A Kid At Christmas

It's Christmas Day and, like always, I spent last night at my mother's house. It's a tradition that I spend the night at Mom's on Christmas Eve so I'm there bright and early in the morning to see how Santa squeezed down the chimney with all those gifts and decorated under the tree.
As I've gotten older, the magic of Christmas has slowly faded away however there are certain staples of this holiday that I need to keep alive because of the tradition of it. For starters, this tree has transitioned from a large, color-lighted evergreen holding the memorable ornaments of our past to a store-bought Charlie Brown trademarked "tree" that holds one ornament. GASP!
What normally happens is on Christmas Eve I lay my head upon a special Christmas Eve pillowcase that I've had for, what seems, like forever.
Then, once we've all woken up, we scan through the gift boxes and bags and start ripping that paper off and throwing that tissue paper on the floor. We typically do one gift at a time so it stretches it out a little longer and we can actually see what everyone has received.
Then, of course, I have cookies for breakfast.
Well, apparently, those traditions have totally faded away.
I got home from a family member's Christmas Eve gathering last night at about midnight. Mom and Jim had already gone to bed so I tiptoed to my room to see my plain-Jane, everyday pillowcase. GASP!
What's a girl to do? Do I wake up my mother to remind her that it's bedtime on Christmas Eve? Do I ransack her home in the dark to try to find the magic pillowcase myself? Do I just stay awake in the living room and wait for Santa to arrive?
I end up just going to bed like normal and pray for a good ending to this, obvious, risky choice.
At 8:30am, I hear the alarm I set the night before and, then, I sprung out of bed because I hear the sounds of gift paper crinkling. GASP!
Did they start without me? Why would they do this? If they couldn't wait any longer, why wouldn't they just wake me up?
I walk out and promptly tell my mother of her huge pillowcase mistake and that they're ruining Christmas by starting without me to which my mother says, "I told you she'd be mad."
What the heck is going on here? What has happened to Christmas? Why do I sound like a claymation character?
Don't they know that Christmas is special and that the tradition surrounding it is what makes it amazing? I love being a kid at Christmas. I love watching the Christmas classics on television. I still smile while watching Santa Claus is Comin' to Town and still sing along with the Heatmiser.
I love seeing the smiles on others faces as they open gifts in their pajamas while A Christmas Story is on the television. I love watching my mother decide which new pair of jeans and which sweater to wear that afternoon to my uncle's house and me, inevitably, giving her fashion advice - "You're not wearing that together, are you?" It's become a tradition. Just call me Rachel Zoe.
It's things like that that I look forward to and it's sad that those few things have...just gone away. Next year, I'm taking charge and doing it all myself. I'll be damned if these things just slip away.
Now, I'm off to eat peanut butter cookies with the Hershey kiss in the middle. Merry Christmas!