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Perhaps the morning begins with the soft shuffling of socks tip-toeing down the stairs, drawn like pajama-clad moths to the Christmas tree glow.
Your Christmas morning may erupt with a bang, not a whimper, with excited screams and noisy rustle of wrapping paper torn and hastily set aside.
The holidays in the Downs family are more sedate these days, what with all of the formerly excitable children now grown-up and mature.
We resign ourselves to making silly faces during our annual dreaded photo shoot in front of the Christmas tree.
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