Christmas weekend had finally arrived! After giving the main areas of our house a “good enough” cleaning, we all went out for rollerskating and ice cream. That evening we enjoyed food and gifts with my husband’s extended family, getting back quite late. On the drive home we listened to The Christmas Miracle of Jonathan Toomey, a sweet but slow-moving story that put half the kids to sleep!
Instead of reading the Christmas Story around the fire that night we sent our groggy children to bed. We had presents to wrap and food to prepare and so we set to work. Two hours later, the Christmas tree surrounded by gifts, two weary parents dragged themselves to bed leaving the breakfast casserole unmade. It won’t be the end of the world if we eat cereal for Christmas breakfast, I rationalized, knowing I wouldn’t have time the next morning to prepare a hot meal.
At 8am the house was silent. I climbed out of bed, straining to catch the excited chattering of children’s voices but, hearing nothing, I left my hubby snoozing in bed and hopped in the shower to get ready for church. As I made my way downstairs I could smell bacon sizzling and coffee perking–my husband had started breakfast while I’d been showering!
My daughter read Luke 2 aloud to us all and, after opening presents, we rushed off to church, leaving the aftermath of Christmas morning strewn all over our living room! I did take a minute to pop Christmas dinner into the oven so it would be hot and ready to eat when we arrived home.
My parents and sister arrived and we feasted, opened gifts, went for a hike, and ended the day with pumpkin pie and Christmas with the Kranks, surrounded by empty boxes and garbage bags bulging with wrapping paper. It had been a great day and I was looking forward to a great week with my relatives, thankful that my storybook Christmas was, for the most part, starting to come together!