About thirteen Christmases ago, Cam, David, Aaron and I let our families know that we were not coming home for Christmas. We were living in Nebraska and thought we’d spend our first Christmas on our own. With both Cam and my families in Toronto and the Toronto area, we thought we’d make a go of our little foursome’s independence. You know, establish our own traditions now that we were living in the U.S.  That was the plan.

The families were “good” with it. Our boys – 7 and 9 at the time – were not too pleased. “I can’t believe we’re not going home to be with our family at Christmas” was their occasional complaint.

Two weeks before Christmas, Cam and I looked at each other and said, “Let’s do it; let’s go home. But let’s have some fun with this.” We kept the secret from our boys and from my mom.

Christmas eve day we tricked the boys into opening all their gifts and took a drive to see Santa coming in on a helicopter.  (We needed a reason to explain why we were headed to the airport.) When we got close we said, “Oh, guys there’s one more gift for each of you under your seats in the car. Look!”

Opening the gifts the guys found plane tickets.  They were shocked when we told them we were headed to Toronto right then and there!

“What about our stuff?”

“Look in the back of the van; everything’s there!” Their little type-A minds took a minute to unscramble the random and un-orderly actions of their parents (I LOVE spontaneity!), but once they got it, they were undone!

Next surprise:  for mom.

Landing in Toronto’s Pearson Airport, we called my sister, Debra who was in on the action. “The eagle has landed. Check.”

We piled in a rental car and, to add to the excitement, called my mom a block away from her home. She and I chatted. I told her we wished we were there. (So sneaky.) She even asked how my solo went at church.  (I was supposed to sing that night.)

“I sang really well, mom. I wish you’d heard it.” (He-He.)  We said our warm and pseudo sad good-byes.

The four of us raced up the block to her house and proceeded to sing Christmas carols outside her front door. Deb directed mom inside the house. “Oh, mom, listen – carolers.” She tried to persuade her to go to the door.

She finally opened the door to find me, and my little family  - her family  - standing there like impish elves, singing, just for her. (I must say, I was a little concerned that she’d have a heart attack.) She was over- the- moon thrilled!   We all were.

I’m so glad we have that memory of family and Christmas surprises.

Thought I’d share it with you.

Merry Christmas!

Nancy