Twelve Days of Christmas Traditions: Seven Sleeping Bags

Another short one today, but this one bears mentioning. If there's one thing I've learned in my time as a sheep herder (because we're Lambsons. Get it?), it's that sentient or semi-sentient beings are much easier to manage if they're all in one place. Thus, every Christmas Eve, we little ones (not wee little ones, though that certainly applied in some cases) would cram into whatever basement-type space our house at the time had.

Like this, only with fewer hobos.

The floor of said space would be littered with a motley collection of mattress pads, couch cushions, blankets and pillows, arrayed in a way to prevent accidental (or purposeful) steppings-on in the middle of the night. Often times that simply meant you had to try and step on the part of said cushion or pad that didn't look like a blanket-covered limb or appendage.

From this side, it looks like a cute puppy wrapped in a blanket. From the other
side and in the dark, it looks like flat, solid ground.

As we settled ourselves for a short winter's nap, we'd put on some music to keep the Christmas mood going, usually beginning with the Carpenter's Christmas album. I cannot understate how sentimental  that album is to us Lambsons. It's one of those essentials without which Christmas simply isn't Christmas.

Seriously, it's Christmas music at its best.

After being asleep for approximately 28 minutes, it was time to wake up for Christmas morning. For reasons to be stated later, this took a while. But as we waited, we took measures to ensure that no one tried to get a preliminary look at what awaited us around the Christmas tree. You need a glass of water? Too bad, it can wait. You had to go to the bathroom? Hold it. Can't hold it? Then we're gonna watch you all the way to the bathroom door, if possible. A sudden bout of Ebola might have been the only valid reason to let someone go without a lot of resistance from the others, and even then it only ever passed by a bare majority.

This weird-looking strand of nucleic acid surrounded
by protein is your only ticket to the water closet.

We Lambsons are good people, but only one person could be trusted to venture forth under no suspicion of trying to peek. Stay tuned to find out who.


Beckie said…
To this day, if we all camped out the night before Christmas, you can trust I'm going to try and peek at the tree. I can't help it. It is a compulsion.
Peeser said…
Do you remember the year I tried to peek? And I thought that huge red giant panda bear was Santa? (Keep in mind, I only saw it from behind that night, and only the fuzzy red peeking over the big armchair blocking the entry into the living room...) I figured it was punishment for trying to peek.

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