It's Christmas Eve (and -4 outside)! Per the O'Connell tradition, tonight we will read our children Twas the Night Before Christmas before they go to bed. As I thought about the words, I came to the conclusion that, while a quaint story, it doesn't exactly reflect life in our house. So here's a little of my version of that Christmas classic:

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; (no, Midnight took care of that when she pounced on the little guy, clutched him in her mouth, and ran under the dining room table to hide)

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there (the stockings are no longer hanging with care because my son decided to play with the Santa and Snowmen figurines on the stocking hangers and broke them off, so now they’re stuck on with gobs of Super Glue);

The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; (no, they’re not snug in their beds, they’re getting up four times a night to tell me they’re too hot, too cold, they had a nightmare, they can’t sleep – of course you can’t sleep, you’re standing next to my bed like a zombie breathing on me until I wake up and see this dark figure lurking beside my once-sleeping body)

And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap, had just settled down for a long winter's nap, (what long winter nap? Every night my cat curls up next to me so that I can’t move and so all night I’m trying to work my way around her so I don’t roll over her or make her uncomfortable – god forbid the cat is uncomfortable)

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. (it’s the 14,000 sticks that have fallen this month from the cold and snow, those tree trunk-sized branches that have required a saw to remove from where they’ve impaled themselves in the grass, not to mention the fact that they scratch on our roof all night long)

Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. (I’m not flying anywhere like a flash once I’m in bed, and preferably I won’t even get out from under my covers until 10am)

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below, (and snowplows raking our streets all night long so that we can’t sleep and have to listen to scraping metal rip potholes in the streets)

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer, (actually, I have seen deer in our yard, plenty of them, so this may be the only relevant line in this poem)

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. (I have not, however, seem a little old man with those deer, and if I did catch him in my yard I’d be dialing 911 faster than you can say “trespassing on private property”)

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, and he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name "Now, DASHER! now, DANCER! now, PRANCER and VIXEN!On, COMET! on CUPID! on, DONDER and BLITZEN!To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!" (I call my son by my daughter’s name, my daughter by my cat’s name, and my husband “hey, guy in the kitchen,” so how the heck Santa can remember all those names is beyond me)

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, (more leaves? Didn’t the lawn service rake them all up? Now my kids will track them into the house and I’ll have small, crumpled brown flecks littering my floors again)

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, with the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too (If his sleigh is full of toys, than what do I have stashed in the basement’s back room behind the furnace, covered with a sheet and a sign that says, “Food that’s good for you” so my kids won’t go near it?)

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof the prancing and pawing of each little hoof. (and here I kept telling my husband we had mice in the attic, which is why I sent him up there to evaluate the situation - but apparently he didn't know you weren't supposed to walk on the insulation, a fact I learned when he came crashing down through our closet ceiling)

As I drew in my hand, and was turning around, down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound (a jolly old man coming down my chimney? If he breaks the gas logs that cost a fortune I’ll kill him!)


I could go on and on, but you get the picture. Have a wonderful holiday, and may 2005 bring joy and success!