MOXIE MOM on Life & Kids
Unbridled Excitement
When Ty was little, around age four and five, he used to sleep in until 8:00 or 8:30 on Christmas morning. I thought it was because he was such a sensible, unexcitable child – so unlike his sister who, even at eleven, blasts us with her loud enthusiasm, whether complaining or cheering, and at four was capable of ripping open all the presents, not just hers, if we weren’t watching.
I am eating crow. I think Ty slept that late back then because he didn’t really get the whole Christmas thing. Now, at nine, he totally gets it, so much so he couldn’t get to sleep until close to midnight on Christmas Eve, long after his now-sensible sister had gone to bed. And had gone to sleep. I didn’t get to bed until late myself (directly correlated with Ty’s bedtime), and I must have not gotten to the REM stage because somewhere in the back of my brain as I was sleeping, I registered a very small noise. Something like a…oh crap, a door opening! In fact, it was Ty’s door closing, a teeny, tiny tap of a sound, after he’d silently emerged from his room to sneak downstairs.
By the time I got to the stairs to order him back to bed, the landing was already empty. I flew down the stairs to see a blurry shape (no contacts in) in front of the Christmas tree.
“Ty, go back to bed!” I stage whispered, utterly irritated.
He turned toward me, his hand already on an (unwrapped) Santa gift. “I was cold.”
What?
“It’s 2:30 in the morning!” I stage-whisper barked. What I wanted to say, fought against saying, was, “It’s two-effing thirty. In. The. Morning.”
“Go back to bed,” I whisper-shouted.
“Leah’s up.”
“What!? Where?”
“On the couch.”
From my vantage point in the dining room, I couldn’t see the couch in the living room. “Both of you, GO BACK TO BED.”
They both shuffled past me, as I shot them crease-between-the-eyebrows glares. And we all went back to bed. Maybe they’ll sleep until 8:00, I thought.
Uh, no. 6:30.
I guess it could have been worse. My neighbor’s son didn’t go to sleep at all.
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