Countdown to Christmas: Day Two

My eyes pop open into the dark night. I lay flat on my back, then flip to my side, my stomach, my back again.

"Fall asleep!" I tell my ten year old brain.

"The faster you do, the faster you wake up and it will be Christmas!"

Tossing around once more, I know I can't take it anymore. Stealthily, I creep out of my bed and through my sister's side of the room. I tiptoe down our cranky stairs. Each creak and moan seems to reverberate through the whole house; a scream in the silence. Sweating, I make it to the bottom of the stairs and walk through the living room. This is the only night of the year I don't mind coming downstairs to the bathroom. Lights from the street shine eerily into the windows, and for a moment even the giant hulk of our tree frightens me. But then, I feel safe; the kind of safe only Christmas Eve can bring.

I make my way slowly through the room, my eyes always on the tree. Mom had warned us that this had been a rough year, we shouldn't be disappointed if we didn't get a ton of "stuff" on Christmas morning. The mound of presents under the tree sends a thrill of excitement up my body, though. She must have been tricking us!

After going to the bathroom, I open the door, and hear the stairs start to creaking again. Too light to be my parents. I hold my breath and my younger sister, Emily, comes into view.

I take an imperious tone and ask her what she's doing up in the night. She has to go to the bathroom too. . .

When she returns to the living room, we huddle together, giggling quietly as we gaze down at the presents. Carefully nudging a few, to see whose name is on the tag. We get the brilliant idea that we will spend the rest of the night snuggled together under the tree. Gathering blankets and throw pillows from the couch we bed down as close to the presents as we dare. The prickly tree branches reach out toward us, but we are completely safe.  I'm cold and a little uncomfortable but I ignore my discomfort and close my eyes, careful not to squish any gifts. 

We are not there long when the stairs shout that a third set of feet are making their way downstairs. I huddle against Emily, hoping it's not Mom.

But it is and, as she rounds the corner, I imagine her start of fright at two large lumps clustered next to the tree. She approaches and asks us what we're doing.

"We're sleeping under the tree" we tell her innocently. Duh.

"No," she tells us, "you need to go back upstairs and sleep in your beds. It'll be Christmas morning soon enough."

Looking back now I wonder what my mother must have been thinking in that moment. Was she laughing inside at her silly little girls, squeezed by the tree on the cold living room floor? She must have fought to keep a smile off of her face as she ordered us back upstairs. Our shoulders drooping slightly in defeat as we hoofed it back up the grumpy steps and to our warm beds.

Once we are back in our room, I get in bed and lay flat on my back.

"Fall asleep!" I  chant to myself again. 

"The faster you do, the faster you wake up and it will be Christmas!"