The Arrival of Jolly old St. Nicholas

When I lived at home, I always slept in one of the upstairs bedrooms. I always, I think, had my own room since I was the only girl. My brothers, Eric and Zach, slept downstairs in the cold, dark basement. I thought I was the lucky one since my bed was closest to my parents and I was just sure the basement was full of all sorts of monsters and creepy things.

When Christmas Eve came around, I hated going to bed because I just wanted to open presents (gee, how greedy of me!). I'd stay up as late as I could before my eyeballs were burning with tiredness and my body was so weary, I could barely move. Usually, I fell asleep quickly after that and for the most part slept through the night.

Up until 6 or 7 years of age, I truly and honestly believed in Santa Clause. It was a magical idea that made me smile and thank the heavens above that I wasn't Jewish (no offense, I love Hannuka!). Every year, it seemed, Santa's visit became more and more magical. How did he fit through our chimney, I wondered? How could he eat all of those cookies? The questions went on and on. One year, I even sat on a chair right by my window to wait for Santa. I watched the sky for hours until, as I mentioned above, my eyes could no longer stay open. I waited to hear the bells of eight tiny reindeer. Of course, that never came, and then one year my brothers blurted out the secret that, really, our parents were Santa. I won't say I wasn't devastated, but I was certainly crushed but glad that my parents had decided it was important for me to "believe" as long as possible.

One of my favorite memories after finding out the truth about the jolly old man, is how my brother, Zach, would come wake me up (if I wasn't already awake) at 3 or 4 in the morning to come downstairs to see our loot. It was fun because I felt like he knew I'd be excited so he didn't want to leave me out. We'd quietly sneak downstairs, which was hard because our stairs cracked at each step, and turn the corner to see the tree, brightly lit, surrounded by loads of wrapped gifts from "Santa." At first, Zach would check for his presents, give them a shake, and then help me look at mine. I was never able to tell what they were, but with time over the years, I becomes genius at guessing at least which was clothes and which was not.

After about 20 minutes of awwing over our gifts, we'd sit on the couch, turn the TV on and wait. Eventually I'd fall asleep and then somehow ended back up in my bed. When I couldn't sleep any longer, I'd get up and look out my window, just to make sure the sun was up enough to wake up my parents. Then, I'd check the neighbor's across the street to see if their lights were on, just reassuring myself that other families were up so why shouldn't we be up?

The shame in getting up early hit when I walked down the stairs for a second time and had to act completely surprised to see the presents, to show my parents that it truly was the first time. After a little conversation and some prodding on my part, mom would say who could open the first present and we'd be off. Opening presents never took too long since we seemed to rip those packages right open, but it was still part of Christmas.

It's almost time, readers! Are we all ready? Shopping done? Cookies made??

We finished our last bit of shopping last night and are relieved that we are done. The lines are just too long! We're heading to Utah this evening when Ben gets back. We'll be there until Monday, so I'm not sure if I'll get to post, though I will try. If I don't, have a merry Christmas and enjoy time with your family. I love you all.

Oh..ps....if you get my Christmas card a little late, I'm sorry. Also, if you're reading the Christmas card and there are a few "grammatical errors," I'm very sorry...shame on me, the English major. I was in a rush to get them done!!!!