It’s 7:04 AM on Christmas morning. I’m laying on my couch watching the snow fall from the giant picture window that overlooks my front yard in Connecticut. The tree lights are on, the flakes are huge, and my brother just left ten minutes ago to plow snow.
He woke everyone up as he left — my dad for some reason emerged wearing his pajamas and a pair of loafers that are likely older than I am. It’s probably the first time in almost a decade that we’ve been up before 10 AM on Christmas Day. I feel like I’m seven years old again; but in a marvelous way. Everyone’s back in bed, because we can’t open gifts without my brother, but I’m wide awake. I fell asleep around 9:30 last night on my couch watching Elf next to my mom as she wrapped gifts. She turned to laugh with me at a part of the movie and realized I was dead to the world.
I was so determined to stay up last night — I’ve been so busy that I’ve failed to watch any Christmas movies this year; so with ABC Family’s 25 Days of Christmas in full swing, I couldn’t pass up a marathon of The Polar Express, How The Grinch Stole Christmas (The Jim Carrey one, duh) and Elf. Will Ferrell didn’t even make it through the Lincoln Tunnel before I was fast asleep.
So here I am, on my Connecticut couch, wide awake at 7:04 AM, with the perfect setting to accompany the day. I’m going to make myself some hot cocoa and quietly play some mellow Bing Crosby as I sit by my window. In a few hours time, my brother will come home, my mom will put old Christmas cassette tapes on the stereo system she’s had since 1990, we’ll open presents, and it will be perfect.
Merry Christmas to all. I hope your day is merry, bright, and overflowing with love, joy, and the drink of your choice.