Nana stayed with us on Christmas Eve this year, which was quite nice, but presented a difficult challenge for the kids on Christmas morning.

On the one hand, they wanted to get to their presents. On the other, how does one politely wake up one’s grandmother?

They started with my wife and I first, running into our room and shouting “Merry Christmas!” as they flipped on the lights.

“Merry Christmas,” I mumbled back.

“What time is it?” my wife asked. “We said not until 6:30.”

“Yeah, but we said six,” my oldest son said.

I grabbed my phone to check the time. It was 6:15. “Is Nana up?”

“No.”

“Who’s waking her up?”

“We think you should.”

I laughed. “It should definitely be the youngest,” I said. “With grandparents, always go with the youngest.”

They doubted me, of course, but their mother backed me up, so they walked back out into the darkness of the rest of the house.

“Nana?” I heard my youngest call. I learned later that he was standing outside her door. “Merry Chr-”

He was interrupted by a loud violent pounding on her door.

“No!” he shouted at the door. “Get back here! Nana, that wasn’t me! It wasn’t me!”

I heard his older brother chuckling as he settled on the couch in the living room.