4:45 You hear them stir in their beds and begin to giggle. You let one eye open to see what ungodly hour it is and threaten them with morning homework and de-pooping the yard if they don’t go back to bed.
5:15 More giggling. You know it’s Jesus’s birthday but only the anti-Christ would get up this early. “Five more minutes,” you yell, disgusted by the pathetic pleading sound you can hear in your own voice. You debate smothering your husband with a pillow for his ability to sleep through anything.
5:18 You give up. Sleep isn’t happening. You practice your “excited Santa” face in the mirror. It’s horrifying and betrays the five glasses of red wine you drank while putting the presents under the tree. You justify not brushing your teeth because: coffee. And you’ve been married since the beginning of time so bad breath doesn’t matter, does it?
5:30 Fueled by the cup of coffee you just chugged like a shot in college, it’s on like Donkey Kong.
5:35 The first question comes in as to why Santa’s handwriting looks like yours. “Shut up, kid,” you think, but you say, “We must both have great handwriting.” Your spouse gives you an eyeroll.
5:44 Your first toy gets opened that you don’t have batteries for. Damn you, stupid Ds! There are tears, and some of them are your own.
5:55 After spending a gazillion dollars and the equal amount in sweat and tears on being Santa, your kids are playing with the bubble wrap.
6:06 You’ve already switched to Mimosas because eff this shit.
6:46 The kids are fighting over the toys because Christmas. Sorry, Jesus.
7:04 You serve the homemade coffee cake that you were up until 1 AM making but that one doesn’t like nuts and this one doesn’t like the brown edges so everyone gets Fruit Loops. You cry into your third Mimosa.
7:15 You’re treating the painful AF paper cuts you got from trying to pull the gahdamn toys from the packaging. Who packages these things anyway? Sadists?
7:22 Kid #1 decides to choose now to declare that he knows Santa isn’t real. Kid #2 won’t come out of his bedroom.
7:33 The fourth Mimosa went down a little too smoothly. You begin to wonder if you have enough time to nap before church. You mention church and everyone cries. Christmas.
7:59 You step over the dog poop (from not having time to take the dogs out for their morning walk) on the carpet to nap amidst the wrapping paper. Sleep is inevitable.
8:22 You frantically shower the entire family at the same time while unleashing some curse words no one has ever heard before. Think fuckingshitsmugglerdouchenut.
8:59 You peel out of the driveway with one minute to get to church.
9:09 You get to church and get the last standing spot with your ass halfway out the door. You say a silent prayer to let next year go more smoothly. You know it won’t. You still sort of love it. Christmas.