A Christmas story from creative writing

55-year-old Blythe Digory sighed, looking away from the ceiling as she sat up in her bed. She looked to her left and saw her husband, 64-year-old Devin Diggory, still fast asleep.

“Honey, it’s time to wake up,” she tried to coax him out of his slumber, gently shaking his shoulder.

“It’s already 8:30?” He moaned out, rubbing his hands over his face.

“Yes it is, Honey,” Blythe responded, starting to get out of bed, “I’m surprised that the children haven’t come to wake us up yet,” she told Devin, a smile made its way through her face as she made her side of the bed.

“Maybe they finally decided ta sleep in,” He chuckled, slowly getting out of bed too.

* * * * *

As Blythe and Devin walked down the stairs they came to realize that their sons(Trent and James), their daughters-in-law (Loriann and Marcela), and their grandkids were already awake. Not only were they all awake, but they were all staring boredly at their electronics.

“Ma, Pa, you’re up!” Trent exclaimed, a bright smile started to spread across his face as he put his phone away.

“Merry Christmas, Sweetheart,” She smiled, walking towards everyone.

“Merry Christmas, Ma,” Trent repeated, pulling his mom into a hug.

After reciprocating the hug, Blythe excitedly turned towards the others in the room; “Now, why don’t we put those pesky electronics away and open the gifts that Santa has gotten you all?” Blythe excitedly asked the children, turning towards everyone in the room.

* * * * *

As the youngest three kids had started to open their gifts from ‘Santa’; Blythe had come to realize something.

It seemed as if her older three grandchildren weren’t that grateful, or excited for their gifts. The oldest was fourteen, and the other two were nine-year-old twins. With their age, you’d expect them to be more enthusiastic. But, sadly, they were nowhere near enthusiastic about the gifts. They were focused on their electronics and had barely opened their gifts from Santa.

The sight made Blythe huff out a breath of annoyance, as she turned towards her sons and their wives he saw that they too were looking at their phones or recording what was happening.

Suddenly, to Blythe, it felt as if Christmas meant nothing to the younger generations. Instead of the thankfulness and joy of giving to one another if felt as if it was a time to just give objects that the children wanted, or didn’t seem to even want. To Blythe, it seemed as if the family was disconnected from one another.

“Honey, can you have them put their electronics away?” Blythe murmured to her husband, turning away from the sight in front of them.

“Why? It ain’t doin’ no harm,” Devin responded, turning towards her, “They’re just tryin’ ta get a picture of the moment,” he reasoned, patting her thigh.

Blythe just shook her head and sighed as sadness overtook her.

* * * * *

The following year on Christmas day Blythe reluctantly woke up, and as she was getting out of bed three sets of tiny feet came running towards her bedroom door and slammed it open.

“It’s chwistmasss!” Georgina (Trent’s youngest) yelled in excitement, as she came barreling into the room with her cousin.

“Yes it is, Gina,” Blythe laughed, a smile rising onto her face.

“Calm ya selves,” Devin scolded the six-year-olds and five-year-old, getting out of bed as the two six-year-olds ran around the room.

“Up-up!” Paisley (James’ second, and youngest) quietly said, making grabby hands up at her Grandma.

“Georgina, Linsey, let’s go downstairs,” Blythe said, picking up the five-year-old from the floor.

* * * * *

When the children started to open their gifts from Santa they looked happier than ever; their parents weren’t recording anything and were only taking pictures here and there. Nobody was on their electronics.

The sight had warmed Blythe’s heart. She was so grateful that her sons, their wives, and her grandchildren were visibly showing their excitement, thankfulness, and happiness as they opened their presents that Christmas day.

When Blythe had closed her eyes and took in a deep breath of contentment, she wished and hoped that every Christmas would be like this one.

But, when she opened her eyes again, she felt groggy and tired as she looked up at her bedroom’s old, popcorn ceiling.

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