Slouching (sniffle) into the holidays (achoo!)

Wake up in the middle of the night with a head cold that would kill most men. Like thumbs against my windpipe. Now I know how Bob Dylan feels when he tries to sing. So I go to the bathroom cabinet and start twisting off childproof caps.

“Dad, what are you doing?” asks the little girl.

“Here, open this,” I say.

And she twists open a bottle of something red. Nice bouquet. Sort of smoky-flavored. Triaminic, bottled in 2001. “Take one of these,” my wife says, handing me a blue pill.

“Ecstasy?”

“Just take it,” she says.

“Viagra?”

“Shut up and swallow,” she says.

“What’s Dad doing?” someone else asks, and suddenly the whole family is awake, going to the bathroom and making noise. Flushing. Drinking. Gargling. The sounds of Christmas.

“Why are we always sick in December?” my wife asks.

“It’s the excitement,” says the boy.

“It’s tradition,” says the little girl.

Apparently, some families have better traditions than others.

*

At the office, there’s more holiday news and turkey talk. “My cat won’t eat dark meat,” Vic complains. “Just walks away.”

“That’s a cat,” I say. “A dog would eat the dark meat and the plate it was served on.”

“And the hand that gave it to him,” Vic says.

Then there’s Joe, who enjoyed a large dinner with relatives and noted how a topic of conversation would begin at one end of the table, then pass clockwise from one little group to the next, until it circled the table and a new topic would start.

“It was like ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat’ in hell,” Joe explains. So as you can see, everyone at the office had a pretty good Thanksgiving.

Back at home our big feast also went well. A friend’s 3-year-old said grace, mumbling something about food, God and her mother. Not bad for a first try.

As dinner wound down, a couple of third-graders told jokes so old they creaked. Then the parents licked the merlot from their lips, sighed deeply and began two hours of clean-up.

“I may never eat again,” I moan.

“Pumpkin pie?” someone asks.

“Of course,” I say.

Thanksgiving: the season’s pregame meal.

*

In the mail, the first Christmas card arrives.

“What’s with them?” I ask.

“She’s amazing,” my wife explains.

“She’s nuts,” I say.

Already behind on Christmas, I take another shot of cold medication and sit before a roaring TV, trying to warm my feet on a Laker game.

Blame it on the medication, but I find myself switching between the game and the Trinity network. Sports and prayer. Prayer and sports. It’s important to have a balance in life.

“If we plant the seeds of character in our kids now,” urges a guy shaped like a walrus, “we’ll reap the rewards forever.”

“Honey, get me some seeds,” I yell.

Because already on the kitchen counter are the children’s Christmas tip sheets. Thoughtfully, they have left us long lists of things they would like.

That’s a kid for you. Generous by nature, kids understand that in order for the economy to recover, consumer-parent spending needs to rise.

Their mother and I will answer most of these requests. It’s what parents do, when they can. It’s just expected. But real generosity, they say, is doing something nice for someone who’ll never know the source.

Here’s your chance. The Times Holiday Campaign is currently raising money for dozens of charities across Southern California. The agencies provide a range of services to disadvantaged children, from food and shelter to literacy programs.

An author once noted that there is a wonderful, mystical law of nature that the things we crave most -- happiness, freedom and peace of mind -- can be attained by giving them to someone else.

‘Tis the season to find out.

*

Chris Erskine’s column is published Wednesdays. He can be reached at chris.erskine@latimes.com.