Well its hardly a tradition, but it's what tends to happen on Christmas Eve.
Mr Boo bogs off out with pressies for relatives we usually havent had time to dish out beforehand and he's out for hours. I in the meeantime run round like a mad woman (oh ok, a madder woman) cleaning, eventually throwing a hyper child into bed threatening that "Santa wont come if you don't go to sleep NOWWW". Then I open a bottle of booze, and as I'm not normally a drinker, I'm usually passed out snoring on the sofa when Mr Boo eventually comes home.
sounds idylic doesn't it?