THE CHRISTMAS TEA
Growing up we always opened our presents on Christmas Eve at midnight. My mother told us it was a tradition, passed down from my grandmother, Kate, who clearly believed children should experience both joy and sleep deprivation at an early age! Earlier in the evening though, our parents made us go to bed “until after Santa came”, but naturally we didn’t sleep for a single second. My sister is seven years older and didn’t believe in Santa when I was five, but she played along for my sake. And when I say played along, I mean she gave Oscar level performances, like she was Bette Davis herself!
We had bunk beds, and I slept on the top bunk like a Koala
in a tree. On Christmas Eve, after we were told to “go to bed”, we’d be in our room whispering and giggling - the kind
of giggles you try to hold in so hard your stomach hurts, because you’re convinced your parents have super‑sonic parent
detection skills and will materialize in the doorway the second you make a loud
enough sound.
Every so often my sister would suddenly go quiet and say, “I
think I just heard Santa land on the roof.” I’d freeze like a squirrel hearing
a twig snap, listening with all my little kid Santa detection skills. Of
course, it wasn’t Santa. It was the landlord who lived upstairs just moving
about their apartment. But I didn’t know that — I was five and fully committed
to “the magic”. Then my sister would bury her face in her pillow (I couldn’t
see her from the top bunk) and she would “Ho… Ho… Ho…” all muffled and
dramatic. I thought Santa was literally in our living room and I was ready to
swear it on a bible in church in front of a priest.
At midnight, my mom would come in and say, “Santa came! Come
open your presents!” And I once said, “I
know, Mommy — we heard him!” We would enter the living room to find a large
amount of presents under the tree. I’d look over at the plate of cookies and
glass of milk we left Santa- to find a few crumbs and half drank glass. Those
are some of my warmest memories, the kind that stick to your heart like glitter
you can’t wash off. One of the gifts I received was a tea set. I decided I
needed to serve “tea” to my family on Christmas Eve. My Mom said we could use
water because she “was out of tea”, but said we can pretend its tea! My sister clearly had questionable judgment
that night — took me into the kitchen to help fill the teapot. Now, when my
parents had company, the kitchen table transformed into their “bar.” So what does my sister do? Does she put water
in the teapot? Of course not. She grabs the vodka and fills my brand‑new little
teapot like she’s training me for a future in speakeasy management.
I walked into the living room all proud, serving my first
cup of “tea” to my Uncle Robert. He takes a sip, makes a face like he just
licked battery acid, and yells:
“THAT’S VODKA!”
The whole room erupted into laughter. Unbeknownst to me, my
first tea party was actually my first cocktail festivity. And honestly? Anyone
that knows me, knows that tracks for me!
THE CHRISTMAS CAPER
A couple of years in a row, when I was seven and eight, I
apparently graduated from listening for Santa to… well… breaking and entering like
thieves in the night. ‘Tis the season didn’t just mean twinkling lights and
cookies. No, no — in our house when the parents went out, it meant it was time
for a high‑stakes covert operation. My sister acting like a ringleader
with zero adult supervision, turned us both into two criminal mastermind
safecrackers, creeping around the house like a pair of sugar‑fueled
ninjas on a quest … looking for hidden presents!
I recall one year finding the mother-load in my mother’s
closet. But this time they were already wrapped, stacked and quietly staring us
in the face, tempting us. It was as if they were whispering to us like they
were trying to start a scandal. Most kids would’ve walked away. Not us. We
peeled the tape back like two surgeons doing a double bypass, opened every
single gift, admired our future treasures, then wrapped them back up so neatly
we could’ve been hired to work in Macy’s giftwrapping department.
I don’t know if my mother ever knew. If she did, she stayed
quiet like a woman choosing peace over chaos. Looking back, those Christmas
memories are now hilarious souvenirs, and absolutely unforgettable — the kind
of stories that make you laugh decades later because you realize you weren’t
just celebrating the holidays… you were building the kind of memory that
becomes a family legend.”
The Takeaway:
These stories remind us that the magic of Christmas isn’t
just in the gifts — it’s in the mischief, the imagination, and the people who
make the season unforgettable … family. Whether you were listening for Santa or
secretly unwrapping presents like a tiny holiday detective or serving up vodka
in place of water like a bartender, the real joy came from the laughter, the
bonding, and the memories that stuck to your heart forever.
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