Christmas Eve

For as long as I can remember, on Christmas Eve my little brother and I would have a sleepover in his room. I would drag my mattress from my bedframe and throw it on the floor in his room. This is one of the only times of the year where the two of us get along. The rest of the year we bicker and fight like cats and dogs, but worse because we have words and I am stronger.

Every year since it came out, our whole family (aka me, my brother, and my parents) will receive a new set of pajamas and watch the Polar Express. This is after we are filled to the absolute brim with chinese food. Every time, all of us gasp when the train derails, and every time, we laugh at the silly engineers, and every time, I hide my face at the part where the abandoned marionettes stand hanging. I never understood that part, maybe tonight I will.

My brother, Brad, and I then head into his still outer-space themed bedroom, though he is thirteen, we just never got around to redecoration. We promise each other that we’ll go to sleep but never do and usually end up giggling until one of our parents comes in and tells us to stop. We then spend the rest of the night staring at each other and watching Alice In Wonderland. Then 7 am rolls around. Good morning.