I feel I should premise my favorite Christmas childhood memory with the statement that I could care a hoot about Christmas morning. I care like, maybe a quarter hoot but all the rest of my hoot is for Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve is what holds all the sparkling, fairy dusted memories for me. Christmas Eve is akin to the sensation of being on a roller coaster at the top of the climb, suspended for what seems like eternity before free falling into the rush and madness of Christmas day.
Actually what do you call that time of Christmas that exists between Christmas Eve and Christmas morning? You know the dark quiet time when Santa's already made his visit, the stockings are bulging with mysterious little objects that poke it out in odd bumpy shapes and there's slick red and white candy canes peeking from the top? When the family is still asleep but it's after midnight and I shouldn't dare open the living room door for a peek because there'll be
"hell to pay" ever since the incident of the whole
"santa just LEFT and went to bed half an hour ago why are you up at 1:30 am????????" The real question is did you actually think I slept? I'm not up, I'm
STILL UP! It's the time between waking and sleeping when nobody was up but me, Christmas tween time! It's no longer Christmas Eve, it's not quite Christmas morning it's the sweet spot right in the middle.
Christmas Eve was the sweetest torture imaginable, I never slept a full night's sleep until I was 21 I believe, it might have even been 22. And even then I was sort of shocked and a little sad that I'd passed some invisible mile marker of life that let me sleep instead of laying in bed bicycle kicking, legs in the air, to try and tire myself out.
I didn't have to walk to school barefoot through 5 miles of snow but I did actually live in a time when us kids did
NOT have televisions, video game systems let alone cd players in our bedrooms. So there was no mindless entertainment, no light on for that matter because that would give away the big secret that I was still awake. So no book reading, just bicycle kicking and listening to fascinating rustles from the living room and Christmas carols on the kitchen radio.
A time or two I dozed and it was like a Christmas miracle, up to 40 minutes at a time could wink away in a flash. 40 minutes is like 40 years on Christmas Eve. I'm not even sure you can call it actual sleep, if it was actual sleep why didn't I sleep for 4 hours, or 8? I think it was a childhood form of meditation, I bet I was doing what them monks do, slowing their heartbeats and if I'd sat outside in the snow I wouldn't have turned into a kid-sicle because of my monk like meditation techniques. Sweet.
Eventually time would pass.....it sure seemed like it wasn't but it must have as now I'm married, living in another country and no one can make me go to bed on Christmas Eve if I don't wannnnnnna....
*chuckles nervously because she's not entirely sure her mama doesn't still have that power*The house would be silent, the occasional creak from a cat prowling around, Christmas carols still playing on the radio. A perfect time to go exploring wouldn't you think?
AHA! WRONG! Rookie mistake, sheesh you do not get out of bed half an hour after Santa's gone to bed, are you asking for another lecture??? Ever heard of REM sleep? Well I hadn't back then but my childish mind did know you have to wait a certain amount of time to make sure the parental units are 100% asleep.
THEN you slip out of bed and start tippy toeing about. It's most likely 3:00 in the morning, I've given plenty of knuckle biting time for every one to be completely asleep but still every creak of the floor is a crack of thunder that booms
"KID OUT OF BED! KID OUT OF BED!"I ease open my door, and immediately damn this hallway. Damn it for being so longish and narrow, why do there have to be so many doors so close together at the end of it? Sure one of them's the living room, right beside my room but why does my parent's room have to be directly across from it? What cruel twist of design inspired this trap?
Worst of all, they shut the living room door, to discourage kids from poking about too soon and cats from playing Tarzan in the Christmas tree
(again) not to mention ripping open presents prematurely.
(the cats not me)Even worse than the forbidding living room door that creaked and groaned and made as much noise as a marching band falling off a cliff was the fact my parents left their bedroom door open. Rats, all they have to do is open an eye and I'm caught.
Plan B if I can't just walk into the living room unaccosted by warning tones hollering
"get back to bed" is to find a flashlight. Luckily I've memorized 90% of the creaky spots on the hall way and kitchen floor. What did you think I was doing all the those days leading up to this moment? Some kids dream of what would be under the tree, I was casing the joint.
The flash light in hand I literally crawled up the hall way, at this point I should say My parents were cool people, a quick holler of back to bed was all I was in for, I just liked adding all the drama for my own Christmas tween time entertainment. What fun would it have been if I just walked straight up to the living room door and opened it? None I tell you, belly crawling up the hall way beneath the level of the bed in my parents room till I had my nose jammed under the crack of the living room door...that was excitement.
We had some pretty good crack at our place, which is a bugger if you're worried about things like heating but for peeking at what Santa left....ohhh it was a perfect crack. A good inch and a half of face pressing space under neath the living room door. Nose freezing because the air was frigid under there, our house was heated by one wood stove which was located waaaaaay out in the kitchen, the further away from the stove the colder it got, shut a door for a couple of hours and it was literally freezing behind it. But I swear it made the coloured lights on the Christmas tree branches twinkle all the more. Well what I could see of the tree, an inch and a half provides a tantalizingly small view of the scene set by Santa. A bit of wrapping paper that looked unfamiliar, a mysterious object shrouded in shadows that hadn't been there when I'd gone to bed. That's it, so I sigh under the door and finally belly crawl backwards to the warmth of my bed to regroup.
