I don’t enjoy the element of surprise associated with the birth of my grandchildren – I want to know the sex and name of the baby 8.5 months before they’re born. I’m cranky while waiting for election results to be “official”. I despise waiting on medical test results. And I absolutely can not stand to wait until Christmas to open presents. I suppose that’s why Sam refuses to put any presents for me under the tree until Christmas Eve. In fact, he doesn’t even bring them home until Christmas Eve…I wonder why???
So, since it’s December and Christmas is just around the corner; and in the spirit of Christmas Confessions I have something I’d like to share…
When I was a kid (and every year until I went off to college), I’d sneak open the presents under our tree after school. I was ever so careful to take the tape off slowly so the paper didn’t rip. I’d completely unwrap the present, open the box, check out the gift, and then re-wrap it exactly as it was. Most of the time it was clothes from my grandparents. And there were a few times when the gift was particularly good and it was most difficult for me to not spill the beans on myself and let my parents know what was in the box. Conversely, there were a few outfits that were particularly ugly, and no matter how much time I’d had to psych myself up about them, I just couldn’t be excited about them. Sorry you had to find out this way Mom and Dad.
I also used to sneak downstairs and into my parents room searching for gifts. This was a particularly dangerous mission as my mom seemed to have every article of clothing cataloged and its exact location committed to memory. Just walking into their bedroom carried the risk of her knowing. It was dangerous and exciting, and the knowledge that at any moment I could be caught red-handed propelled me further into their lair. I would carefully open drawers and move stacks of sweaters looking for hiding spots. I’d poke around in shoe boxes and under stacks of pants looking for gifts. I never did find anything, but some of her shoes were pretty cool.
There was one time that Kelly and I were playing around after school and I got the bright idea to try on some of my Mom’s high heels. I was prancing around our basement in my own little Miss America pageant. I had my Dad’s plaid stadium blanket draped over my shoulders like a cape and Mom’s shoes on. I even snuck some of her lipstick. I was having a good ol’ time…that is until I started getting cocky and one of the heels caught on the rug causing me to twist my ankle. I crumpled into a heap on the floor, grabbing my leg and rolling around like an idiot crybaby. My brother started laughing his head off, which only made me mad. Fortunately for him, because my ankle hurt so bad and I still had on those darned heels he was able to get away before I could reach him.