There's a prize inside

It's almost time.

Historically, I've had a problem waiting until Christmas Eve to find out what's under the tree, in presents marked with my name. My parents can attest to this. Chris can attest to this. If there's a way for me to find out, I probably will.

That's not to say I dig through the house and try to find out. Well, not anymore. The seventh-grade me found a baseball card magazine long before Christmas, and by the time the big day had arrived, I'd read it cover to cover. And I recall one year very, very carefully (and probably not as quietly as I thought) pulling back a slightly unstuck piece of Scotch tape to open the flap on ... I think it was a GI Joe something or other. Regardless, it was undoubtedly awesome.

This year, mostly due to having a baby in the house, things like getting presents under the tree (to say nothing of getting the damn tree up to begin with) happen when they happen. Chris just started wrapping presents a few days ago. And because I have bigger fish to fry, I haven't even checked underneath. (That could change, of course. All it takes is one tiny fit of boredom.)

Jack, meanwhile, has the whole thing mapped out. There's nothing so obvious — like Lego sets — under the tree, so we might have him fooled for now. And while he's had a problem keeping mouth shut in past years, he hasn't told Chris what he got her. But I think he probably forgot, since it was in the middle of a busy, distracting trip to Village Pointe.

On the opposite end of that, though, he inadvertently told me what I was getting — sort of. Some bike tools and socks. Of course, I asked for a number of different bike tools and just sort of pointed toward the socks. Could be anything.

Hmmm ... maybe I'll go find out.