Santa Visits

The Muralist, Verbalist and Infant are enduring a brief respite from gifts, sweets and attention. The lull before the second storm, as it were. The Dear Husband's parents are on the ferry as I type, with thier own brand of Christmas spoilage.

Christmas Eve found us at my sister's church for Christmas service. The Verbalist wanted his own candle, thank you very much, and sat on the end next to his uncle well away from Mom and the rest of those girls. My middle daughter and niece giggled and bounced and requested 10 gazillion potty breaks, as prophesied by Sis, which is why we sat at the rear of the very crowded room. Home again to consume pizza whilst watching A Christmas Story. The phone rang.

"Ho, Ho, Ho!" boomed my father's voice. "I am hitching up Reindeer to visit your house. Are good little children in bed yet?"

"Oh no Santa," reply I with heads swiveling towards me. The eyes fixed on the phone with a mixture of terror, greed, joyful anticipation, and certitude of righteousness. "They are still eating thier dinner. They will hurry and get into thier jammies."

"Ho, Ho, Ho! I sure hope so! I wouldn't want to pass by the house because they were still awake."

The Verbalist began cramming the rest of his dinner in his mouth, and jumped up to get PJs. The Muralist still dallied at her food. DH began to play the NORAD Santa Sightings on his computer. The Verbalist was glued to the screen, awed by this official confirmation of Santa's existence. The Muralist awoke to the gravity of her situation and ran to get pajamas.

ching ching ching ching, ringla jing ching ching

Sleigh Bells sounded outside the kitchen window. The Verbalist's eyes practically popped out of his skull. "No! No Santa waiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitttttttt! I'm getting in bed nowwwwwww!!!!"
Thump, thump, thump. Down the hall he went. "I can tuck myself in Dad! I've already prayed!" he threw over his shoulder as he jumped under his covers. Palpable silence emminated from his room.

"Mom, mom, mom, mom!!" entreated the Muralist. "You have to help me hurry, faster faster." Her hands fumbled in thier haste to pull her nightgown on. "I'm good, I'm good, I'm goooooooooddddd Santa!" Thump, thump, thump, down the hall she went. Theatrical snores for a moment, then silence. I glance at the kitchen window, my father's face gleeful.