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Thursday, December 22, 2011

Christmasy


My Mom is a Christmas freak.

 We had boxes upon boxes filled with Christmas decorations piled in our garage. Old card board boxes, old department store bags, and once in a glorious while a Rubbermaid bin. Every one of them covered in dust and infested with spiders. I hated helping Mom get all the stuff out, it was always a battle to get the décor away from some jumbo Christmas spider.  
Mom had made a bunch of Holiday crafts, wreaths and decor with tons of colorful lights and bows. Now that I look back I’m surprised the house didn’t burn down.
 The lights would get so hot that the adorable craft pieces would be exuding heat. In particular were these bulbs that have a tube with colored water inside. The bulb heats up the water and then bubbles run through the tube. It looks cool, but they were so dangerous. And as a stupid child I just had to touch them over and over again. 
On Christmas eve, Mom would caution me to clean my room. Because if Santa showed up and saw I had a dirty room he would know I was a naughty child and not give me presents. Apparently  it never occurred to Santa that a clean freak psychotic child could exist. In any case, cleaning my room was just not going to happen. What I did do, was shove everything under my bed and in my closet. I never had closet monsters or under the bed monsters as a result.
Every Christmas morning I would be the first one up, at 3am, then 4am and finally at 6am. My sister would come get me out of bed and we would go harass my brother till he got up and then all sneak downstairs. Being the youngest of 3 children, I always received the most presents. At the time I didn’t ask any questions. I always had a pile of presents the next morning.  “Ha! Ha! Santa you sucker!”
The first thing we would go for was the stockings. They were always filled with copious amounts of candy and tiny gifts. Rolo’s is the breakfast of champions by the way. 
 I’d get harassed by my sister to do the impression of that kid Randy from A Christmas story film.   “Whoopee that’s mine!”

Eventually our parents would wake and join us. Sort of, they were kind of zombified on the couch. We’d tear through every single present as though the antidote were in it.
Not comb our hair all day, then pass out from a sugar overdose. Ok, that was just me. I couldn’t be bothered with hygiene, I had Barbies to play with.

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