2nd Star to the Right :: Neverland. I think I want to live there.

In order to keep us from getting up at the crack of dawn to open presents, my parents implemented this rule about Christmas morning. We weren't allowed to go downstairs or down the hallway to the living room until we heard Christmas music playing.

This enabled my parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles to wake up at a relatively decent hour and have that first cup of coffee before the mayhem of the morning began. My brother and I would wait anxiously at the top of the stairs or hudled together at the end of the hallway, waiting, straining to hear those first few bars of music.

As soon as the first note hit our ears, we would come screaming and scrambling out to the tree, our eyes getting big, our hearts filled with wonder and awe. And then of, course, they mayhem begins.

Mayhem, in case you're wondering, that looks like this:

Now that Carl and I are older, we all get up a little later and take a little longer before we make it down to the living room to open presents on Christmas morning. Mom and Dad get to sleep in a bit more and even have time for two cups of coffee if they want.

In fact, this year, on Christmas morning, Mom and Dad had to come and wake us up.

And I think they only did that so we could open presents before noon.

10:30 AM | allison | # |

It's quiet today at work. I've got a few things to get done, but they won't take me long. I brought my house porn to help pass the time.

I think we'll get out early today.

Happy Holidays, y'all.

9:01 AM | allison | # |

I know this doesn't make much sense now, but I have to get it down before I forget.

Around the Corner bar at lunchtime.

Raspberry Stoli and Lemonade.

NCW admitting even her boyfriend thinks she talks too much.

Feeling like a slow kid, with my own special bus.

Free dinner.

Drinks on the house.

Raspberry Stoli and lemonade.

Fake Bono.

Dancing.

Fake The Edge.

Laughing so much my face hurts.

And today:

Stuck on You.

Santa, Frosty and the Exorcist Wise Man.

12:12 AM | allison | # |

My holiday present to myself just arrived. My intent was to wrap it up and put it under the tree to open on Christmas morning.

I'm so not gonna make it.

Kids in the Hall-athon, Season 1.
Tonight, 8 PM
My house.
Be there. Or I'll crush your head.

2:18 PM | allison | # |

You know what? I totally feel the same way.

8:32 AM | allison | # |

The story does continue. After the devestation came the anger. For nine years old, I was fairly logical about it I think. I reasoned that if Santa was a scam, then so were the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy. And I have to admit, I wasn't too bummed about the Tooth Fairy.

So what did I do to dispell the anger? I told my little brother, who was not quite kindergarten age. In my little brain, it was my obligation as the older sister to tell him like it is. And tell him I did.

I told my four-year old brother that Santa doesn't exist.

I don 't remember his reaction or how I was punished for my transgression. But the magic was gone and I didn't really enjoy the holidays for a long time after that even though I pretended I did.

It's just within the last few years that the magic of the holidays have come back to me. Perhaps I've finally let go that deep betrayal I felt as a child or perhaps my heart just couldn't shut out the good feelings that the season brings.

Perhaps its a different kind of magic that I feel now. When I was younger, it was all wonderment and awe and anticipation. Those feelings are coming back to me now, but in a different way.

I no longer believe in Santa, but I do believe in the magic of the season. People seem to smile more, share more and give more than they during other times of the year. We seek out friends and loved ones. We decorate homes and places of work to express our excitement about the days ahead. We buy gifts to show our love and affection of each other. We gather together to share meals and time together.

There is magic. I was just looking for it in the wrong place. And it helps me to believe again.

9:19 AM | allison | # |

I still remembered when I stopped believing too. I stayed awake for as long as I could like I did every Christmas Eve, waiting, hoping I'd catch a glimpse of the elusive Santa. And like every year before, all the excitement got the best of me. I fell asleep, dreaming of piles of toys, smelling gingerbread houses in my head and swearing I could hear jingle bells in the distance.

And then I woke up. I don't remember if there was a noise or a sound that woke me, but there I was, suddenly awake. And I could hear voices. And not the voices I'd imagined Santa and his helper elves to have; more like the voices of my parents and grandparents.

I thought about staying in bed, but I just couldn't. I needed to investigate. Why did I hear my parents hushed tones but not the happy, jolly voice of good ol' Saint Nick?

Finally, I saw it. Through the railings of the staircase I watched as my parents and grandparents set out presents, arranged and re-arranged and stuffed our stockings full.

I was devastated.
Heartbroken.
Disallusioned.
I didn't know those words then, but I know now that's what I was feeling.

I hurried back up to the room I shared with my brother and jumped back into bed. I didn't know what to do. Do I tell my parents that I saw them? Should I tell my brother that I saw them? Who do I tell? What do I do?

When we got up the next morning, I pretended. I pretended to be surprised and happy. But I wasn't. It was a scam. And I was devestated.

All that believing for nothing.

11:10 AM | allison | # |

Earlier this week I sat down to watch A Charlie Brown Christmas. It's the one holiday special I try hard not to miss. For some, it's Frosty or Rudolph and the misfit toys. For my aunt and her kids it's Emett Otter's Jug Band Christmas.

But for me, it's Charlie Brown. I never had much affinity for the Peanuts comics, save this one holiday special. It kicks off the holiday season for me and I look forward to it every year. It helps me recapture the magic I remember from my childhood.

Not long ago a friend and I were discussing holiday memories. When I was little, I felt like I had it better than all the other kids because I got two Christmases. Santa visited two different houses for me. My family and I spent Christmas Eve and Christmas morning with my dad's family and then we spent the rest of Christmas Day with my mom's. I didn't know any other kids who had two houses that Santa visited for them.

And I believed in Santa. I believed. I believed long and hard. My parents and grandparents went out of their way to make sure I kept believing. We put out milk and cookies for Santa; we put out carrots for the reindeer. Our stockings were hung cerimoniously every year. And to this day, I would swear to you that I heard jingle bells as I drifted off to sleep, too tired to wait up any longer to see Santa.

In the morning, there were lots of crumbs and an empty milk glass; some of the gnawed up carrots were in the snow. Our stockings were stuffed full and the tree was surrounded with high piles of gifts and goodies for everyone.

I believed.

9:04 AM | allison | # |

I was going to post a list of everything that I was thankful for, but it seemed trite and a bit over done. I have many, many people and things that I am thankful and I try hard to make sure they know this every day.

Instead, I'm going to post a picture of the wonderful holiday gift that was waiting for me when I got to my desk this morning.

I have the best co-workers. EVER.

9:05 AM | allison | # |