The first Christmas after my parents separated, my sister and I spent Christmas Eve at my Dad's place, a rail-road apartment on 11th? 12th? Street in Park Slope.
We shared a bedroom there, and my dad had painted a bright and cheerful rainbow on the wall above my bed. My sister's side of the room had this magical built-in cupboard, with drawers underneath.
So, it's the night before Christmas. The first Christmas we weren't a whole family. I couldn't sleep. BigSister couldn't sleep. We were whispering and speculating and wondering if Santa knew where we would be. Did we remember to give him this address? Would it confuse him that we were going to be switching houses? We just. couldn't. sleep.
So BigSister said, "you know, when EldestCousin babysat for me a while ago, I asked him to tuck me in and he didn't know how. Here! Let me show you what he did!"
And she bounced up out of bed, and came over to my side of the room and pulled the covers up to my chin and then went "TUCK!TUCK!TUCK!" and tucked the blankets in around my body like you would tuck a flat sheet under a mattress.
And then she went back to her bed. And I bounced up (after detangling myself) and I went over to HER side of the room and I pulled the covers up to her chin and went "TUCK!TUCK!TUCK!" and tucked the blankets in around her body like you would tuck a flat sheet under a mattress.
And then I went back to my bed and she bounced up (after detangling herself) and....well, lather, rinse, repeat about seven times. We were HOWLING with laughter. And it became a Christmas tradition that we continued for years.
The moral of the story is that even the most difficult holidays can bring fun memories, and build new traditions. I don't remember what I got for Christmas that year, but I remember that night with my sister.
Through My Glasses, Dorkily
3 years ago