"Shhhhh...."

"YOU shhhh...I'm tryi'na sleep here..."

*SMACK*

"Owwww!"

"Get up, dummy!"

Rubbing his suddenly throbbing head, the boy squinted through the darkness to glare angrily at his sister, who, he noticed with a smug sense of glee, had her suddenly aching paw buried deep in her mouth. She mumbled something about block heads and returned the glare.

Seconds passed.

"Is there a reason I'm awake?" Reva growled quietly, twisting around on in his bed to bury himself in his sheets. "I mean, I warned you yesterday. And the day before. And at least four times last week. This isn't happening!"
A sharp yank on his suddenly exposed tail was Sammi's rebuttal. The third part of this repartee was a yelp from her brother, but that's neither here nor there. "But...but...something's wrong! Darn it, Rev, get up! The lights went out!"

"Oh no. Lights. Going out. At night. Maybe it was Saaaanta...don't yank my tail again!"

"No, I think it's something else! We should go check it out...I mean, what happens if Santa can't find us?"

Now, let me explain something rather quick about our two siblings. First off, Reva, being the quicker, brighter, and ultimately more good looking of the twins, was entrusted by mom a few very sacred truths. Number one. Santa doesn't ACTUALLY visit people's homes on Christmas Eve. He sends mommies and daddies special credit cards to actually buy all the gifts on a particular child's wishlist. Second, though he doesn't actually come, his laser eyes see all, and peeking (or attempting to peek, something for which both twins were infamous for) would be an offense met with the soundest of x-mas punishments...a quick trip to Wal-mart and the return line. And building up on that premise, the third unalienable truth that mom set down was that any pre-dawn appearance by either child would result in tanned hides and sore bottoms.

And yet...for whatever reason, ever since they could walk, (four years ago for Samms and three and three quarters for Rev...he had flat feet) they simply could not adhere to this rule. Each and EVERY year, Sammi found SOME reason to drag her much better behaved brother down to the living room. Last year, she heard aliens kidnapping Santa. The year before, she had 'accidentally' left her favorite stuffie down near the fireplace.

Now it was lights. Not happening.

Tucking his tail between his legs and pulling it close to him, the resolute five year old dug himself back into his covers and harumphed, a high-pitched, squeaky version of the sound he'd perfect over the years. But not two seconds later, a different sound intruded on his peace. It was quiet, too soft, but his large radar ears were perfectly positioned to pick up the sound, which, much unlike his harumph, his sister had already perfected.

It began with a sniffle. Then a light, shuddering breath. Then another sniffle. Slight whine. Gritting his teeth and pulling his ears tight against his head, Reva tried to block it out. But...no. There was no escaping it. And Sammi, letting the crocodile tears fall unchecked from her bi-chromatic eyes knew that all too well.

"FIIIINEEE we'll check out the freaking lights!"

"Hey, no swearing, diaper-butt! I'll tell!"

"Mom said you couldn't call me that anymore!"

Sammi stuck her tongue out at Reva, tears and sniffling long since forgotten since at this point, it was obvious that she had won. It was one of the few things she liked about her brother. Pouty face never failed. "Whatever, DB. It's just cuz it's true. C'mon! It's almost time for Santa to come!"

***

Despite her bravado, there was a reason Sammi hadn't just charged down to the living room alone. She was indeed right...all the lights downstairs had dimmed, the moon casting long shadows in through the windows. There were a lot of trees just outside the Strega residence, and the branches made dark puppets on the ground that moved and grasped at the twin's ankles and they tiptoed into the room. No parents to be found, however, and dad's chainsaw-like snores were a solid reminder that at least HE was safely (for them) tucked away in bed.

A quick investigation of the power outlets revealed the problem rather quickly; the power strip near the base of the tree had been overturned and switched off. The culprit, most likely the family's cat, was also conspicuously gone, probably squirreled away in her cat house, dreaming of candied mice in her stocking come the morning.

Despite being a girl, Sammi was a prococious child, and deftly manuevered the switch back into the 'on' position. In an instant, the fruits of Mrs. Strega's heculean labors burst back to life, holiday colors of all sorts illuminating the small living room like a christmas rainbow explosion.

Yes, it was that dramatic. Double Christmas Rainbow.

As the lights came back on, Reva dove behind the couch, whipping his head back and forth. No parental units detected, yet. They had seconds to act.

“C'mon, fuzz-brain, we gotta go! The lights are back on, Santa's gonna make it, c'mon!”

“The star is crooked now!”

I don't really have to mention that refuse-kick-refuse-pout routine again, do I? Good. Suffice to say, it was a brief while after, and we join the kits as Reva is reluctantly assisting his slightly heavier yet paradoxically shorter sibling onto his shoulders. As her bottom rested on his shoulders, a slight rustle and a padded sensation brought a slight smirk to the boy's face, though he was too young to know the wisdom of keeping his yap shut.

“Who's a diaper butt now,” he laughed, bouncing his sister. “You ain't got no room to talk!”

A sharp yank of his long ears brought quick and real tears to his eyes, and Sammi's face drifted down to stare at his, upsidedown.

“They're Goodnights,” she pronounced with a air of superiority, and that was that.

Now, I'm running out of space here, and the whole operation really was a lot less dramatic then I'm making it out to be. Suffice to say with equal parts suffering brother, resourceful girl child, and one of Rev's toy swords, the gleaming star was righted, and the miracle that is Christmas Eve
for Five Year Olds was able to continue unhindered.

Well, until a teetering Rev slipped backwards, dropping the Samms on top of his aforementioned block head, soundly knocking the both of them out cool. I say cool because the remarkably trendy pjs they were wearing wouldn't quite allow them to get cold.

And Mrs. Strega, having just come in through the front door, arms full with Christmas presents bought with one of Santa's magical charge cards tsked to herself and quietly set them down, moving slowly to her comatose kits. They looked so cute sleeping / unconscious / concuss, that she just...didn't have it in her to administer her traditional punishments just yet. She'd file it away, of course, and don't you ever think those two stayed out of trouble long enough for a brief reprieve to matter at ALL.

-Happy Holidays!-