialty, homemade croissants (for truth, he makes HOMEMADE croissants) and shortbread. That’s a pretty good reason to wait on them, I’d say. But still, it feels like someone else’s Christmas. Like when I was married and patiently going along with someone else’s family’s holiday tradition.
It’s not that it’s bad. It’s just that it’s SO hard to wait (see the lack of adultlike behavior?). I’m always so excited to see everyone open their presents.
Playing Santa is almost one of the most glorious and thrilling things of the year for me. There’s this Target commercial where the parents are all googly and excited about their mutual gift opening – the husband’s all, I can’t wait for you to open this!!, and the wife’s all, I can’t wait to open this!!! and the kids are nearly asleep with boredom. That commercial is me in every way, which is funny because although everyone thinks my anticipation is delightful at Christmastime (at least I THOUGHT they did), my parents despise that commercial. My dad will even grunt and then grumpily snatch for the remote control when it comes on. But on Christmas morning, everyone laughs at me. They playfully open their gifts in ridiculous slow-motion. They smile giant Christmas morning smiles. Truly.
Now that I think about it, though, maybe all of this happiness is just because they’re the ones RECEIVING the gifts. Oh.
I guess I’m old AND slow. But whatever. Merry Christmas, all the same.