The Eve of Distraction

Twas the night before Christmas.

When all through my house.

There are some damn excited kids.

Ok, that’s not exactly how the poem goes.

But that’s how it goes in my house.

Three kids.

At three very different stages in their young lives.

All looking forward to Christmas morning.

When they wake up to a house full of presents.

For my 14-year-old daughter.

She is somewhere between High School.

And Med School.

She’s always been sharper than her age.

If you look close enough, you can actually see her wheels turning when you ask her a question.

And if you wait four or five seconds, she’ll usually respond with the right answer.

This Christmas is a new one for her.

Probably a confusing one.

I think she’s trying to figure out how old she really is.

When it comes to presents, she’s still all kid.

But when it comes to everything else, she’s all grown up.

High school can do that to you.

My son is two years younger.

And he too is growing up.

Way too quickly.

But he usually acts the age of the people around him.

In school, he’s a 7th grader.

Around me, he’s a lot more polished.

But put him with his eight-year-old sister.

And let the games begin.

He’s definitely a candidate to work at NASA.

Because when it comes to getting under her skin, he knows all of the right buttons to push.

The eight-year-old is our last piece of innocence.

The last one who actually wants a hug.

The last one who does what we tell her.

And the first one to express herself.

At our Christmas Eve dinner, she decided to perform the National Anthem.

Oh, not sing it.

That happens in the morning.

At dinner, she decided to pit fart the National Anthem.

Talented, that kid is.

When that was over, she started singing the words to "Santa Claus is coming to Town".


He sees you when you're sleeping.   He knows when you're awake.

Then suddenly she stopped.

"Santa kinda sounds like a stalker," she quietly mumbled.

"But he's a nice stalker," with a big smile on her face.

I asked her what she wanted Santa to bring her this year.

“Three things,” she said.

Without any hesitation.

“A baby brother.”

“A little dog, like a chihuahua.”

“And a magic wand.”

Well if I were her, I’d ask for the wand first.

That’s her best shot at getting the other two.

I love that little girl.

Love her sense of humor.

Love her kindness.

Love her innocence.

I love looking into her eyes.

As much now as I did the first time.

Eight years, two months and two weeks ago.

She is something special.

And she’s not afraid to show it.

Tonight before bedtime, there were six of us hanging out in my son’s room.

Me, the three kids and a pair of books.

A pair of Christmas books.

What else.

One of those books was “Twas the Night Before Christmas.”

But reading the book wasn’t good enough for her.

She had to perform it.

From the first line, through the last.

She was living on her own center stage.

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

She did that one from memory, not once taking even a glance at the book.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter

She tapped her fingers on the wood door, as quickly as possible, to provide her own version of a clattering noise.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf

She tried to inflate her frame as big as possible.  But sixty pounds only go so far.

Now Dasher!

Pause.

now, Dancer! 

Longer pause.

now, Prancer

Drama Building.

and Vixen!

Silence.

On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!

Those she flew right through.

Picking up the pace to recapture the energy of the story.

She flipped each page, like it was the script of a play.

Each line more theatrical than the one before.

Finally closing with...

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!

And with that came a bow.

A bow she held for seconds, but felt like minutes.

A bow that signaled the end of Christmas Eve.

And the beginning of the longest night of the year.

Waiting for hours.

That feel like days.

For morning to arrive.

When we all learn what Santa delivered.

I'm hoping for the Chihuahua.