3:30 am..........too early to wake my younger brothers up, it was bad enough I was awake they shouldn't have to agonize over each ticking second till the magical hour of 6 am when it was ok to start actually being
*up* and waking the parents up.
(I now realize it was pretty cool of them to get up at 6am, they never growled, just said put the coffee on and within minutes were up, putting the ginormous turkey we raised ourselves in the oven to start baking.) No, I decided, very maturely, let my little brothers sleep in till 4 am. They need the rest, I can pass a half hour by myself......I could pass it a lot better if I could get a decent peek inside the living room.
The crazy thing is I wasn't even thinking of the gifts I was getting, it was just the magic of it all, the whole scene, the tree loaded with ornaments, presents piled high under neath, stockings full, the perfect Christmas card look of it all before 4 kids, an unnamed number of cats and 2 adults wreaked Christmas morning havoc on the place.
Then a thought occurred this particular Christmas....a beautiful shiny thought like a luscious fruit on the forbidden tree bloomed in my mind. Logic said if I couldn't see in to the living room through the door what other way could I? There was the living room window I suppose.....Now I was in state of secret Christmas tween time glee, flashlight in hand I tippy toed my way around the mind field of squeaks to the kitchen, jammed my feet in to some one's rubber work boots which were only about 7 sizes too big for me.
You know some times my husband jokes that it doesn't seem like I come from Canada because I don't know how to dress for the cold. Perhaps he's right about that as I headed outside, 3-ish in the morning on Christmas, feet stuffed into rubber boots, no coat, no mitts, no hat or scarf, just my pajamas and a flashlight. I was brilliant, not thinking about hypothermia, not thinking about the fact no one in their right childish mind leaves the house in the middle of a Canadian winter to tramp through the snow around to the back of the house to peer inside the window at the Christmas scene. Well I never claimed to be of right mind. Luckily the only hardship I faced out there was icy cold water dripping down my neck, it wasn't Christmas snowing so much as Christmas raining. I remember the rain was cold but that's all, it didn't deter me as I clomped around the house to the living room window. God Bless snow drifts. As snow had piled up against the house enough that I could stand on it, extra water dripping from the eaves on to the back of my neck, flashlight held high to shine through the window
(really it's a damn wonder I'm not a cat burglar)And what did I see...well...mostly the Christmas tree, who's idea was it to put it in front of the living room window? That was daft! Sheesh, I could see around it a little, stockings were bulging from their hooks on the wall just as I imagined, The room was dark but for the shine of tree lights and the beam of my flashlight and it was beautiful. It was wonderful, a mostly obscured view of the Christmas scene but it was so worth the freezing walk outside at 3 in the morning to see it. I'm pretty sure that's what got me through to 4 am. Cuddled in bed munching on Christmas oranges a.k.a clementines or tangerines. We only bought them at Christmas time and to this day the scent of fresh oranges makes me think of Christmas. I think I plowed my way through half a dozen of the little suckers before I deiced it was appropriate to wake up one of my brothers. Michael is 4 years younger then me, which when I was a kid meant he was pliable and easy to convince getting up when he's sleepy is a brilliant idea.
Once he's conscious enough to understand he has to be
VERY VERY VERY quiet or else
(or else what who knows, he was always game to play along though and the unspoken threat and excitement was enough) he headed to the bathroom, tippy toeing like I urged him agreeing to meet back in my bedroom with more Christmas oranges so we could strategize and I could tell him what I'd learned. All still and quiet for about 30 seconds till I hear a sound as sharp and loud as a machine gun going off.
RAT A TAT TAT TAT, RAT A TAT TAT TAT. WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WAS HE DOING?????????? Taking up a new hobby of metal smithing on his way to the bathroom? I flew out of my bedroom in a sort of half tippy toe run, shushing as loudly and quietly as I could to find my brother standing in the middle of the kitchen feeding the cats with dry cat food, pouring it on to a metal pan on the floor from a great hight of at least 2 feet.
"stopppppppppp" I hiss. O.k., a born sneaker he was not. That's like a cop on stake out who likes to play a little drums in the back seat of the car to pass the time, maybe check the working condition of the sirens every few seconds.
I scurry him back to my bedroom and explain the finer points of sneaking during the Christmas tween time, like
NOT dropping hard things on to metal objects at 4 in the morning. We come to an understanding over more clementines. During which time I also hatch an ingenious plan to actually get us
INSIDE the living room. All we have to do is get our parent's bedroom door shut...
