Inside our bedroom lies an artificial log mocking our authentic fireplace. Darkness erupts to the roof but not even light can pass through. The flue is shut tight.
Imagining flames licking kindling warms my heart. Still I know that not even electric fire will sizzle in our hearth. Benjamin is enthralled with anything resembling candle light and we do not entice him. We constantly tell him, “Fire burns. Do not touch. Ouch, it will hurt.”
Donovan is on Santa patrol. He has been going around with a flashlight making sure all entrances and exits for the “Jolly Big Elf” are in working order. Sticking his head inside our bedroom’s chimney caused me to fail inspection. “Momma, we’ve got a problem here.”
Startled, I ran to the fireplace to see. “What is wrong?”
He has his elf patrol backpack on and inspection gear is in both hands. “Santa can’t get through. No light. Look.” He points his flashlight up.
I stick my head into the chimney. “You are right. No light.”
“Santa won’t be able to get in if there is no light.” Donovan looks at me expectantly.
“He can come in through the door.” Smiling, I believe we’ve solved the problem.
This assumption is w-r-o-n-g.
Frowning, he drops his flashlight and plastic phone. Crossing his arms firmly across his chest he impatiently groans. “Santa cannot come in through the door. Only chimneys. That is where Santa comes in on Christmas.”
“Well, what about kids who live in apartments? Lots of kids live in houses without fireplaces. Then Santa has to come in through the door.” I grin, stand up, and brush off my jeans.
Donovan runs downstairs and calls out. “Momma! We have a problem.”
“Again?” I mutter and follow his voice to the living room. “Now what?”
He points up. “You lock the door.” He points to the deadbolt and chain.
“Santa is magic.” I give him my most fierce “don’t argue with me” look.
Sitting down on the “bad choices bench” I know he is upset. When my children have a choice in seating they never choose the bench. He mutters a sad, “Okay.”
I sit down next to him and place my arm across his shoulder. “Okay Christmas Cookie, what is bothering you?”
Dropping his chin to his chest he shakes his head. “You said we’d write Santa a letter.”
“Let’s write it now.” I stand up to organize supplies.
“There’s a problem.” He points at the mantel in our living room. Beneath sits our living room fireplace.
I freeze.
“You hung the stockings by the tree.” He points towards the window seat.
With accelerated heart rate I hand Donovan two pieces of paper. He has a lot to say. We will write it together. My small son’s wish list and my apology.
Imagining flames licking kindling warms my heart. Still I know that not even electric fire will sizzle in our hearth. Benjamin is enthralled with anything resembling candle light and we do not entice him. We constantly tell him, “Fire burns. Do not touch. Ouch, it will hurt.”
Donovan is on Santa patrol. He has been going around with a flashlight making sure all entrances and exits for the “Jolly Big Elf” are in working order. Sticking his head inside our bedroom’s chimney caused me to fail inspection. “Momma, we’ve got a problem here.”
Startled, I ran to the fireplace to see. “What is wrong?”
He has his elf patrol backpack on and inspection gear is in both hands. “Santa can’t get through. No light. Look.” He points his flashlight up.
I stick my head into the chimney. “You are right. No light.”
“Santa won’t be able to get in if there is no light.” Donovan looks at me expectantly.
“He can come in through the door.” Smiling, I believe we’ve solved the problem.
This assumption is w-r-o-n-g.
Frowning, he drops his flashlight and plastic phone. Crossing his arms firmly across his chest he impatiently groans. “Santa cannot come in through the door. Only chimneys. That is where Santa comes in on Christmas.”
“Well, what about kids who live in apartments? Lots of kids live in houses without fireplaces. Then Santa has to come in through the door.” I grin, stand up, and brush off my jeans.
Donovan runs downstairs and calls out. “Momma! We have a problem.”
“Again?” I mutter and follow his voice to the living room. “Now what?”
He points up. “You lock the door.” He points to the deadbolt and chain.
“Santa is magic.” I give him my most fierce “don’t argue with me” look.
Sitting down on the “bad choices bench” I know he is upset. When my children have a choice in seating they never choose the bench. He mutters a sad, “Okay.”
I sit down next to him and place my arm across his shoulder. “Okay Christmas Cookie, what is bothering you?”
Dropping his chin to his chest he shakes his head. “You said we’d write Santa a letter.”
“Let’s write it now.” I stand up to organize supplies.
“There’s a problem.” He points at the mantel in our living room. Beneath sits our living room fireplace.
I freeze.
“You hung the stockings by the tree.” He points towards the window seat.
With accelerated heart rate I hand Donovan two pieces of paper. He has a lot to say. We will write it together. My small son’s wish list and my apology.
2 comments:
Poor Donovan! Please don't tell him to come patrol our house...yet. We haven't decorated yet...heck the all the tubs are just down from the attic and waiting to be welcomed into our house. I promised Mickey the tree would be up today. I know, we are pathetic getting such a late start. Oh well...
Thank you for your last blog...it warmed my heart so. It seems that even in our darkest, desolate times that we still have more than others...still blessed more than others. Thank you for reminding me that even a small gesture can bring light and hope to others who just need a little to keep them going.
Have yourself a wonderful Christmas!
Jaclyn
Mommy, we have a problem! hahahahehe. Oh, I needed that laugh! I'm sure our house wouldn't measure up either. Donovan is really on top of things there! lol
Karen
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