Well, damned lucky I’m an early riser, because somebody forgot to eat the cookies and half the carrots and drink the milk left out for Santa Claus last night.
Admittedly, they were set out under the Hills Hoist covered in tinsel and lights (rather than under the Christmas Tree) and mummy and daddy had no reason to be outside after dark…
But I am so glad they forgot! Happened to me one year too when my own bairns were little, so this morning a wee bit of my own long-held parental guilt has been lifted!
Santa gave me an IOU one year when one of my gifts hadn’t arrived in time. I think it said something about forgotten at the North Pole, but my mother had ordered from Sears or something and it hadn’t come by Christmas Eve.
My husband Shoujin is a letter carrier for the USPS, and when he first started out, as the newbie he got stuck delivering Express Mail packages on Christmas Day, handling packages that Santa couldn’t because he’d overloaded the sleigh, naturally. I suspect a good number of those people choosing the “deliver on Dec. 25th” option were forgetful.
About a year before I was born the family moved in mid-December. My parents had all the Christmas presents bought, wrapped and hidden before the big move.
Christmas Eve rolls around, the siblings are in bed, the tree’s ready. Mom and Dad look at each other and say, “I though you packed them!”
They managed to get a hold of a former neighbor, who called bright and early the next morning to say Santa’s bag must have accidentally spilled, because all our family presents were in front of her fireplace.
There’s a cottage industry of sorts of people who make and send letters “from Santa” saying things like, “Sorry, but so many kids wanted _______ (e.g. Tickle Me Elmo; a PlayStation 2) that my elves just couldn’t make enough of them in time for Christmas.” Of course, now anyone with a computer and a printer can do it.
As noted in the Wiki article, they were ubiquitous in Australian backyards from the 1940’s onwards. Pretty much every kid would remember their mum screaming, “GEDDOF THE HILLS HOIST”, as they were a favoured plaything, in the process often bending one of the arms so the clothesline had a permanent tilt. Apart from that, they were indestructible.
In ‘99, I was visiting my sister’s family in Texas and heard that Santa wouldn’t be stopping by because he didn’t know what to bring her boys. Good thing I had packed a 9’ tall inflatable T-Rex (and her house has 10’ ceilings). I was concerned that the electric pump I also brought would wake the household but nobody came downstairs.
When we were very wee, my oldest sister wanted one of those giant Barbie Campers. Santa obliged, my parents were invited to the neighbors for a toast that Christmas Eve and came home feeling VERY festive after too much wine.
“waitaminute,” my mom said. “what does it say on that box…assembly required?”
So, drunk as skunks, they got to assemble the Barbie camper, while not complicated as far as parts, required over 100 stickers and decals all over and in it…for anyone that would like to see the one I am talking about -this Barbie Camper
When I was 9, and my younger brother and sister were 6 and 4, Mom & Dad were assembling a metal rocker type of toy for them. It was sort of like a seesaw but for indoor use. It had wood seats that had to get attached with screws. Unfortunately, Mom stepped on a screw and got a puncture wound. Dad had to take her to the emergency room, so they woke me to tell me what had happened and reminded me of the neighbor’s and uncle & aunt’s phone numbers.
I had a hard time falling back asleep – I suspect I was worried about being “in charge” – so I went downstairs and found the thing and finished putting it together. My parents, who were never really very good at anything do-it-yourself, were very grateful when they came home quite a bit later and found me asleep on the couch with the thing put together. They let me eat the Santa cookie as well
Sheesh, I trained my kids early that Santa gets too much milk and cookies. After delivering almost the entire world’s presents and on the final leg, what Santa really wants is a beer.
I’m 16 years older than my baby brother. Likely took my parents that long to work up the courage to try again, but that’s beside the point. Christmas 1983–or maybe 1984–was spent at my grandparents home. I met my parents and sibling there, driving direct from college. Christmas day, “Santa” leaves, among other things, a note to my baby brother, stating that his main gift that year was a swing set, but because it was so big, he’d had the elves set it up in the back yard at home rather than bringing it to the grandparents. I came up with some reason to depart a couple of days early to go home to assemble the thing for him.
Coldest fucking weekend in recorded history for my hometown. Giant fucking swingset–swings, sliding board, monkey bars, etc. Still, “Santa” had “PROMISED” the goddamn thing would be fully assembled and ready for use when baby bro got there. Approximately 80 bajillion screws. With tiny rubber caps for the ends. Outside temp about 30 degrees below absolute zero. Instructions written in Japan-fucking-ese but included reasonably clear diagrams, at least.
I laid the fucking swingset out in sections on the living room floor. Screwed things together, drug completed sections out to the yard. lurched back inside to thaw my frozen limbs before tackling the next section. Repeat ad naseum. Once all sections were assembled, I faced the second worst part…joining them together, which could only be done outside. Icicles hanging from my balls as I finished that step. Then came the worst part. Damn thing had to be set in fucking concrete. In holes that had to be dug in frozen ground. And concrete mixed in the artic blizzard raging all around.
Got her done. Did not actually have to have any limbs amputated due to frostbite, but it was a near thing. Weather improved a bit by the time Oak-parents and Oakbro arrived. Oakbro delighted with swingset. Oakparents pleased with my efforts. My balls finally thawed, and remain functional to this day.
Fast forward to the present. Just learned Oakbro and his wife are expecting my first ever niece or nephew this summer. I’m already looking at swingsets available for the little one. Soon as the child is three or so, I’m going to order the biggest, most ridiculously over the top, hard to assemble swingset ever made. And I’m going to have it delivered to Oakbro’s house during a blizzard…
This year, Santa realised belatedly that one smallish present had been left behind in the hidey-hole. Thankfully we had an Elf on the Shelf visiting in December, so I think she’ll make a visit to drop off one last special present.
And to think all my friends looked at that Elf and thought I was mad, or lame, or both!
I WANT AN ELF. I only discovered the concept about a month ago, so looked online and found they’re only available from the US (and would have taken too long to get here). But I’m definitely going to do the Evil Elf who Tells Tales for next Christmas, so my question is: did you get yours here or have one imported, and where from? I am so not creative, and would never make one myself of course.
A belated Merry Christmas from the Buckta family to you and your gorgeous kids too.
Alas, I do. My default wake-up time is five-freakin’-thirty, every-freakin’-day.
And as I never cease to remind my daughter, she is very-freakin’-lucky that she has kids that like bed, even on Christmas morning. They got up early that day…8am. It’s normally more like 8.30.
