At Large

I say, who’s there, who is it, are you stopping for a visit?
Is that you, Santa Claus?
Oh there, Santa, you gave me a scare
Now stop teasing ‘cause I know you’re there
– “Zat You, Santa Claus”, performed by Louis Armstrong & written by Jack Fox

Ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling! Ho-ho-ho, Merrrrry Christmas!!!

Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I realize it must now be okay to get up, that Santa Claus has come and gone. I can’t wait! But no. Mommy and Daddy haven’t come to tell me it’s safe to come out of my room yet. Gotta wait. Or maybe Santa almost forgot to leave that microphone I’ve hoped and hoped and hoped for months he’d bring me today, but then he remembered at the last second before winding up his reindeer to fly to the next house, so that slowed things down. That could be it. 

I CAN’T STAND IT ANYMORE! LET ME OUT OF HERE!!!

A mental inventory and naughty kids

Sudden terror. I’m pretty sure I did everything right last night. Didn’t I? Mommy and Daddy forgot, I think, but I sure remembered that I needed to carefully set out cookies and a glass of milk for Santa to snack on. Not just any cookies, but good ones, not those crummy ones that fall all to pieces the second you try to pick one up. Plus, I left him a note thanking him for visiting my house (and leaving me stuff). I know some kids in my kindergarten class who aren’t even going to come close to having Santa bring them fun stuff. In fact, they’ll be lucky, given their records as serial miscreants, if he doesn’t permanently erase them from his annual travels. That is, if all this business about it being important to be good all year or else he won’t come is true. I don’t know. Pop-Pop tells me not to believe everything I hear.

Those are probably the same kids that keep saying Santa isn’t real. That’s just plain dumb, if you ask me. Where else has all this stuff come from? And even if it does happen to be true, which I seriously doubt, why would you want to take a chance? I sure hope I didn’t land on Santa’s bad list. He wouldn’t have stopped here if I had, right? Well, I guess that’s not true anymore since he may have come only for my sister, who’s a new thing around here that I need to take into account.

Quickly, I review the past 364 days in my head. Did I do anything bad enough to be blacklisted by Santa? I don’t think so. But these things are subjective. Oh boy. Now that I think about all this, I should receive extra credit for having my birthday in the same month as Christmas. Something doesn’t seem right here. Is it possible I’m somehow being swindled out of extra presents because somebody thinks I didn’t notice?

Sibling stuff

Pop-Pop tells me this is a good time to introduce myself (I think he’s trying to get my mind off possibly being ignored by Santa). Amaryllis, that’s me. He says my sister, Violet, and I are experts at this holiday business, but that’s only half-true. This is Violet’s first Christmas. While I’m sure she aspires to my level of holiday expertise, she has some major league catching up to do. This is serious business. You can’t just show up out of the blue and expect to know exactly what-all is going on, or when to play it cool and when to be excited, like when you open a box you think is going to contain a new Barbie but instead holds a package of socks. Ugly socks, at that. Look happy and pretend you’ve spent months pining for new, ugly socks is my best advice.

Mom and Dad watch a lot of crime dramas on the TV. You know how crime dramas often begin with the phrase, “it was a morning like any other,” before suddenly someone’s dead on the floor and there’s a big commotion over who’s responsible? Ha! Christmas morning, for example, decidedly does not operate in that fashion. It is a morning unlike any other, even if most times no one winds up dead on the floor and there is no crime to solve. 

Hey everyone! I’m still stuck in here!!! Waiting … waiting …

For weeks, even in the days and years when I had no concept of what constituted a “week,” or much of anything else, Mommy and Daddy would gin up a big uproar over the upcoming Big Day, and they would keep it ginned up, until I was pretty sure they could sink an olive in it and call it a martini. The older I get, the more I think they’re trying to snow me, not only with this whole Christmas thing but at other times, as well. I know, I know, a little kid should believe his or her parents, but I’ve come to think that Trust, But Verify might not be such a bad policy overall. They’re a good set of parents, yet suddenly turn sketchy at times you might least expect it. An example? How about the time I had to get shots to go to school, and they, all serious and stuff, told me this-won’t-hurt-a-bit? Huh? How about that? Wronggg!

Making demands and Santa Claus Prime

Part of the problem with Christmas morning is that a few others in my family have to travel a while to get here. I wish they would leave earlier but I don’t see that happening. Besides, they all do nice things for me, and I don’t think I’m exactly in the position to start making demands when they’re already buying me things and sneaking me Smarties and all kinds of cool stuff.

I don’t get this one at all. At my friend Nate’s house they do things differently: They open all their presents on Christmas Eve. I don’t understand how they manage to do this, since everyone knows Santa doesn’t make his deliveries until after everyone in the house has gone to sleep on Christmas Eve. Maybe Nate and his family are getting gypped. Or maybe they’ve sprung for Santa Claus Prime, which I’ve heard about but have no idea how it works. Ohhhhh, wait a second. Could that be why the big delivery van pulls up to the front door the week before Christmas and leaves a batch of stuff on Santa’s behalf? I don’t know if I like what I’m thinking here.

Assuming that it is indeed Santa bringing in the presents while I’m sleeping, one thing I don’t get is how he manages to get the big boxes down the chimney, no matter when he makes his delivery. Just sayin’, as all the kids say.

The infamous wish list

While I’m sitting here (pacing, actually, and trying not to scream out of frustration), how about we take a look at what I’m hoping is in some of those pretty boxes underneath the tree? A quick run-through: a microphone, K-Pop Demon Hunters, Disney Zombies, Barbies, baby dolls, books, and stuff for jewelry making would be fantastic. Mommy says I need pants (of course she says that). For Violet, I’m thinking anything Miss Rachel-related, since she seems to like Miss Rachel so much. I’ve listened to Mommy and Daddy say often enough that fine motor skill toys for her would be good. Also, Mommy keeps saying she could use anything fidgety. I don’t get that one. Violet is plenty fidgety enough all on her own without any extra help, if you ask me. I wonder if I was like that when I was her age.

They’re here!

Hey, I heard a car pull up out front!

False alarm. Crud! I’m going to die from loss of hope. This is getting ridiculous. Or maybe not. They have to be here at some point, I just know it. Wait a minute. I was right: they’re heeeerrrrrrrrrre!

Do I play it cool? Or act really excited? I am excited, and that’s that! To the top of the stairs I go to ask (plead) for the 19th time, “Is it okay for me to come downstairs now?” But this time Daddy says, “What are you waiting for?” Nothinggggggg!

C’mon, c’mon, c’mon everybody. Why do adults move so slow? What could be more important than seeing what’s in these boxes? Patiently I wait (still!) – hopping from foot to foot with a big grin on my face can’t possibly be giving away my intention to commit Christmas morning mayhem, can it? 

First things first. This year is different, of course. Right away, I spotted that Violet’s instincts were good, that she knew she needed to get that box open at all costs, but her execution was off. Clearly, I need to instruct her on the proper procedure for ripping off the wrapping paper and getting inside the box. 

Nifty. Violet seems to have absorbed that lesson, perhaps a little too well. She has now managed to get herself inside the box and turn it upside down, covering herself completely. I think I hear her giggling inside there. Solid new box move there, sis. 

And let the Christmas morning chaos begin!