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Christmas was one of the best things in my life. The day after Christmas I couldn’t wait until the next Christmas. I love Christmas music, even in mid-July. I love the lights, the parties. I was never about getting presents, but I loved giving them.

I can remember way back in the day Christmas Eve curfew was eight o’clock. My mother would tell us to go to bed so Santa would be able to get there on time and not have to skip us because we were awake. I remember covering up in my bed with the television on channel twelve watching the Santa map. Where he was, and how long it would be for him to reach us.

I now know the only reason my mother chose that time so she could finish wrapping presents, stuff our stockings, and put together our ‘big’ gift. But then, I was so excited about Santa.

I think I’d finally fall asleep around ten-ish. Right before he’d get to Oklahoma on the map.

I remember every Christmas morning waking up at six in the morning, because my brother just wouldn’t let me sleep any longer. “It’s morning, wake up!” He’d whisper right before taking off in a dead sprint to the tree. We’d sit there, staring without making a sound until my mother and father woke up. Usually, on a good morning, they’d wake up at eleven.

The first thing we’d get is our stockings. Which was by far one of the best things we got. I remember one year getting a purple butterfly ring, and wearing it every day for five years until that one day I couldn’t find it anymore. Candy, small toys, and pencils made my day. I’d play for hours with the stuff that was put inside my stocking.

Which I’ll never understand, by the way, how my mother did it. She wouldn’t put the stuff in the stocking until Christmas Eve, but she already had the stuff. She hid it, without us ever finding it. And trust me, we were like any other kid, we searched. I remember one Christmas my brother peeping through a door hole, because it didn’t have a door knob, while my mother wrapped the presents. I did tell her a few years later and she just shook her head.

We’d then wait until everybody got the house before unwrapping the actual gifts. I was always so proud of the stuff I picked out for my parents. Even if it was a stupid $3 gift, I’d be so proud. And the smiles on my parents faces made it even better.

The last year my mother was alive barely hit’s a note of recognition in my mind. I barely remember it. I was fifteen, just turned, and all my mind was thinking about was her surgery. I remember my grandfather and uncles were here. I know it took place at my house. I can tell you one thing I received, only because I still have it, in the boxes in our shed. I got excited, way beyond excited, when my mother pulled out the biggest box I’d ever seen. My eyes widen and inside I was repeating “omg! Omg! Omg! Omg!” I opened it slowly, very slowly, one piece at a time. Ripping down the box. When I had removed all the wrapping paper I opened it. And now the sounds were not in my head, I was actually squealing while jumping up and down screaming OH MY GOD!!!!! I think I may have actually cried when I seen all five ‘Nsync dolls in that box. That’s the only thing I had wanted that whole year. Then the next box my mother handed me was a tad smaller. After handing it to me she said “be really careful.” So I done the same thing and opened it and started screaming! Inside was Nsync Bobble Heads. I was so excited.

Yeah, other than that, I barely remember it.

But ever since my mother passed away Christmas and Thanksgiving just hasn’t been the same. It, at times, feels weird. Maybe I’m just getting too old and it’s really just not the same. But all the adults I know still love Christmas. Why is it feeling weird for me?

This year I took a vow. Yes, a vow. I took a vow to relive the happy days of Christmas. Try to make Christmas the way I remember it. Happy. Exciting. I personally don’t know if it will work out or not, but I surely hope so.

Can you pin point happy days of Christmas that you wish you could relive? Has Christmas changed for you since you’ve become adults?

Love until later.

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