Tag Archives: Christmas

What’s in a Christmas stocking?

Christmas is almost upon us and I’m feeling good about it. I’ve got my checklist pretty well marked up:

  • Reroute a couple of paychecks to Amazon.com to take care of the far-flung friends and relatives.
  • Sort through all the millions of toys my four-year-old has told me he wants, paring it down to the few that he will like well enough to make him forget the rest for a few days.
  • Pick out gifts for my wife to the best of my ability as a husband.
  • Practice looking contrite and saying “Sorry, Honey,” when my ability as a husband turns out to be typically husband-like.

The only things I haven’t quite gotten nailed down yet are stocking stuffers for the baby. Stocking stuffers for everybody else have been easy, but I’m having trouble finding little treats for infants. This probably shouldn’t worry me. After all, the child is not yet aware of a thing called Christmas, let alone that it should feature a stocking filled with goodies. A day of teething upon the packaging of his brother’s toys would be an unexpected windfall to him. He wouldn’t miss his stocking at all.

But I would. Stockings are an important Christmas tradition to me. When I was a kid, the only thing my siblings and I were allowed to open when we got up at, oh, say about 2 a.m., on Christmas morning were our stockings. My mother was an inspired stocking filler. The little delights she put in there got us through the hours until she and my father got up.

Then, there were cows to milk; presents had to wait because the cows’ utters wouldn’t. Then there was church. Those of us with enough foresight to choose to be on the Polish side of family that year might have gone to Christmas Eve Mass the day before. We got to play with the goodies from our stockings while we waited for the Germans to come back from church, because our Lutherans didn’t have a Christmas Eve service. We little ones were up for about eight hours before we got to open presents.

stocking hanging on tree

Baby’s first stocking. No, I don’t know the name of any blue-nosed reindeer, but I think he is soon to become a favorite of ours.

One year, when my older brothers played a practical joke by switching out my stocking stuffers for one raw onion, I retreated to a dark corner in the kitchen and cried like it was the end of the world. That was 40 years ago, but I remember it very well. Santa didn’t love me anymore, and it hurt. Even worse, I knew some boys in the next room who deserved an onion far more than I did, so where was the justice?

Even if my little guy doesn’t know about Christmas, or who Santa is, I want him to have a stocking full of happy things on Christmas morning. They may be little things, soon lost or forgotten, but I want to do my best to tell him that the people in his life, who are symbolized by Santa, love him dearly, and always will.

Letter to Santa

A letter to Santa, dictated by the big boy on behalf of his little brother. Since this note falls under Santa-client privilege, names have been redacted.

Dear Santa, please bring us a gift that really sucks this Christmas

My wife wants a new vacuum for Christmas. Before anyone mounts their “this-is-the-21st-century.-How-could-you-think-of-giving-a-cleaning-appliance-to-your-wife-as-a-Chritmas-gift?” ponies and rides to the sound of the guns, let me explain. She doesn’t normally ask for cleaning equipment for Christmas, and I don’t usually get her such gifts. Cleaning is as non-festive an event in our household as it is in the households of people eons more enlightened than we are.

Vacuuming is different, though. She vacuums every day, if she can manage it. It’s a comfort chore. It’s like certain types of yard work to me. I don’t necessarily look forward to the work, but I can be alone with my thoughts when I’m doing it, and I feel better knowing it gets done on a regular basis.

Our old vacuum has suffered many infirmities. One of the wheels keeps falling off. I tried to fix it with that crazy putty stuff they used to hawk on TV all the time until they convinced my wife to give me some one Christmas. Now, when the wheel comes off, as it does quite often, it leaves crumbs that look like gray, dried Play-Doh.

the wheel keeps coming off

Anyone know if we can extend our Triple-A coverage to our vacuum? We seem to be plagued by “flat” tires.

The hose from the floor unit to the canister leaps free of its connections at random times. This would greatly affect the vacuum’s usefulness, except that it doesn’t really pick up much when the hose is firmly in place. Any lint or crumb that is big enough to be seen with the naked eye has to be carefully hand-fed to the machine. What happens to dirt too small for the naked eye is anybody’s guess. I’d say our vacuum just plain sucks, except it doesn’t, and that’s the problem.

The one thing our vacuum does pick up is cat hair. This is no great accomplishment, considering that anything in the same house with a cat picks up cat hair, regardless of how sincere are its attempts to avoid it.

The hook that the cord wraps around is broken off. We have to wrap the cord around the shoulder and torso of the machine like a bandolier. Add a sombrero and our vacuum might have ridden with Pancho Villa. Whomever it rode with, there can be no doubt that it got shot off its horse a few times.

villa directing battle

“The enemy line is crumbling. Send the vacuums around the flank to mop up. Also, make a note to bring mops to the next battle.” (Image: Wilbur H. Durborough)

 

I would have bought a new vacuum at the asking, but my wife has been too wise to ask for one. She knows I would have picked up another $84.99 model and presented it as if it were the end of her worries for all time. She’s sick of burning through these Fisher Price vacuums, and now she wants a good one. And if you want a good one, you’d better get somebody reliable, like Santa, involved.

vacuum wears his cord like a bandolier

With his bandolier firmly in place, he’s ready to ride. Before he accomplishes any marauding, his horse will throw a shoe and he will limp humbly back to his village to recover.

My wife has been a real trooper, putting up with our shameful vacuum for far too long. I just hope Santa has been watching to see how good she’s been. It’s out of my hands now. All I can do is point out the need and the deservingness. By the way, Santa, if you’re reading this, please consider it a letter to you.

Happy Thanksgiving, now let’s talk about Christmas

One Saturday in the middle of October, the four-year-old came downstairs as I was making breakfast. He still wore his pajamas and had a groggy look about him. He stepped into the kitchen and, without troubling himself with the exchange of any top-of-the-morning niceties, asked. “Is it Thanksgiving?”

He was disappointed to learn that it was not. His disappointment stemmed, not from a particular childlike love of the thrill-devoid holiday known as Thanksgiving, but from a recently gained knowledge that Thanksgiving was an obstacle that must necessarily be removed from the way if Christmas were ever to come.

A couple of weeks before, I had explained to him that we would have Halloween first, followed by Thanksgiving. Then, it would get to be winter and Christmas would come. I can only attribute the fact that he forgot all about Halloween to the early hour of day, his sleepy disposition, and the proven fact that toys are more exciting than candy.

Well, if it weren’t even Thanksgiving yet, there was still time to go brush his teeth.

Today, I have good news for the boy, because now it is Thanksgiving, and that is practically the doorstep of Christmas. Winter is such an unreliable arrival that it is hardly worth counting, which means Christmas is up next.

Halloween

Thanksgiving

→Christmas!!!!←

All the lesser holidays are out of the way! Christmas is almost here! So let’s put this turkey to bed and start the countdown!

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

P.S. I’m not telling him it’s Thanksgiving until after he brushes his teeth.

November calendar

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