Chatfield Christmas

 I wrote this for writer's club.  Some of the things in this story are not exactly factual, but the feeling is real... I hope. Let me know if you have any feedback to improve my writing.

“Julie… Julie, wake up.” I hear a voice whisper to me through the fog of sleep. 

I roll out of bed, impossibly tangled in my Snoopy pajamas.  This is why I only wear real PJs one night a year.  I walk down the dark hallway and emerge into the warm glow of the Christmas lights on the tree, the only lights on in the whole house.  Although it’s 50 degrees outside, my sisters and I know in our hearts it is the dead of our Southern California winter, so we cuddle up in robes and blankets.  One sister laying on the floor, another sitting on the piano bench, two more snuggled on the couch.  I sit next to the cold fireplace, closer to the stockings and candy. 

The fact that the clock reads four in the morning doesn’t stop us from diving into our Crunch chocolate  bells and bottles of Sunny Delight.  I am already thirteen years old, yet I’m still excited to see what trinkets Santa left in our stockings: a tube of Reece’s-flavored lip balm, a new pair of earrings, a paperback novel. We check to see that he ate his cookies and drank his milk from his special china plate on the mantle.  We’re happy to see the reindeer enjoyed their celery and carrot sticks as well. 

There is a mountain of presents waiting for us under the tree, but touching them before the parents wake is punishable by death.  Instead, we get as close as we possibly can- without actually coming in contact- to see who got the biggest gifts, or the most oddly shaped ones.  Drat, Shelley got the tall skinny gift wrapped in red snowman paper.  The present shaped like a three foot prism covered in blue snowflake paper is signed, “To: Carlie, From: Santa.” How suspicious that Santa’s handwriting is exactly like our mother’s? But we chant to ourselves the mantra we’ve heard since we were small: if you don’t believe, you don’t receive. This is why I’m the only eighth grader to profess a belief in Santa Claus, although it isn’t fashionable.

After we’ve been munching and snoozing for a few hours, Mom and Dad finally join us in the living room.  Shouts of “good morning!” and “Merry Christmas” ring through the house, then right down to the joyous business.  Mom takes her place by the tree as the official present passer-outer.  Dad sits on the creeky rocking chair, equipped with a large trash bag.  He knows that crunched up wrapping paper balls and empty cardboard boxes will soon be flying at him for disposal.

Holly is the first to receive a gift.  We all watch breathlessly as she tears the paper. A Walkman from Grandma!  The first spoils of Christmas.  Kellie is next.  A Barbie from Judith! Around and around we go, watching as each person receives and opens a gift.  We want to draw out these sweet moments as long as we can.  The room gets brighter and brighter as the sun rises, shining is warm yellow rays through the shutters.

As the pile of gifts under the tree diminish, each sisters’ personal pile grows.  I have the honor of opening the last gift- an art supply set, water color paper included.  I set it neatly next to me, struggling to keep my things separate from the other items strewn on the floor. Carlie finishes the Future Thank Yous list and sets it on the piano, either to be used during Family Night to crank out cards to far-flung relatives, or to be forgotten forever. 

Dad starts making waffles in the kitchen, leaving his pocket knife in the family room.  How else would we rip through the impossible tape on our boxes, or slice through the fasteners on our toys? Mom goes back to bed, exhausted from the anxiety she suffers every Christmas, hoping that all her girls are having a wonderful time.  Some of us may shower, others may eat more candy, still others start a round of Uno with their new deck of cards. 

But all of us are happily contented with the wonderful traditions of a Chatfield Christmas.

I know this isn't about Chatfield Christmas, but come on.  So Cute!