It's 9 a.m. Christmas morning, and my son is still in bed sleep. He is excited about the holiday, last night he practically bounced off the walls in anticipation. But not so excited this morning that he'd interrupt his sleep pattern in order to put me and the wife out of our misery and wake his sleepy-head up.
The wife and I are pacing the floor, paving a trail from our bed to the bathroom hoping he will hear us scuttling about and get up. This is our ritual with him every Christmas morning. Doesn't he know he's supposed to be up at the crack of dawn, bugging us to get out of bed and open gifts?
Excuse me now, I'm gonna go pave my trail a little louder, stomp on the floor and bump the walls, see if I can't make some inconspicuous noise. Or maybe I'll be outright conspicuous and tickle him in his armpits — the ultimate ticklish spot — until he gets my hint and wakes up. I'm ready to open gifts.
Merry Christmas to you