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When I was little, there were few mornings more exciting than Christmas. It would take me hours to fall asleep—I was either peeking out my bedroom door every 30 minutes to see if presents had arrived or writing a last-minute note to Santa—and when I finally woke up the next morning (usually around 6 a.m.), I’d jump on my mom and dad’s bed until they groggily rolled into the living room so I could gleefully tear open my gifts.
Now that I’m older, I don’t attack my parents at the crack of dawn, but I still find a holiday morning no less exciting—not for the presents, but for the breakfast.
