Christmas Morning - Funny Parenting Stories for Fathers (and Mothers)

Christmas means different things to different people. For children, it means Santa Claus will visit and leave them toys and maybe some goodies. It means a break from school for older children. For adults, it means some time off from work and a chance to reconnect with family and friends.

Santa Visits but What if…?

Like other children, I would get excited when Christmas came. I would have trouble sleeping on Christmas Eve thinking about what would be under the Christmas tree the next morning. What happened if I had to go to the bathroom? What if Santa Claus was there?

“Then, you go really quick and get back in bed,” I remember by father telling me one Christmas Eve before my siblings and I went to bed. My sister’s bedroom was downstairs, but on Christmas Eve, she slept in the room my brother and I shared. This safeguarded the family from any mishaps. We were told if Santa saw you out of bed, he left immediately. No toys. Game over until next year. My sister willingly stayed in our room and moral support was offered if anyone needed to get out of bed to use the bathroom.

Opening presents in the morning wasn’t the end of Christmas, though. After the presents, we got dressed and went to church. The family came home, the kids played with their presents, and the parents took a little rest. After the rest, we got back into the car and went to my grandparent’s house for more presents, including presents from their neighbors. Some lunch, some mingling with friends and family, then back our part of town where we see my grandmother and all ten of my dad’s siblings. In those days, my brother, eventually my sister and I were the only niece and nephews in the family. Those were the Salad Days.

Christmas Growing up

*Enjoying one of my gifts on Christmas morning.*

Different Christmases were memorable to me for different reasons. I remember getting a toy Batmobile on the first Christmas I remember. A Batman and Robin came with it, so it was ready to go through the streets of Gotham City (my living room) and save the good people from the deeds of The Joker and The Penguin. The next Christmas I looked at my presents and thought about the Christmas before that and thought about the presents I opened in my “First Christmas” and what I would find under the paper during that “Second Christmas”.

I don’t remember much about the next Christmas, except that one of my parents got a gigantic Hershey’s Kiss. I kept looking at that present and wondered if they wanted to trade. Then again, there wasn’t any of my presents I was willing to part with, even for a piece of candy that would take me a week to eat. That would be the last Christmas in that house. We moved across town the following summer, and when Christmas came, I think my brother and I (translation: me) got my parents out of bed before 7:00. It was the only time my parents caved and let us wake up early.

I got Sick on Christmas

The next two Christmases were memorable, but not for Christmassy reasons. I’m in the third grade now, and this was the Christmas I got the Chicken Pox. This was a most inconvenient time for me to get the Chicken Pox and I was hoping I could go through life without the Chicken Pox. Alas, that was not to be. I survived my illness and the itching that came with it. That Christmas was the first time I ever heard of Calamine Lotion.

Christmas and the Chicken Pox came and went. The next Christmas I had a fever. I spent the morning trying to open presents while keeping a blanket wrapped around me. It was tough, but I managed it. My mother stayed home with me while Dad and the sibs went to my grandmother’s.

I (and Mom) missed out on seeing my aunts and uncles (and her in-laws), and all of the food that was spread out in the kitchen: the turkey, the ham, the lasagna, the “mud pudding” my aunt makes for every get-together. It hurts just to write about it. I didn’t miss out on the presents, though, and my father returned home with a big trash bag full of presents just for me. That made the illness a little more bearable.

Christmas Changed as I got Older

At this point in my life, I’ve become an altar boy at church. The mass schedule became critical. I could handle serving a Christmas Eve service or even a Midnight Mass. Anything in the morning, though, would cut into Christmas Morning. I couldn’t have that. Luckily, I wasn’t called away from my home on Christmas Morning. The Spirit of Christmas was watching over me.

I moved from elementary school to junior high school and Christmas Break became more appreciated. Something happened in high school. I’m not sure what it was, but I went from wanting to get out of bed and opening presents to seeing how late I could stay in bed. “The presents were there,” I told myself, “They’re not going anywhere.” But I was outvoted, and I got out of bed to see the gifts that were patiently waiting for me under the tree.

Elf on the shelf

Now I’m a parent. Christmas is still fun, but the challenges have changed. Instead of the stealth missions to and from the bathroom without Santa noticing, I need to help Santa make his way through the house without disturbing the cherubim. Wife and I divide our time between attending to presents from Santa and making sure everyone is still in bed sleeping. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, there’s the issue of these elves who constantly visit us and end up in different places every day.

