Christmas Tears
Sorry I've been so MIA lately. Here's why:
1. I had stomach death. I was vomited ON for two days, and then I vomited AT for two days. Afterwards, I endured a round of the Unexplained Random Facial Swelling Game I like to play. Fun, fun, fun!
2. We have Satellite TV now. My life is complete. My yard is bald, but that's ok, because we have 24 hours of the uninterrupted antics of Laura and Nellie. Sweet.
3. Christmas is a' comin' and I'm a busy little elf, making and wrapping Christmas presents. Well, all except Brian's present, which is Sirius radio, which he received a bit early. (Can't miss Howard, you know).
Which brings me here today to tell a lovely tale of one of my Christmases past.
I was in, ohhhh, roughly third grade. I was growing increasingly suspicious of this whole "Claus" fellow, and set out to uncover the truth.
In all my Christmases leading up to this, I had always HEARD Santa's jingle bells and HO, HO, HOs as he flew up the chimney, READ the notes he left behind, SEEN the ashy footprints across the living room carpet, TASTED the crumbs left on his cookie plate and DRIPPED the few remaining drops from his empty milk glass, but NEVER had I witnessed him sneaking around our house on Christmas Eve. And I wanted that. I wanted it more than anything else. Well, anything else except my I Dream of Jeannie Magic Bottle. . . . . .
(One of my ex-boyfriends told me how weird it was that we would leave cookies and milk for Santa, because at HIS house, they always left a giant glass of Scotch on the rocks for the Big Guy)
Anyway, I announced to my parents that I would NOT be sleeping in my bedroom on Christmas Eve, but instead, I would sleep with my head planted IN the fireplace, so that if Santa made an appearance, he would land directly on my face, and therefore, there would be NO WAY I would miss seeing him.
Mom and Dad told me that would be fine. If I wanted to "take that risk . . . " (said with eyebrows raised in an ominous foreshadowing fashion that I was too stupid to pick up on)
The night wore on and we celebrated with friends and family. Just before bed, the phone rang and I ran to answer it.
Wee Me: Hello?
Strange Man who sounded a LOT like Uncle Alex: Hi! Is this Heather?
Wee Me: Yes. Who is this?
Strange Man: Why, Ho, Ho, Ho, This is SANTAAAA! Is your father there?
Wee Me: (Enormous "O" mouth) Uhhhuhhhh. . . .
Santa: Well, let me talk to him, Heather! I think we might have a problem on our hands!
I handed the phone over to my father and FREAKED at my sisters, "THAT WAS SANTA CLAUS ON THE PHONE!!!! I WAS TALKING TO SANTA CLAUS!!!!!!"
We gathered around my father and listened intently.
Dad: Yes, Santa! How are you? Why, yes. I'm afraid so, Santa. Yes, with her head SMACK DAB in the fireplace. *sigh* I know, Santa. Right. I'll tell her. Yessir. I promise. I will. Okay, Santa! Thanks for calling! Take care! Bye!
Shannon, Erin and myself all stood wide-eyed in a row before Dad and waited for the news. Slowly Dad spoke.
"Well, it seems that Santa won't be coming this year because he has a rule about NOT visiting the homes of children who sleep in the fireplace. Now, he DID say that if Heather changed her mind and slept in HER BED, he would come to our house tonight with the presents, but he also said that if Heather decides to sleep in the fireplace, he can't come."
Me: But he'll still bring the presents, right?
Dad: No, Heather. he can't bring the presents unless he can get down the chimney. He can't get down the chimney if you're in the fireplace.
Shannon starts to cry. Erin starts to cry. I try to think of a way to barter my butt out of this one.
Me: What if I sleep on the floor?
Dad: Nope, won't work. It's Santa's rules.
Me: What if I slept at the top of the stairs?
Dad: Nope, you have to sleep in your bed, in your room.
Shannon: (in one pathetic continuous whine-word with no breathing in between) HEATHERYOUHAVETOSLEEPINYOURROOM
ORSANTAWON'TCOMEANDI'LLHATEYOUEVENMORE!
Erin: Wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhbunnyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
Dad: What's it going to be, kiddo?
Me: (wrinkling nose because it's obviously a very crap deal) okay. I will.
That night I slept in my room. Santa came, jingled his bells, shouted a merry HO, HO, HO! I ran my butt down the stairs fasterthanthespeedofflamingchickens and I MISSED HIM. AGAIN.
Oh yeah, and that was the year my babysitter gave me COAL. (Ummm, not that I didn't totally deserve it that year. Or ANY year, for that matter. But that's a few other stories I'll someday tell.) ;-)
Peace, till next