It's 6:30 am Christmas morning, and I'm the only one out of bed. You might think this is because TheGirl is a bit too old, TheBoy a bit too young for Christmas morning excitement. Or you might think it's because we got home late last night, and the kids are still tuckered out. I doubt these explanations, since this year's slumber is a repeat of last year's and that of the year before. I'm not sure of the cause, myself. But I do know that there has never been a Christmas morning where I lingered so late in bed.
A pile of presents from Santa (family gifts will be given on Orthodox Christmas, in January) lies under the tree, awaiting frenzied unwrapping. The fireplace still lies open where Santa emerged to hastily consume a biscotti (no cookies handy at bedtime!) and glass of milk before depositing the loot beneath the tree. Still, no children emerge. I grind coffee, make a large pot. Still no kids; no wife either - she's smart enough to take advantage of our offspring's aberrant behavior.
A batch of scratch faux-cinnamon roll muffins is baking. Clanking bowls and muffin pans have not stirred the wee ones. Nor has the smell of cinnamon and fresh-brewed coffee dislodged a single reveller from their blankets. It's peculiar... perplexing... and so I wait. What else can I do? Although I have to say, those muffins are looking pretty tasty. I wonder if there'll be any left by the time the rest of my household emerges. If there are, it'll be a Christmas miracle!