a christmas confession

This Christmas marks our third in Pennsylvania, and it doesn’t look as though it will be a white one.It's raining and the remnants of last week's snow storm are melting away. But earlier this month, we picked out our Christmas tree while snowflakes danced in the air, creating a bit of nostalgia and bringing back all sorts of memories for both B and me. It’s been years since either of us drove home with a Christmas tree covered in snow. As we did this year, we reflected on Christmases past and tried to name the most memorable. And despite fantastic gifts or exotic trips, one of our favorites has to be our first in Bethlehem when we were celebrating Christmas with my family. My mom and I were shopping for some last-minute stocking stuffers and decided to hit the drive through at Burger King for a quick meal. We ordered a ridiculous amount of Burgers, half of which never made it to our bags. Of course, we didn’t discover this until we were home and faced with a hungry crowd.

Dutifully, and at the strongest possible urging by B who is a peacemaker and justice seeker in all situations, I called the Burger King restaurant to notify them of their oversight and request just compensation for the missing burgers. The on-duty manager complied joyfully. She had remembered the order and told us to come back to the restaurant pick up the rest of our dinner. She also said that it wasn’t necessary to come in the store, rather go through the drive through and give the secret password, “Tiffany” at the speaker and drive on through. They would have our order ready.

B and my father, both very passionate about integrity and burgers, climbed in the car, muttering about how “they always rip you off at the drive through” and sped toward satiation.

Several minutes later they returned home with a bag full of burgers, still muttering about the drive through. B tossed the bag on the table and said, “I don’t know who you talked to, but apparently Tiffany left hours ago. So I told them they shorted our order and owed us burgers. We were there to get our burgers” He said after much conversation through the speaker, a manager finally sounded. She said she remembered the order and told them to pull up to the window where they would get their burgers. “Next time,“ she added, ”you will need to get out of the car and come in the store.”

I was baffled by their story and finally asked, “You went to the Burger King on Linden Street, right?”

“No,” B said. “Why would I go to the Burger King on Linden? I went to the Burger King on Schoenersville.”

“So you’re telling me, you drove up to the window, demanded free burgers and they gave them to you?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Should I go get the burgers from Linden Street, too?”

Merry Christmas.

socks bad, toys good

Just last week, Ash announced, “Santa gives socks to those who are naughty. I’m nice.”

I challenged her, “Are you really nice?”

She adamantly and curtly replied, “Yes, Mommy. I’m very nice.” And that’s when I put the new unopened package of pink and white and blue socks in her drawer instead of her Christmas Sock.

The dialogue continued capriciously this morning on the way to B’s office. In the midst of a conversation lull, Ashlyn announced, “If Santa gives clothes for Christmas, he won’t give toys.”

“What do you mean he won’t give toys?”

“If I get clothes, I won’t get toys. Clothes don’t make good presents,” Ash said.

“I disagree”, I said. “I love getting clothes for Christmas.”

“Yes, but you’re old.”

Hmmm. “How about books and puzzles and games. I think these all make very good presents for Christmas, “ I said.

“Mommy, toys are the best. Can you tell Santa not to bring clothes? He can give us all toys. You and me and daddy. We can all get toys.”

“I don’t really know what Santa is going to bring,” I said. This was the truth. Between both sets of grandparents, seven sizeable boxes - two of them in the extra large category - had arrived at our house, filled mostly with presents for Ash. Out of the 30 or 40 presents that filled the boxes – I didn’t stop to count - about 7 were for B and me. Could be clothes, could be toys. I’m just as curious as she is as to what Santa is bringing this year.

“Can’t he bring both?” Asked B.

“No.”

“Don’t put Santa into a box,” said B. “Santa feels as though he’s been ‘stereotyped.’ So Santa brings whatever Santa wants to.”

“Only toys this year.”

“Are you sure you’ve been nice?”