*Jingles, Mario, and Pancake. Don’t ask me who’s who.*

This, I think, is the highlight of the morning for The Boy. He never had trouble getting out of bed before, but the chance to find the elves and see where they’re hiding and how far they traveled from the previous day makes waking up in the morning a little more fun. Then they leave just as secretly as they appear in our house and move around.

No one can explain it, but that doesn’t stop The Boy from asking how they move or where they went. The questions keep coming. Did Santa like the cookies. I assure the boy Santa did indeed like the cookies. How do I know? I ask The Boy if there are any cookies left. He tells me there are none. I tell him, if the cookies weren’t good, he wouldn’t have eaten them all.

I Like Christmas

*“The Night Before Christmas”. A Christmas Eve tradition with Wife’s family.*

Like you, Christmas routines have changed for me over the years. I’ve gone from waiting for Santa to making sure children are in bed ready for Santa. The Oppressed has been promoted to “Magic Maker” and has her specific duties in getting ready for the big night and day. We visit Wife’s family on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. There’s always a fantastic meal when we visit. We see relatives, some of whom we haven’t seen since Easter or last Christmas.

*Holiday wishes from friends and family alike.*

My parents have a tradition of hanging the Christmas cards we receive over the doorways of our house. I’ve continued that tradition in my own home. I also love sending Christmas cards. There are people I haven’t seen in years, but I still send them a card. It allows me to send a quick hello and wish them well.

And I wish you well. I hope your Christmas is a merry one. I hope you are able to spend it with the ones you love, and I hope you have the chance to make someone’s holiday a little more merry.

“A Collection of Short Stories” is now available for purchase on Apple Books.

Stave 5: Christmas at Last!

It was a blanket, and I had it wrapped tight around me as I lay next to Wife. I could tell it was cold outside, baby; but thanks to the blanket, Wife’s love, and Kitty sleeping and purring by our feet, I had plenty of love to keep me warm.

I opened my eyes just a little to check on Kitty, who had lifted its head and started to look around. We both heard footsteps heading in our direction. They got louder as they got closer to our fortress of slumber. Kitty got up on all fours and leapt off the bed. Just in time as The Boy made his appearance. He had a smile on his face and air underneath his body before crashing down on the bed between us. I think Kitty still has PTSD.

Wife jolted awake. She was ready to kill him, but the boy gave her a big, tight hug and said, “Merry Christmas!” This festive greeting reminded us that we needed to be extra vigilant in controlling our homicidal urges in the spirit of the season.

“Merry Christmas,” I said as I rolled over to give The Boy a hug. He pushed me away and resumed hugging my wife. The Oppressed came into our room with a smile. Wife saw her.

“Merry Christmas,” Wife said to her.

“Merry Christmas,” she said back as she ran to our bed and hugged me.

“Merry Christmas, Daddy,” she said.

“Merry Christmas,” I replied. I asked The Boy if I could have a hug, reminding him it was Christmas. I saw the back of his head shake, indicating, “No,” and continued hugging his mother.

Lovie then entered our room. She had an even bigger smile than The Oppressed.

“Merry Christmas,” Wife said to her.

“Merry Christmas,” she said. “Can we open presents?”

“Can the adults have coffee, first?” I asked.

“How about we make coffee first?” I suggested “Then, we can open presents while it finishes, and we can drink coffee while you kids open presents?”

“How about we open presents and then you can make coffee?” Lovie suggested, ever the humanitarian.

Wife told her to wake her other brothers. I took this opportunity to go downstairs and let Doggie out of her crate. As Doggie raced to the door to answer the call of nature, I heard what sounded like a drug raid taking place upstairs. Lovie flew the door open to the boys’ room unannounced. I heard yelling from the room.

“Wake up! It’s time to open presents!”

“Oh my God, what time is it?”

“It’s time to open presents. Stop sleeping!”

“Shut up! I’m tired.”

“Sleep tomorrow!”

I was in the kitchen at this point making coffee. After a few minutes, I answered the scratching on the door, signifying that Doggie had finished what she needed to do outside. The love and spirit of Christmas continued down the stairs as Lovie led the charge into the living room to see the loot Santa Claus had left for everyone.

