Tomorrow we will sleep in.

That’s the plan, anyway.

Tonight we are neither on guard nor on our best behavior. There will be at least four cheeky arguments over which holiday movie is the one WE ALWAYS (or WE NEVER) watch on Christmas Eve. (It’s NOT Waking Ned Devine, no matter what my husband says.)

Santa’s workshop — also known as the downstairs guest bedroom, where parental elves have toiled into the wee hours on the 24th day of December for the last two decades — has finally experienced the sluggishness of an aging demographic.

There aren’t mountains of gifts to sift through anymore. There is nothing to assemble. Any wrapping we might do is quite actually the work of but a moment.

(There’s plenty of time for wine).

I count myself........

© The Saratogian