A Kid's Christmas Eve: Shippster Style

     It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m bouncing on the couch like a caffeinated squirrel. Moms in the kitchen humming “Jingle Bells,” while Dad pretends to read the newspaper but is really just waiting for the cookies to come out. I swear, he’d trade his favorite fishing rod for a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies. Unless it’s for a new fishing hat.

      My older sister, Polly, is already in her festive pajamas that look like something from a bad 1980s music video. She thinks if she goes to sleep early, Santa will bring her a brand-new Cabbage Patch Kid. I told her the only thing Santa delivers is a truckload of presents, and maybe a pair of socks that Dad will pretend to love.

     Outside, it’s snowing like someone’s been shaking a giant snow globe. I’m practically vibrating with excitement. Last year, I tried to stay up to catch Santa. All I caught was a face full of pillows when Mom caught me peeking. This year, I’m lying still like a log, if logs had a secret plan to sneak cookies.

     The clock ticks closer to midnight, and I can smell the gingerbread. I’m pretty sure those cookies are calling my name. I tiptoe to the window and peek outside. The moon is shining so bright, it’s like God turned on a spotlight just for Santa.

      The stockings are stuffed over the fireplace, bulging with mystery. I picture diving into the presents tomorrow like a kid in a ball pit. If ball pits had action figures and video games instead of germs.

      Just as I’m about to drift off, I hear jingling bells. My heart races. Did I really hear that, or did I just eat too many cookies? Either way, I’m grinning, knowing the magic of Christmas is alive and well. At least for tonight.

     I snuggle in, dreaming of tomorrow’s chaos, laughter, and that glorious moment when I’ll remember what it felt like to be a kid on Christmas Eve. And let’s be honest, that’s the best gift of all. Well, that and a lifetime supply of cookies!


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