“I want to give my presents to everyone first,” Lovie announced to everyone. The rest of the children stumbled into the living room, including The Gaggle, who was staying with us for the week. Wife was the last to come downstairs, barely able to keep her eyes open. We hugged each other and wished each other a Merry Christmas. The pot of coffee had just finished brewing, and I poured her and myself a cup before entering the madness that was unfolding in the living room.

Lovie was arguing with Slugger, who, apparently, had taken her seat. Lovie wanted the seat closest to the tree so she could supervise the handing out of Christmas presents. Of course, presents from her had to be opened first, and if anyone else was handing out presents, there was a chance hers wouldn’t be opened first.

Slick made his appearance and took a seat on the couch. He didn’t care whose presents got opened first. All he cared about was someone rudely woke him from his slumber, and it was Christmas Vacation.

The Gaggle took a seat next to Slick. Lovie was able to muscle Slugger away from the tree and assumed her role of gift-giver. The Boy sat next to Wife and The Oppressed sat with me. Presents were exchanged and opened. It was a nice Christmas morning filled with secrets that had been protected for weeks. Packages that had been smuggled into the house and locked away from prying eyes were finally allowed to see the light of day. Children were excited to try their new presents. Wife and I thanked each other for our presents. I got some nice clothes and, after a shower, I was eager to put on my new clothes and continue the celebration of Christmas.

After a few hours at home, we rounded up the cohort, packed the car with more gifts, and drove to my in-laws. There we handed out presents to relatives and shared in the joy of the Holidays. Dinner was then served, another fantastic spread put out by my mother-in-law, who is always cooking incredible food, especially during holidays.

Dinner. Dessert. My diet went off the rails again and it was going to be back to carrots and protein shakes soon enough. But for today, I partook in the feasting and festivities.

We went home that night. Children resumed playing with new gadgets and toys. Occasionally, one child proudly approached us to show us a gadget and what they learned to do with it. It got later into the night, and one-by-one, children started to go to bed. It was Christmas, but I still had my Daddy Duties. I read to The Boy and hung out with The Oppressed, who briefed me on the joy she felt on this most wonderful time of the year. She fell asleep, and I left her room. I made my way through the rooms of the house, shutting off lights as I made my way into the living room to turn off the Christmas tree. I surveyed the mass of Christmas goods strewn about the floor. More things around to test my agility as I try to negotiate my way from one room to another.

I made my way to the Christmas tree. Something caught my eye before I made it. It was a bottle of beer, much like one of the bottles I saw when The Ghost of Daddy Present haun- I mean – visited me. It had a nice red ribbon tied to it and a tag tied around the neck of the bottle. The tag read “The Christmas Spirit” and I smiled. I wasn’t going to drink it tonight. It was late and Daddy needs his beauty sleep. I would put it in the refrigerator and chill it proper for the following evening. After all, we should all keep the Christmas spirit year-round, right?

It’s time to open presents. Stop sleeping!
Lovie

A car slowly made its way past my house. It looked like Mr. Farley’s car. A horn sounded as it drove by. I smiled and waved just before the car disappeared from my sight. The Christmas tree went dark as the car disappeared.

I went upstairs, turning lights off as I made my way to my room. Wife was already fast asleep, as were the rest of my children. I head Doggie snoring in her crate. Kitty was curled up at the foot of my bed. It was just Wife in our bed until I climbed in to join her. I wondered how long this would last before another child decided to join us. It didn’t matter. I was tired and I was going to fall asleep fast. I would know someone else was in the bed when I wake up and try to look over at Wife.

And just like that, another Christmas came to an end. Mr. Farley didn’t visit me again, which I thought was rude. None of the spirits visited me again, but between the love my family has for each other, there’s plenty of the Christmas spirit to go around. And between all of my children, there’s enough haunting without ghosts.

Oh, well. That’s the life of a parent. You understand, I’m sure. Thanks for reading this irrefutably true story of the Christmas I shared with ghosts and spirits. I hope this story found you well and kept you company as you made your way through your own madness of preparing for Christmas at your home.

Oh, yeah… And God Bless Us, Everyone!

Tag: Christmas Morning

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