First of all, Merry Christmas or Solstice to whomever celebrates it. I hope you all have a wonderful holiday and got some epic loot and time with you and yours.
Christmas is a mess in our house, and passes quickly in a morning of paper and food and brunch and more food. When I was little, my parents set the rule to being 8 AM - we could not go wake them up before then at all on Christmas Day. We could look at our stockings, but we were not allowed to wake my parents up. To talk to other people, I realize just how incredulous that rule is, or the fact that we stuck to it. But stick to it we did, and now they are the ones that have to fight to get me out of bed Christmas Day. I got to bed late on account of stuffing the stockings (yes, I know. I know. It reaches new heights of apathy when I do all of the wrapping for everyone in the house and as well as stuffing the stockings), and at 9 AM? Screw that, I'm not getting up. Are they crazy? Another half an hour. Shove off. Go eat your cinnamon buns and drink your coffee and let me sleep. Then she starts tickling. I bury my feet between the mattress and the railing (I have a water bed). So she goes away, and I think I've won the battle.
Only temporarily. Five minutes later, she's back with Outlaw, my big-ass black lab and the only one who can get on the water bed, even with his gimpy back leg (I need to take him in to get that x-rayed, because he's been limping and I do not like it). So up he comes, and he half-squashes me and licks and kisses and slurps. And then he starts thinking, "hey... this is really damn comfortable. You know, mama, you're onto something. Go back to sleep." So he cuddles into me and I work at getting back into bed (he's forced me half out of the bed thanks to his position), and after about ten minutes of this, and I'm still not going anywhere, my mother gets my brother to come in and play his stupid plastic recorder. My hearing sucks, but...
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