Just one more

I realize I'm in danger of pushing all my readers over the edge here, but I can't resist just one more story.

My sister, Trina (who signs her blog as Collette), called me yesterday afternoon after reading Parts I & II and told me she was concerned that I might be picked up by Sunnybrook Home for the Criminally Insane. She said my story was a little unbelievable and I sounded like I had definately dropped off the edge of sanity. She's afraid that I've given enough personal information in my blog over time that one of my readers is going to turn me in and I'll either receive a visit from Family and Children's Services or the men in little white coats.

The children are all sitting on the floor in the den watching "The Santa Clause" as I type this. It's not just me - this is rampant in my family. Trina may not admit it but her two college-age children who still live at home get presents every year from Santa. They still open one gift each year on Christmas Eve. And, when her children were young, she and my sister, Toni, would both take their children to the Mall the night Santa arrived and cry with excitement. So, Trina, accept responsibility for your own insanity instead of focusing on mine.

But I promised one more story - and I'm not one to break my promises. When I was single, which was a very long time since I didn't marry until I was 34, my sisters would invite me to spend Christmas Eve with their families every year. That way, I'd be there on Christmas morning when the children woke. I got to be a part of the excitement and fun, which was non-existent at my house. I traded off each year - one year, I'd spend the night with Toni's family, the next with Trina's.

One year, while at Trina's, we stayed up real late. I took a bottle of Irish Whiskey with me and my brother-in-law, Russell, and I made Irish Coffee's and sipped them while listening to Christmas music and playing with the toys under the tree as we finished the last-minute preparations for Christmas morning. Trina had put her son, Russy, to bed on the floor in Amanda's (Meme) room so I could have Russy's room to myself. After a lot of coffee's and a very fun, very late night, I finally went to bed. I was sound asleep when a noise woke me. I lay, still half-asleep, listening. The noise sounded like bells. Suddenly, I jumped up, wide awake. "Santa," I thought. "It must be Santa on the roof!!" I stood there listening for several minutes before I came to my senses and realized that it was pretty doubtful I was hearing Santa's sleighbells on Trina's roof.

The point to this story is that Santa is so deeply imbedded in my spirit that, even deep asleep, my heart rules over my head and I revert back to my childhood.

Don't judge me too harshly. I'm just a child at heart who loves Santa and the joy and anticipation that comes along with him. And I hope the instill this same sense of excitement in my children so they, too, will still believe in Santa when they're 44.