Christmas came at 2:30 a.m.

Apparently rousted by a band of rogue sugar plum fairies, my two knucklehead kids hauled off and woke up to open their Christmas presents at 2:30 in the morning. Of course, that’s only “morning” in the technical sense, as it’s still almost five whole hours before sunrise. So, add sleep to all the other things I didn’t get from Santa this year. Instead, the lumps of coal in my stocking were joined by bloodshot eyes and unrequited yawns.

But sleep deprivation is a small price to pay for that gleam in their eyes when they finally open the present they’ve been longing for all year long. Merry Christmas, boys! Dad’ll sleep when he’s dead.


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