This week, everyone all over blog-land is posting about favorite Christmas memories.
Usually, unless I am trying to win something, I don't like to be a copycat.
But since I have the most ultimate Christmas memory of all time, I figured I just had to share it with you.
Hopefully I haven't already spoiled it and talked about it on here.
If I have, and you have already read about my most magical Christmas ever, please overlook me.
My memory isn't what it used to be....
Apparently, the pre-preggo brain isn't coming back any time soon.
Yes. Yet another of the side effects that no one tells you about when you get pregnant.
It is my firm opinion that during your first maternity visit your doctor should sit you down and tell you everything to expect while you are pregnant, including but not limited to:
Giant, flabby arms.
Hips the size of Gulliver's.
An insatiable craving for all things carbs.
More puking than you ever saw on "You can't do that on Television"
More slime - I WILL NOT explain this to you. If you have been pregnant, you know. - than you ever saw on "You can't do that on Television" possibly even more than an episode of "Double Dare"
Amazing (man-like) hanky panky. (Yes, I said it.)
A post-pregnancy body that looks something like a beached walrus, whiskers and all.
But anyway, back to the topic at hand...
The Big Guy...
The Festive one...
Not to be confused with this one...
At the time, my sister and I were probably 8 and 9.
We were right at that age when you start to wonder if there really is a Santa.
Very few of our friends believed in Santa anymore and we were about to jump ship with them.
And then my parents came up with the craziest scheme ever.
On Christmas eve, when we were all tucked in our bed - we still shared a bed - go figure, and our parents were reading us "The Night Before Christmas" when we heard a noise.
A magical noise.
The tinkling of jingle bells outside our window.
Within minutes, our front door opened, and Santa was standing in our living room, which was a straight shot from our bedroom.
We could actually lay in bed and see him.
Which is exactly what we didn't do!
Instead of the amazing response my parents were expecting, my sister and I both jerked our heads under the covers and burst into tears!
Something about the children being "nestled all snug in their beds...".
We were both convinced that if we weren't asleep, Santa wouldn't leave us any gifts.
So we were attempted to pretend to sleep.
Only our parents had the crazy notion we should get up and SEE Santa.
Um, NO.THANK.YOU. I want Gifts, Mom and Dad!
So what did they do, but pick us up and carry us over to our doorway to try to convince us to go see Santa.
Well, make that one of us.
They picked one of us up and carried us over to the doorway....
The other one, who shall remain nameless, *ahem*Sarah*ahem*, proceeded to wrap her arms and legs around the banisters of our canopy bed.
Ensue Nashing of Teeth.
Finally, Mom put me down long enough to run out and smooth things over with jolly ole St. Nick.
And apparently to tell him to get the heck outta there before we brought down the rafters around us.
She came back to assure us that he had left our gifts.
And he left quicker than he came.
And mom let us come out long enough to see that our gifts were indeed there.
The only thing to make the night that much better was that my uncle contracted Santa to come surprise our cousin as well.
Only, when he arrived at her house, instead of Jingle Bells, he shone a red light in her window.
I.e., Rudolph's nose.
And she proceeded to puke.
Not once, but twice.
Thanks Parents, for scarring us for life.
I still have eye twitches when I see someone in a red suit.
Jay to the Kay!
Contrary to what you may believe, we all went on to love and believe in Kris Kringle's antics for many years to come.
Which may or may not have been a surprising shock to my driver's ed teacher when he tried to convince me that Santa wasn't real.
So yeah, as far as Christmas memories go, this one definitely takes the cake.
Or tosses the cookies.
My point is that this memory will forever be engrained on my memory and will forever bring a smile to my face.
Now, I know your question for me is will I choose to torment my child in the same manner.
And my answer for you is, HECK YEAH!
Don't worry, I promise pay for any therapy Little Man finds necessary after the fact.