Matthew's vacation beats my "vacation", hands down. Matthew was given two weeks of vacation. Two entire weeks! What I wouldn't give for two whole work-free weeks.
When I was a child, we were never given two weeks gratis. At most, we were given eight days. Back then, my sister and I used to stay up all night long Christmas Eve in anticipation of what Santa would leave for us under our tree. Even now I remember the butterflies in my stomach that harmonized beautifully with the heart palpitations. We would stay awake and just stare at the ceiling. If we would try to whisper to each other, Mom would always hear and provide us with the inevitable "shush!". If that didn't work, she would remind us that Santa couldn't come if we were awake.
Now Christmas is so stressful. Spirit of giving, my foot! It is more like the spirit of Xanax and overdraft fees. There is an expectation of giving the perfect gift. But even mediocre gifts would be acceptable. I've yet to have anyone spit in my face and stomp on my toe because I didn't give them exactly what they wanted. So, what is with all of the stress?
You would think that the stressors of Christmas would abate with the arrival of Santa Claus.
Not so much.
Last night, Matthew was so excited for Christmas. He could not sleep. So, I pulled him into bed with me, which always does the trick. Well, usually. We laid in the dark, with Matthew tossing and turning. I fell asleep, only to wake up to the sound of a child whimpering. His body was so tired but his head was reeling with thoughts of Christmas. "Mommy, I am so tired but I can't sleep."
Around 0300, he climbed out of my bed and went into his room...passing right by the Christmas tree. With presents under the tree. Apparently, Santa had stopped by while Matthew was fighting with sleep. Matthew hadn't noticed the gifts waiting for him in the dark and walked directly into his room to play...with the light on and the door open. Because, it is scary to walk around your house in the middle of the night with the lights out when you're eight years old.
Meanwhile, Jaysen was laying all snug in his bed. Actually, he was on the couch. And instead of thoughts of sugar plums dancing through his head, he was envisioning a tiny little intruder. This little intruder had grown bored with the toys in his room and started tiptoeing his way back to the Christmas tree. Matthew figured he was being sneaky and he desperately need to know how many presents under the tree were labeled "Matthew".
Out of the shadows, there was a booming voice. "Matthew, go back to sleep! You can open them in the morning. It is still night time."
"Aw, dad! I can't sleep."
Four hours later, I woke to find Matthew sound asleep in my bed. I whispered in his ear "Matthew, it is morning." Matthew practically bounced out of bed. If only I could get him to do that for school.
Today I am cruising on about 4 hours of sleep and a boatload of coffee.
Which I have come to learn, is the true meaning of Christmas.
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