Christmas Morn

I have scrapbooks of Rachel. Scrapbooks, plural. Pictures documenting her every move. Christmas pictures with every conceivable toy on the planet that she unwrapped. A decade and 2 boys later...this is all I got of Christmas.

An unexpected surprise or two this year. First, Paul was the last one up. Second, Andy was the first one up and when he saw the Santa piles, he asked if they could do their stockings first. "Yes, but you have to wait for the others." I braced myself for an onslaught of whining...and nothing. He shrugged and said he'd watch tv until they got up.

The best was the note that Santa left above the fireplace saying there was one more gift outside. I heard my two elder kiddos open the back door, squawk that nothing was there, dash through the house to the front door and eagerly skip about in their pjs and bare feet (it wasn't warm on Christmas morning). Finding nothing, they run back in and Rachel's half-grumbling that it's too cold for this nonsense. I suggest they go to the backyard again. They do and after about 20 seconds, I hear Rachel shriek "Itshatramoleeeeeen!" Andy follows suit with "It's a trampoline?!?" And they jumped and shreiked and jumped and shreiked.

It's not hard to make a 6-year old giggle with unfettered joy. It is hard to make a 14-almost-15-year old giggle with unfettered joy. There was plenty of unfettered joy.

And Paul? Paul didn't really care.