*cough cough* did I say we? I meant he, all
HE had to do was shut their bedroom door. Don't worry, it wasn't like I was throwing him to the wolves, I did explain the finer points of ever so cautiously pulling the door shut so as not to make a sound, and how he didn't have to latch it because that would make it click but instead just pull it until it held closed by itself by the door jam. I watched with enormous eyes and plenty of hand gesturing to encourage slow closing until the door was finally closed, then we froze for a good 30 seconds to see if they noticed...not a sound, not a rustle...not a peep.
Did I throw open the living room door and have my way with the scene?
OF COURSE NOT? I'm no Christmas Tween time rookie. Remember that
REM sleep thing we were talking about? Well chances are the minute sounds of the door closing might have stirred our parents enough that any new sound could waken them fully and result in us being caught red handed in the living room at 4 am. I was nothing if not a devious sister at Christmas time. We adjourned to my room to wait a full 15 minutes of silence before attempting phase two of getting a better look in the living room.
(Being the generous sort I'd already loaned my brother the flashlight so he could peer under the door as I did. I didn't drag him outside in the freezing rain, that would have been going too far.)At 4:15 am we attempted phase two, it consisted of him standing in the hallway behind me while I ever so carefully eased open the living room door. No person ever finessed an old squeaky door like I did that door, murmuring sweet nothings to it under my breath whilst I eased it open with the classic pull upwards at the same time routine so as to minimize the noise. Oh wait...that was only common knowledge to me you say?
Once the living room door was open a wide enough crack to allow a small, Christmas crazed child inside I took the flashlight from Michael and made him stand guard against cats, that's all we needed was for a cat to get in the living room and do all those crazy loud cat things like sniff things, purr and possibly meow....
I of course explained to Michael all the very good reasons it was he who had to stand outside, guarding the door against cats whilst I alone entered the Christmas Living room for a solo peek at heaven. I can't quite remember my reasoning, perhaps it was simply that I was older and I said so. I eased inside and closed the door behind me....Darkness but for the flashlight and tree lights. It was freezing cold, puffs of white out of your mouth as you breathe cold. But there were glorious mounds of presents with large tags in curvy print that said
"Love Santa".The stockings we'd so eagerly hung just a few hours ago really were as full and plump as they'd seemed from the living room window. Tasty looking candies practically spilled out of the tops. A long wooden toboggan for sledding down the hills out side leaned against the wall. Everything was beautiful, the air was sharply scented with the sweet smell of a real Christmas tree, every icy breath I inhaled was like I was standing in a forest. Knowing Michael would be growing impatient and possibly getting the urge to do some other insanely loud thing like open the fridge or something I backed out of the room as carefully as I entered. I touched nothing, not for fear of fingerprints but because the scene was perfect. It didn't need me meddling with it all. How could knowing what made that funny little square bump in my stocking make it any better?
I almost left the living room completely, shutting away the perfectness of an as yet untouched Christmas morning waiting to happen before I remembered my anxiously awaiting partner in Christmas tween time crime. I led Michael in to the room, kept a sharp eye on him as he was younger, a boy and also more prone to impulsive ideas like picking up a present to shake it....the impetuous fool.
When I had deemed he'd had enough time to stare in wonder as I had we backed out of the room, closed the door as carefully and quietly as we'd opened it, tippy toed back to my room to the growing pile of clementine orange peels and huddled under a massive pile of quilts to warm up. We grinned and chattered quietly over what we'd seen, munching on the apparently infinite number of Christmas oranges.
Time passed, 6 am rolled around and by this time our younger brother Jacob had been awakened to join us. We voted that Michael should again be the one to risk the most by waking the parents. I made the coffee.
Things become blurry after that, memories of the lights coming on and seeming overly warm and bright when the world was still pitch black out side, calling up the stairs to the attic room where my older brother Jason was surely
PRETENDING TO BE ASLEEP? Getting the ok to open the living room door and raid our stockings, all of it fun, all of it sweet but none of it quite as magical as the tween time of Christmas when I was up by myself, as quiet and sneaky as a shadow. Getting a taste of Christmas before any one else. Christmas Eve is wonderful, Christmas morning is amazing....
but Christmas tween...............is perfect.
This photo is of our house in Canada one winter, not the winter of the Christmas memory but still...you get the point. The arrow shows the direction from the front door where I walked out, around the side all the way to the back where the living room window was.....just to see the Christmas scene. Labels: christmas, memories
So we have happy holly garland over the window, and a tiny little high spirited Santa ornament hangs near my computer and gazes lustily about in satisfaction at defeating the packing process. He's so tiny and stealth like he just slips into the background noise of our life.
The occasional strand of LED lights curls itself ever the more tighter around our ficus tree, it shows me the full glory of it's warm colours and begs with an articulateness that is astounding for a glorified electrical cord to be left free. To bring a little warmth to the room in an April. So I agree, but the lights on the bedroom window have a fit, in in a weirdly prissy accent demand to be left out as well, if the ficus lights stay in the living room then it shall have the bedroom and would I please call it Mr.Finkle as I offend it's sensibilities with my LED label....ummmm o.k.......it can stay.
