Happy Christmas, Y'all!
Lately my kids have had me repeat over and over a Christmas story from my childhood. I thought I'd write it down here for them, so Megan can read it to them when I'm tired of saying it twenty times.
So here it goes.
My earliest Christmas memory was when I was very little, probably around six or seven. It was Christmas Eve night and I was asleep in my bed when I was awakened by a sound. Jingle, jingle, jingle! I jumped out of bed and tiptoed out of my room so I wouldn't wake my younger brother, Daniel.
I left the room and tiptoed to my parents' room. I placed my ear against their door and listened to see if the sound was maybe coming from their room. I heard it again, but not from their room. Jingle, jingle, jingle! I gasped. It was coming from down the hall in the living room.
Could it be Santa that was making the jingle sound? I crept down the hall and stopped just at the corner. I listened again. Jingle, jingle, jingle!
I froze to the spot. I couldn't move. What if it was Santa and I caught him while he was putting out my presents? Would he be nice about it? Upset? Would it be like in the movies where the kid gets to help Santa hand out the rest of the presents and ride in the sleigh? Would he disappear before giving me all my presents and then I wouldn't get everything I wanted?
I couldn't risk it. I ran back to my room, jumped in my bed, put the blankets over me, and went to sleep.
The end.
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