Yuletide Logs and Galoshes - Humor Under the Christmas Tree

I wanted to tell you a little story that happened some years ago.  It was Christmas Eve, a magical time, for those two little boys of mine.  They were three and five so the idea of Santa was very much alive.  The presents were wrapped, dinner consumed, and Mass attended.  As we arrived home, the boys headed to the tree, still dressed in their fancy Christmas clothes, and grabbed the two packages they knew they were allowed to open.  Perhaps a small dose of disappointment crossed their little faces when they realized it was only a pair of new pajamas nestled within the brightly colored wrapping.  It was tradition, those annual pajamas, so they would look sharp for the Christmas morning pictures.

Getting them to bed was no easy feat.  Especially with my dad grumpily commenting that he didn't want reindeer poop on his roof and that he had his shotgun ready to shoot Old Saint Nick when he arrived.  With worry etched on their faces, the boys set out milk and cookies as the rest of us assured them that we would not let anything happen to Santa and his sleigh.  We got the boys settled into sleeping bags in the basement family room.  My brother's room was nearby and he agreed to keep an ear on the situation during the night.

Once the boys had fallen to sleep, we grabbed a large burlap bag we had brought with us and stuffed all their presents from Santa into it, dropping it on the floor in front of the Christmas tree.  My dad got one of his black galoshes out of the closet and stuck it into the fireplace insert, closing the door on it to keep it in place.  We all went to bed giggling and tried to sleep, knowing we had to beat the boys up the next morning in order to witness their findings.

At seven o'clock, my brother woke the boys up, sending them running up the stairs to join us.  The oldest went straight to the loaded burlap bag while the youngest honed right in on that boot stuck in the fireplace door.  His eyes were as big as saucers when my dad announced that "I almost got that fat man!"  My little boy grabbed that boot and held onto it tightly through the gift opening, breakfast, and play time afterward.

As we later loaded up the car in order to head to the next Christmas family function, my son still clung to that black boot.  "I have to get this back to Santa," he told us with grave determination.  My dad needed that galosh back as he used the set periodically but the only thing we could do was laugh.  It was my mother who finally convinced her grandson that she would send it back to Santa as soon as we left.  He finally gave up the boot, but the memory is forever etched into our brains.

I am now wondering what mischief my dad will accomplish this Christmas when my five-year-old grandson and family spend Christmas Eve night with them.  It's sure to be another entertaining and memory-lasting holiday.  The camera will be ready!