There was a family rule that no one could go downstairs without the rest of the family, and that we couldn’t wake Dad and Mom til 8:00 or maybe it was 8:30. Brad and David volunteered every year to relieve our anticipation by running down about 7:30 to check that Santa had actually come. I have no hard evidence, but I am pretty sure that several years they made an early run at 6:00 or so, but made it back up before the rest of us knew. When we finally convinced our bleary-eyed parents to roll out of bed, we again lined up to sing “Holly Bows”, and to march downstairs. I don’t think that any of us kids ever knew the real lyrics in their entirety, but mom did so we sang back-up. We marched into the living room to view Santa’s generosity. I can’t speak for the whole gang, but I never remember being disappointed at his gifts. The presents were lined up in order of age so no one would get mixed up about whose were whose. After we had admired each other’s goodies, we sat down for a breakfast that would fuel us for the fun ahead. It didn’t do us any good to say we weren’t hungry. Breakfast was a must.
When we finally assembled around the Christmas tree our anticipation was at a fevered pitch. The first gift was handed to the youngest (lucky Martha), and the great unveiling began. Presents were opened one at a time, and in order—youngest to oldest, round and round—until every one of the hundred or so gifts were unwrapped. It was unreal. It was a thrill to open your gifts, but nothing matched the butterflies as family members opened the gift you had chosen for them. Would they like it? Would they feel the “righteness” that you felt about it when you bought it? I remember the year when I got a package of brads for dad at the hardware store. I hadn’t seen any nails of that size on Dad’s workbench. I worried that he wouldn’t know what they were, or that he wouldn’t understand how much he needed them. No need to fear. He looked so delighted when he opened the package, and even got how funny it was that the tacks were named after his second son. He deserved an Emmy for that performance. The wrapping paper melee continued, it seemed, for hours. The shed wrapping paper filled several large leaf and lawn bags.
When the paper and ribbons were cleaned up, the reveling began. Everyone chose a new favorite toy or game and put all their energies into breaking it in. I remember Kathleen trying out her first blow dryer—very cool. I can see the spot, straddling the doorway between the dining room and front hall, that Brad and David played the premiere game of Stratego. Martha was on fire the year that Santa left her “Loud-mouthed Singers” in China and brought her the pink rag doll instead. She ran around the house, entranced with the responsibilities of her new charge.
Speaking of Martha and her well-loved doll, no Christmas reminiscing would be complete without my version of her most famous meal time adventure. As I remember it, Martha’s passion for her new doll extended beyond her usual bubbly enthusiasm for life. She would not put dolly down, so Mom adjusted and pulled out the high chair. Sister Whiting was our Christmas dinner guest and she sat on Mom’s right, while Martha sat on Mom’s left, the two of them facing each other over the tablecloth. The dinner was delicious, and everyone was trying to use their company manners. Mom kept Sister Whiting entertained, and Martha kept dolly entertained with private conversation in their own world of imagination. All of a sudden Martha had dolly by her leg, swinging her round and round over her head. Before anyone had a chance to react, the doll flew out of her hand, aimed right at Sister Whiting. It hit her glass of grape juice instead, spilling dark purple juice on Sister Whiting’s bright green dress pants. I would still like to know the rest of the story, if Martha can recall what adventure was in full swing when she transformed from doting mother to gaucho.
ReplyDeleteI always thought that it was just Martha, Jon, and I that didn't know the words as we climbed the stairs on Christmas Eve. We would hum and slur into singing the word at the end of each line. Since we were at the head of the line we justed marched along, listening to the big kids and Mom actually singing the words. According to Ginny she didn't know the words. Besides Mom, who was singing the correct lyrics to Holly Bows?
ReplyDelete-Margaret
I remember one year on Christmas morning when, for at least Martha and I and Jon, instead of presents sitting out from Santa, there were sticks with strings(similar to what you would have connected to a kite). We wound the strings around the sticks, climbing over, under, and between other strings. It was like a giant spider web throughout two or three rooms. At the end of the strings were new bicycles! I found mine in the front coat closet. It was great fun.
ReplyDeleteI recall the same memory as Margaret of following the string through the great hallway, and other rooms I believe, over and under the other strings with a nice, yellow, 3-speed I believe adult size bicycle. The anticipation of what was at the end of the string made the present that much more exciting.
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