Fatigue ultimately calmed the excitement whirling through my mind and I would eventually drift off. That's when the dreams would start; each one predicting a different version of the Christmas morning to come. The morning that my siblings got way more presents than me. The morning that I got all the wrong stuff. And the morning that Santa completely missed our house. Each dream would wake me with a start. Please don't let it be real, please ... phew ... still 3:00 AM. Now come on, go back to sleep.
A couple hours later, I was the first one up. I would patiently wait in my room, prepping my Molly doll for the feast of presents that was about to unfold. At a more decent hour, I would quietly summon my brother to join the waking ranks. Next we'd rouse my sister, and finally peak into my parents room, begging them to remove the vacuum cleaner that barred our way down the stairs and into fantasyland.
The splendor of our living room bedecked in Christmas regalia was heavenly. The big guy had come. This was the real deal. Savor every, last, perfectly wrapped present. Christmas morning and the festivities that followed always trumped whatever dreams my mind had concocted. Each Christmas was pure magic; some of the best childhood memories I own and absolute inspiration for the legacy I wish to leave my children.
***
My kids and in turn, Peter and I haven't been sleeping well recently. I'll blame Bobby's inability to sleep on his mysterious allergic reaction and all the trauma that went with it. I'll blame Mary's 1:00 AM panic attacks on the mixed up emotions and general over stimulation she's been feeling. And it's self explanatory why Peter and I just can't get a good night sleep.
Perhaps it was something more on Christmas Eve though. Perhaps after a day downtown, Mass and the party at Mimi and Opa's that followed, everyone was too amped up to sleep as soundly as I would have liked. Or perhaps they were having the same kind of dreams I had growing up, wondering what their Christmas Day experiences would bring.
A couple hours later, I was the first one up. I would patiently wait in my room, prepping my Molly doll for the feast of presents that was about to unfold. At a more decent hour, I would quietly summon my brother to join the waking ranks. Next we'd rouse my sister, and finally peak into my parents room, begging them to remove the vacuum cleaner that barred our way down the stairs and into fantasyland.
The splendor of our living room bedecked in Christmas regalia was heavenly. The big guy had come. This was the real deal. Savor every, last, perfectly wrapped present. Christmas morning and the festivities that followed always trumped whatever dreams my mind had concocted. Each Christmas was pure magic; some of the best childhood memories I own and absolute inspiration for the legacy I wish to leave my children.
***
My kids and in turn, Peter and I haven't been sleeping well recently. I'll blame Bobby's inability to sleep on his mysterious allergic reaction and all the trauma that went with it. I'll blame Mary's 1:00 AM panic attacks on the mixed up emotions and general over stimulation she's been feeling. And it's self explanatory why Peter and I just can't get a good night sleep.
Perhaps it was something more on Christmas Eve though. Perhaps after a day downtown, Mass and the party at Mimi and Opa's that followed, everyone was too amped up to sleep as soundly as I would have liked. Or perhaps they were having the same kind of dreams I had growing up, wondering what their Christmas Day experiences would bring.
I wonder if Mary dreamed about a doll house and the miniature family that lived inside; about new bows and fancy underwear; about collectible pop up books and a whole cast of Frozen figurines. I wonder if she dreamed about a Christmas Tree that grew and grew and grew until at last it filled the frame of its predecessor. I wonder if she dreamed about mice that stole Santa's cookies and the exterminator that fended them off. And I wonder if she dreamed about little sugar cookies that helped Bobby's medicine go down. With all the times that Bobby woke up in the middle of the night, I just hope he found a minute to dream about something.
Whatever Mary's visions of Christmas might have been leading up to the celebration we put on for our little family, I hope her expectations were met, and even exceeded. Judging by her stubborn plea to stay up later and later, unable to quit Christmas Day, I'm guessing it was better than the dream that had woken her up at 2:00 in the morning.
Despite the utter exhaustion I felt as I was trying to get Mary to sleep two nights ago, I didn't want the day to end either. It always goes too fast. I'd swear it was just another dream. But I have the photos and memories to show from it. And they are healthy, happy and adorable.
Lo.
Lo.
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