I’ve always been a bit…precocious (read mouthy). Since being
in the comfort of the womb, I’ve always had an answer for everything. If she
drummed on my house, I drummed back on her innards. It was a game we played…big
fun. But my precocious nature did not always serve me well. In fact, it has
been the prelude to many a “I brought you in this world and I’ll take you out”
moments. …but I digress.
So, it was 1970-something. I want to say I was about 6 years
old (fact checked, I was 6 years old). It was Christmas Eve in St. Louis, MO.
Dad was out attending to last minute Santa Helper duties and me, Mom, and the
dog were at home enjoying Christmas Eve festivities. …and by festivities, I
mean I was chilling in their super huge bed watching Christmas cartoons and she
was slaving in the kitchen. I think she was baking. Doesn’t matter. All was
right in the world.
The evening has pretty much sped by and my bed time was
approaching. Moms comes into her bedroom, interrupts a pivotal moment in the
Frosty the Snowman saga and proceeds with, “You better brush your teeth and go
to bed. You know Santa won’t come if he sees your bedroom light on.”
Little did this sweet, dear lady know, I already had my
evening figured out. I was going to catch a few more Christmas cartoons, eat
some Christmas cookies and wait around to catch the Bearded One (that’s Santa
Claus to those who aren’t in the know) executing the Christmas Eve Ops.
“I’m not ready to go to sleep,” I told her. “I’m going to
stay up and wait for Santa."
“I think you should go to bed, little girl.” She said
“little girl” like I was annoying her but I was a precocious and determined
child. Oh, I was staying up, alright.
“I’m going to wait for Santa Claus,” I repeated.
She shook her head (THAT was annoying) and went back to the
kitchen. By the time I got back to Frosty, he had melted, come back to life and
was singing his goodbye song. Which was ok because something else would come on
right after his show was over.
Two shows later, maybe about an hour later, She comes back.
“Little girl, I told you to brush your teeth and go to bed. You’re going to be
very sad in the morning when you wake up and see that Santa didn’t bring you
anything.”
I wasn’t buying it. I just turned my attention back to the
TV and picked up where Rudolph wasn’t allowed to get in on the games. Rude.
So, she left and went back to the kitchen. I can’t be sure
but I think I heard some under the breath mutterings. “That child is gon’ make
me say something to her on Christmas Eve. Lord, help me stay a Christian
tonight and not hang her up by her footed pajamas.” You, know.
The things all parents say about their kids to keep from doing or saying
something worse. THAT’S what she was muttering under her breath. I’m pretty sure.
All of a sudden, they interrupted my “regularly scheduled
broadcast to bring you the latest news of Santa’s whereabouts.” I have to
admit, that got my attention. I sit up on the bed like a responsible and
engaged news watcher and waited to her the update.
“Our radar has just confirmed that Santa Claus has been
spotted leaving blah-blah-blah county. He is headed toward St. Clair County and
should be there within the next few minutes.” Say whaaaaat?? My eyes were as
big as ginger snap cookies.
“If any little children are still awake, now is the time to
go to bed. We’ve already heard reports that Santa has passed over houses where
the lights in the kid’s rooms were still on.” That was all I needed to hear! I
jumped off the bed and hauled my precocious little self, padded feet and all,
down the hallway to the kitchen.
“Mom!!!!” They just interrupted my show to say they saw
Santa headed this way. Is that real???
“Well, child,” she said trying hard not to make me feel bad
by releasing the belly laugh that was brewing inside of her, “It’s on the news.
Of course it’s real."
I was only six at the time but I think I remember thinking,
“what the hell??” I was absolutely stunned.
…but I had a plan.
“I’m going to go to bed now,” I said in my sweetest voice.
“Will you come sing me a lullaby?”
You would have thought I had just climbed up a cabinet and
smacked her. “Sing you a lullaby?! Little girl…”
Alright. Here’ it comes.
She put her hands on her hip (such a mother thing to do).
“I’ve been trying to get you to go to bed for a couple of hours. You insisted on staying up. You wanted to watch TV. You wanted to see Santa. …and now that he’s on his way you want me to
stop what I’m doing, sing you a
lullaby and rock you to sleep?”
Side note: She was always a smart lady. She summed up my
requirements very well. But she threw some tinsel in the tea.
“I will not sing you a lullaby and I will not rock you to
sleep. Next time, listen to your mother.”
What the…??? A Jedi mind trick on Christmas Eve? Who has
time for these games??
“But I’ll miss Santa Claus. He won’t leave me any presents.”
Was she not getting it? This is the A-Number One Kid Holiday. How could she
forsake me like this? Maybe I was adopted. Surely, my own mother could put
aside our differences for the sake of me getting gifts. What is this devilry?
Then she said something that let me know I was no longer a
toddler. I was a big girl.
“You’re a big girl (there it was). You tell your Mom when
you want to go to bed now, huh? Well, big girls also sing themselves to sleep."
This was just too much. Here I was, in danger of missing the
zenith of the whole kid year on a technicality. Nothing to do but…
I hauled padded feet back down the hallway and fast as I
could with my wonder dog getting in the way with every step. I long jumped from
the door way to my bed and within a few second I was covered up, the lights
were out and I was gently singing an oldie but goodie… “Rock-A-Bye-Baby” and
very lovingly rocking myself to sleep.
My mother says that she came to check on me a few minutes
later and I was either totally asleep or totally faking it. She was just glad
to have me tucked in and out of her hair so she could finish her Christmas Eve
obligations. I’m sure she called everyone she knew and had big laughs at my
expense (it’s what I would do).
I can report that since I am not physically, mentally, or
emotionally scarred from that fateful evening, Christmas morning was everything
I wanted. I can’t remember everything I got that year but I do remember the
gorgeous 3 level doll house I got. It had furniture and carpet and was taller
than I was. As parents sometimes do, my parents have been paying the taxes on
the property since I moved out and grew up. I will, of course, resume ownership
of the dwelling and commence with a fairly extensive renovation in the new
year. The house is, after all, over 30 years old and I’ve been watching a lot of
HGTV.
That Christmas was the Christmas that unleashed my inner
Ralphie (from the movie “A Christmas Story”). Every since then, I’ve shaken
presents, named Christmas trees, decorated my homes to look like North Pole
vacation property, watched almost every Christmas show that comes son TV,
hosted many Christmas movie-watchin’ weekends, and well…just enjoyed every twinkling
second of my Christmas holiday…including singing the words to every single
Christmas carol I hear.
As Buddy the Elf says, “The best way to spread Christmas
cheer is signing loud for all to hear.”
…and going to bed when your mother tells you to.
