It’s Christmas Eve. My six-year-old self is sprawled out on the living room floor, staring up at the kaleidoscope of colors that make up our Christmas tree. My German Shepherd wags her tail as I rest my head on her, closing my eyes as I giddily imagine what lies underneath the ribbons and wrapping paper…
“Oh my gosh! What’s that running up the driveway?!” I hear mom call from the foyer.
Without hesitation, my brother and I race to the window, pressing our faces up against the frosty glass to get a closer look at what’s outside.
The elves came!
“Those are the elves! Santa’s elves!” She shouts, pointing to the pitch black beyond the window. We nod in unison excitedly, unable to see anything at all, but eager to be a part of the magic that mom seems to be witnessing.
She smiles, and gets a curious look in her eyes. “I wonder where they went?” She asks us.
We dash past her, already knowing exactly why the elves have paid us a visit. We run into our bedrooms and each find a new pair of pajamas, freshly laid out on our beds.
“The elves came! The elves came!” I sing and dance around my room, clutching my new fuzzy pajamas.
Christmas traditions are a lot like snowflakes; each one is unique and special in their own way. Whether it’s watching A Christmas Story with the family, or leaving out milk and cookies for Santa, these holiday traditions are the moments that make the season so memorable.
The elves have visited our house on every Christmas Eve since I can remember. You’d never know just when they’d show up, until Mom swore she saw their little feet sprinting up the driveway. Over the years as I was growing up, the joy that radiated from simply stumbling upon pajamas on our beds didn’t seem to fade. It’s a special part of Christmas that has stood still in time for my family; a tradition that allows us to feel like little kids again.
And if you ask her, Mom is still unlikely to admit that the pajamas were left by anyone but Santa’s elves.