I should have known not to worry.
Who minds waking up to presents?
The stocking was good – “I got my own whisk! I have a tape measure!” – and the presents were, too. She liked her sleeping bag much more than we could have predicted. It was a good day. After all, who doesn’t want to feel warm and snuggled and loved? That’s Christmas, in a nutshell – or in a sleeping bag.
It’s like our Christmas Eve. The stockings are hung (sort of near, not) on the chimney with care. Our child is nestled, all snug in our bed.
Presents are wrapped and under the tree, ready for tomorrow morning, our family Christmas.
Except we forgot to give her any warning that it’s coming. No anticipation, no building to the moment. Nothing.
I’d like to say it’s because we’re trying to downplay the materialism that too often comes with the holiday. That is generally true about our beliefs, but it isn’t specifically true for this moment. We just…forgot to tell her.
But I hope I’m right in thinking, warning or not, finding presents under the tree and in a stocking will be a welcome surprise. And, on a separate note, I do like the reminder that comes with having a small child during this time of the year, the joy and celebration of life and love and family and hope. Sometimes, the best things in life are unasked for and unexpected – and somehow, I know our “Christmas” morning will be just fine. Better than fine, even – I’m sure that, come morning, we’ll make a joyful noise.
She’s a 6:00 – 6:30 girl. On the rare occasion, she’ll sleep past 7:00, but it’s not common. In fact, it’s uncommon.
The past two mornings, she’s woken up (post-6:00 and pre-6:30) and chattered on about various things, including driving to Nene and Poppa’s house. “Do you want to come, Daddy?” she has asked each morning. This summer, the two of us went alone, so it’s a fair question. “Mommy can sit it her seat and you can sit beside me,” she told him. She’s that way, too: things are a certain way, and she likes them to stay that way. When we go to Nene and Poppa’s house, Mommy drives, she thinks – it’s what happened last time. (Besides, she likes her daddy. A lot. A lot a lot. She’d like him to sit by her!)
So, even though we’re not going anywhere for another week and a half, this girl is already jazzed. Santa? Pah. Frosty? OK. Rudolph? She knows we’re going to watch the video sometime.
But just ask her what she’s going to get to try on Christmas. “Gum!” she’ll tell you. That’s our kind of Christmas shopping!
The tree is (partially) decorated, the Advent calendar is up and in use, and we’re reading The Christmas Rose, an Advent calendar of a story. She’s in the season. And for her, it almost always starts between 6:00 and 6:30 in the morning.
(But bedtime was arduous.)