On the train ride home today, packed and cramped along with the 30 thousand other people coming home for the holidays I was left with myself thinking about past Christmas years in my parents household.
How the nights used to be so huge with anticipation, I never knew how I fell asleep.
How all those nights we left cookies and milk for Santa, and carrots for the reindeer.
How by coincidence, the same year my father went on a diet, Santa did too. (He never did finish those tuna sandwiches we left him).
Getting up so early in the morning wanting to scream my freakin face off and bounce on the walls, and then being pissed off when my parents weren't ready to get up.
It didn't take long for me to feel their pain, as my younger sister (by 9 years) put me through the same thing.
Now we're older (my sister is a teenager and thanks to Christ sleeps like one) and needless to say the nights and mornings aren't the same. Sure we're older and know where the gifts are coming from. For god's sake they're under the tree all day Christmas Eve! But now I feel slowly but surely I'm entering the age where it'll be time for my family, my brother's, and my sister's to all convene back here where I grew up.
Granted I don't have mounds of presents in my arms walking in the door and a husband and kids in tow (NOT even a thought!) BUT! The day will come. And I'll always remember the milk and cookies and tuna fish sandwiches.
And that one year when I swear to God I heard Santa walking around downstairs.
And could do nothing but lay in my bed shaking with fear .... that a stranger was in my home.
Merry Christmas.
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