I smell butter cookies, hot chocolate and the stickiness of sleepAs we gallop up the stairs to the family roomMy brother jumping up and down beside meLike a monkey in his tree-green plaid pajamasThe tree is glowing like a pyramid of radiumAnd the presents, mysterious cubes and ovalswrapped in slippery wax wrapping paperThe color of fluffy foamy whipped creamI hope to get a new skateboard or a surfboardOr any kind of board that movesI imagine tearing through the boxes to discoverthe treasure withinWe stare at our thumbs as we wait as impatientlyas dogs about to be fedFor my parents to wake up so we can open presentsBut we only hear our dad snoringAs loud as the howl of the wind on a crisp, cold winter nightBut then we turn around and see our rumply tousled parentsin the pine-scented hallway“You can open your presents now,” they sayWith smiles as wide as two slivers of the moon“Finally!” my brother and I shout as we rush towards the pileof mysterious presentsIn the boxes I find root-beer-scented surf waxA black leash to hold me to my surfboardand my surfboard to meAnd foamy grip tape to help me from slipping off the boardAnd as I hear my mom’s gracefull laughterAs she watches my brother bounce around the living roomWith a ribbon tied around his legs and armsas if he were a presentI feel cozy in a blanket of happiness and love