Every year we'd do Christmas Eve at dad's parents' house. We'd come home, as a family, and each unwrap one gift from under the tree at home, then go to bed and do the rest later. I got the boxiest, shiniest looking gift I could get, and sis unwrapped hers and got something really cool, and I unwrapped mine to find...
...a set of bed sheets. I very nearly cried at that.
Then there was the year where we finally had snow on Christmas (it was about 50/50 if we'd actually get it any given year). I must have been about 6 or 7, meaning Sis was 4 or 5. Sometime in the night, some squirrels had run across our roof, so when we looked up, we saw reindeer hoof tracks! I asked where the sleigh runner marks were, but dad explained that the sleigh floated, that's how it could actually fly, so we wouldn't see any marks from that. Quick thinking on his part, and it really sold it to me and Sis.
I've probably told this story before, but I don't know if I'll ever really fully get over it. About two or three years ago, I was working on Christmas Eve. Dad's mom had passed, but we still went out to grandpa's house on Christmas Eve, it was tradition. Except it was snowing too hard that year. Mom and dad had a Jeep, a really big one. I had a sports car, for all intents and purposes. Mom called me and told me not to come out to grandpa's when I got off work, the roads were too bad. I went to her mom's house, half a mile from our house where I lived with mom and dad. The roads really were bad, and I barely made it to grandma's without a few accidents, I never would have made it to grandpa's. Then that spring, he had a heart attack and passed. I'm still mad at the situation and the weather, that I didn't get to see him on his last Christmas.