When I was younger, presents from my parents and friends would go under the tree as soon as we recieved them or as soon as they were wrapped (in the case of the ones from my parents). On Christmas morning, a huge sack full of presents would be at the bottom of my bed and my brother would always have a smaller sack than me as he was a lot older than me so he got mainly money. The presnets in the sacks were always wrapped, which I personally think is better because then you can open each one and be suprised, rather than just looking into the sack and seeing everything straight away. For some reason, I never questioned the fact that my mother and Father Christmas used the same wrapping paper; I must have assumed they both just happpened to buy it from the same place. Big presents like bikes - and if I remember rightly, a play kitchen one year - were loosely wrapped and appeared in the living room on Christmas morning. I remember believing in Father Christmas until my parents sat me down and told me he wasn't real. One year I did have doubts, however, and left a note on my bedside for him to fill in when leaving my sack saying "Dear Father Christmas, are you real?" with tick boxes for yes and no. When I woke up to find the 'yes' box ticked, I believed in him again. After opening our presents and having breakfast, we usually went to my nan's house for lunch and after eating, my nan would always tell me to go check my bedroom in her house to see if Father Christmas had left me anything in her house too. There'd always be a big sack full of presents, like at my own house, but I always suspected my nan gave me these rather than Father Christmas - probably because I thought that he wouldn't leave presents for me where I didn't live. After coming back home - and I don't know how he did it without us noticing - my dad would sneakily put another present under the tree and then tell me and my brother to check under the tree again to see if we'd missed anything. I miss the magicalness of Christmas these days.