"I think I'll start with the smallest ones then move toward the biggest. No, maybe I'll start on the right side of the tree and work towards the left".
My husband just looked at me. I raised my hand above my head- "I know, I know. Guilty. He gets that from me..."
In the end, he chose to open things right to left, a process I couldn't argue with. He made sure to hand out presents to my husband and I as he came across them, stopping his paper tearing to watch what Santa had brought the grown ups.
This year, Santa thought he would be funny and re-wrap a book that he got me for Christmas last year and I haven't read yet. Ha ha.
All the hard work of wrapping was over in less than 10 minutes, and instead a wave of torn paper, bows, and boxes littered the back room. I had a little moment of sadness knowing that all the years of leaving cookies out for Santa and laboring over gift tags that had a different hand writing are gone, but in all honesty it was more relief. That was a lot of pressure...
Tonight's picture represents the stillness after the storm that is Christmas morning gift opening. The 11-year old spent the rest of the day playing basketball in his new shoes and laying around in his new "joggers" while playing his new video game. I ate two helpings of blueberry and cream cheese french toast plus two chocolate turtles, then had the audacity to wonder why my jeans felt tight. And my husband watched TV in his new thermal shirt, now complete with some kind of stain on the front. Oh well. He can wear it under a t-shirt I guess.
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