Remember how I told you that my family never waited until Christmas morning before diving headfirst into the stack of presents under the tree? My mom tolerated this tradition. Oh, she had her fun like anyone else, but it bugged her just a tish, so one year she decided that when the Day of Unwrapping arrived, she was going to be ready.

That year was no different. It started with eleven year old Janice wheedling and needling Dad until he had very little choice but to turn to Mom with big puppy dog eyes and ask, just like Jan had been pleading, “Just one present?” Usually, it took a little work to get Mom to give in, oddly, this year she acquiesced quite quickly, only after making us promise that once we opened this gift, we’d wait for Christmas for the rest. We agreed and never suspected that the wool was being cleverly pulled over our eyes. She gave the customary, “I’ll choose the one you get to open first!” and then ran to choose three gifts from under the tree.

She had to select the gifts because we kids were so terrible about guessing and peeking and shaking that she had to devise a new code each year of how to mark the packages so that only she knew who belonged to which gift. There were many years that she would be second guessing herself as we unwrapped as she tried to remember the recipient of a certain gift. Accidents were made, but it never made anyone upset- we just tossed the unwrapped gift to it’s rightful owner and continued on.

Mom had us each sit at the table with our present and told us that we should unwrap them all at once so we didn’t spoil the surprise. My younger brother and sister tore into their gifts with rabid glee while I more delicately teased the pretty paper off of the box. Before I was done unwrapping my sister and brother had torn the paper off to reveal Uncle Ben’s Minute Rice and Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. They immediately began to tear into the boxes because my mother has a habit of wrapping gifts in whatever box is available, and those usually happen to be food boxes. As I unwrap a cake mix, Mom yells not to open the boxes because that’s really what they are.

Jan and Bernie are devastated. Bernie gets mad and Jan dissolves into tears; I start laughing and congratulate my mom on pulling a good one. I’m about fifteen years old, and the humor is not lost on me. My sister sniffles and then wails, “Of course you’re happy! At least you got cake mix!”

I’m still laughing. I can’t help it. My siblings start looking mutinous and declare that they still get to open a real present. Mom tries to hold them to their promise, but after many tears she gives in and, as usual, the gifts are all unwrapped that night.

To this day I still think it’s one of the funniest things my mother ever did. If I get the opportunity to pull something similar on my children, I will.