Last year, I wrote about the Twelve Days of Christmas, House of Chaos style.
This year will be a bit different: I’m supposed to celebrate with my family before Christmas and we plan to be “alone” on Christmas itself – just the four of us.
This has never happened before.
Without fail, I have spent every single Christmas with my parents, siblings, and grandparents. The cost of four plane tickets to Iowa – plus luggage fees – make a visit over the actual holiday ridiculously expensive.
So we’re mixing it up this year, and we need to form new traditions.
The next few weeks will bring Tales From My Christmas Past paired with some amazing guest posts as I seek out ideas of how to create our new special Christmas.
I want to avoid having a Christmas dud.
If you have a holiday tradition, please share it in the comments.
As with everything, I’m an equal opportunity explorer: I don’t care if it’s for Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, or Christmas. Just keep in mind I live in southern Texas: snow sledding or anything else involving the cold white stuff is probably out of the question.
I will be blogging about which traditions we decided to incorporate into our own and linking back to your blog (if you have one) after Christmas.
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Tales from Christmas Past, Part 1: Sleigh Bells Ring
It was dark.
Any other night I’d bury myself under the covers and fall back asleep.
Not on Christmas Eve.
I sprang from the bed, my bare feet hitting the cold wood floor, careful not to wake my sister.
And I heard it.
Sleigh bells, echoing from outside.
I rushed to the window, peering into the night, the landscape bright from the snow covered ground. My eyes scanned the sky, searching for Santa and his sleigh.
He has to be around here somewhere.
After a minute of futile hunting, my curiosity was too strong to ignore.
Had he visited already?
I flew down the stairs, careful not to slip in my footie pajamas as I jumped the steps two at a time.
I stopped halfway down. A wooden railing greeted me. Four red velvet stockings with white fuzzy trim dangled from it since we lacked a chimney.
I reached for mine, not bothering to stick my hand inside, just squeezing the bottom to see if goodies waited.
It was empty.
I sighed and walked the rest of the way downstairs, crossing into the kitchen and peeking at the microwave.
The glowing light told me it wasn’t yet 3 AM.
I fled the scene as quickly as I’d arrived, covering myself with my blanket, taking care not to wake my sister.
I closed my eyes and willed my pounding heart to calm.
Everyone knew you had to be asleep for Santa to drop off the toys and jingle of the sleigh bells meant he was in our neighborhood.
I dozed, but remained on high alert, waking frequently over the next few hours and checking my stocking each time for Santa’s arrival.
It wasn’t about the gifts anymore.
They were simply the sign I could wake my parents and sister and tell them my amazing secret: I’d almost spotted Santa.
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Did you believe in Santa?