Portrait of a Christmas Day. In words.

Last week I went to Number 5’s first grade winter concert.

I didn’t take any pictures, and I didn’t record any songs.

I pretty much never record any of that stuff. Because if I do, I never watch it again. Ever. (I did record some of Number 7’s preschool concert last week, but that was because my husband couldn’t make it, and he asked me to record a few songs).

Anyway, at Number 5’s concert, Mrs. O, Number 5’s music teacher who is FRICKING AMAZING (read this to see how much I love her), said something I loved.

She encouraged parents to take a picture of the concert with their heart.

I love that.

I kept my camera in my purse the whole time.

And I thought about what Mrs. O said again this morning as I was dragging my ass out of bed.

And for the first time ever, I didn’t take any pictures of the kids opening presents.

I didn’t take any at my parents’ house this afternoon, either.

Instead, I just enjoyed capturing the moment, as Mrs. O would say, with my heart.

So I don’t have any Christmas morning pictures to share.

Instead, I’ll share with you a portrait of our Christmas morning. In words.

Not Your Average Christmas Morning

December 25, 2015, 1:30 a.m.

Number 6: Mommy! I fell out of my bed! And Santa came! I looked at the presents and I saw one for me! I TOLD NUMBER 2 I WASN’T GOING TO GET COAL!

Me: Oh, goody! Let’s get you up into your bed!

3:00 a.m.

Number 6: Mommy, I had a bad dream.

Me: Let’s get you up into your bed.

Tuck Number 6 into bed for the second time.

Me: Close your eyes and get some rest.

Number 6: Can you lay down with me in case I have another bad dream?

Ugh.

Me: Okay. For a little bit.

3:45 a.m.

Sneak out of Number 6’s bed and go downstairs.

4:30 a.m.

Finally fall back to sleep.

4:33 a.m. Mommy! Is it time to wake up yet? I looked out my window and I don’t think it’s nighttime anymore.

F*ck.

Me: Get. Up. Into. Your. Bed.

5:30 a.m.

Number 5 and 6 in unison: IS IT TIME TO GET UP YET?

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Me (through gritted teeth): GET. THE. FUCK. INTO. YOUR BED.

Just kidding. I didn’t say that. But I thought it.

Me (for real): Not yet. Get up into your bed.

Number 5 and 6: But when can we –

Me: Get your butts into bed.

Number 5 and 6: Can we just sort out our-

Me: Get into bed or there will be no presents to sort out.

6:24 a.m.

Number 5: When can we open our presents?

Me:

Number 5: MOM! EVERYONE IN THE WHOLE WORLD HAS OPENED THEIR PRESENTS ALREADY!

Me: Give me  a few more minutes.

6:26 a.m.

Number 4: Mom, can we open our presents at 7:00?

Me: Yes.

Number 4, returning to playroom: MOM SAYS WE CAN OPEN OUR PRESENTS AT 7:00!

Number 3: 7:00??? We might as well just totally skip Christmas.

6:59.59 a.m.

Number 3, 4, 5, 6: Mom! It’s 7:00! YOUSAIDYOUWOULDWAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUPLETSOPENOURPRESENTS!!!

Me: Is everyone awake?

Number 3, 4, 5, 6: Number 2 and Number 7 are still in bed.

Me: DON’T WAKE THEM UP.

Number 3, 4, 5, and 6 running up the stairs like a herd of water fucking buffalo: NUMBER 7!!! NUMBER 2!!!!!! WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UP! IT’S TIME TO OPEN OUR PRESENTS!!!! WAKE UP!!!

7:03 a.m.

SHOPKINS!!!

7:04 a.m.

AN AMERICAN GIRL DOLL!!!

7:05 a.m.

I GOT SHOPKINS, TOO!!!

7:06 a.m.

A KARAOKE MACHINE!!!

7:07 a.m. 

A TERRAIN TWISTER!!!

7:08 a.m.

I GOT SHOPKINS, TOO!!!!!

7:09 a.m.

LEGOS!

7:10 a.m.

All presents opened.

7:11 a.m.

This was the best Christmas ever!

7:12 a.m.

I CAN’T FIND MY SHOPKIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!! AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! WWWAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

7:13 a.m.

THAT’S MY CANDY CAAAANNNNE! SHE LICKED MY CANDY CANE!!!!!!! WWWAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

7:14 a.m.

THIS THING HAS TO CHARGE FOR FIVE HOURS BEFORE I CAN USE IT??? THIS PRESENT IS SO DUMB! WWAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

8:14 a.m.

I’m bored. When are we going to Grammy and Papa’s?

1:30 p.m.

Repeat entire morning dialogue at Grammy and Papa’s (but insert different gifts).

5:30 p.m.

Two children passed out on Grammy and Papa’s living room floor.

5:45 p.m.

Mommy? Can we go home now? I’m tired.

6:25 p.m.

Get kids in the car. Realize we left three presents at Grammy and Papa’s when we are forty seven seconds down the road. Say fuck it because at this point, we are all two blinks away from unconsciousness.

6:59.59 p.m. 

Begin process of dragging comatose children from the car. Last comatose child momentarily awakens.

“Mommy?”

Me: Yes?

Number 6: This was the best Christmas ever.

Me: I’m glad you had a great day.

Number 6: Mommy? Can I sleep with my new toothbrush? And my Legos? And my Shopkins?

Me: You bet.

Give Number 6 a kiss on the forehead.

Now let’s get you up into your bed.