Pamela is busy playing the Christmas elf, but she wanted to share with you a story she overheard recently….

You’ve no doubt heard the tale of St. Nick coming down the chimney of our house on Christmas Eve.  But you’ve only heard half the story—the man’s side. Whenever Harry’s tells that story, he makes it seem like he was the only one awake that night.  But that wasn’t quite the way it was...

He always starts off with “Twas the night before Christmas,” and tells how not a creature was stirring.  Well, actually, my eight-year-old, Ben, was talking in his sleep like he does when he’s over excited.  Meanwhile, six-year-old Jamie was coughing because he was still getting over his cold, which thankfully didn’t turn into pneumonia because you know how hard it is for your child to be sick over the holidays.  

Harry likes to tell you how the stockings were hung by the chimney with care.  That’s true. And doesn’t it sound like HE actually hung the stockings?  He doesn’t mention that I hung all seven stockings while he watched football, and suggested that the spacing of the stockings be a little more even, now does he?

So he’s in his cap and I’m in my kerchief, and it seems like we’ve been to bed for hours.  Oh, wait—HE’s been to bed for hours.  I stayed up late to finish wrapping the gifts (that I bought) for his side of the family, sweep the kitchen floor of all those gingerbread crumbs and rocked Amelia back to sleep when she woke up for who knows why at 1 a.m.  So I had just drifted off to sleep when I heard a strange sound from outside.

“Harry,” I nudged him in the ribs. It was like waking the dead.  “Harry,” I hissed louder.  “What was that noise?”

Eventually, he shuffled out of bed and went to the window.  Now me, I would have stood next to the window and peered out from the side, being careful not to be seen.  Him, he just tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

Whoever it was out there must have had a little too much holiday cheer, because I could hear him yelling out all of these names.  He needed to quiet down, because the last thing I needed was for the kids to wake up asking “Is it Christmas yet?”  It would take hours to get them settled down and then tomorrow, the meltdowns from the lack of sleep coupled with the excitement from the day would be horrendous.

But, then what to my wondering ears should I hear but a bump on the roof? Before either Harry or I could say Boo! this strange man came sliding down my chimney right into my house.  He was all dirty and got soot all over my carpet that I’d just had cleaned.

I eased my arm from under the covers and felt under the bed for the baseball bat I keep there for those nights Harry works late.  With my other hand, I reached for my cell phone and dialed 9-1.  I held it there, deciding whether to push the next 1, when that red suited man did the strangest thing.

He pulled a sack from behind him (releasing yet more dirt into my room) and started taking toys out of the sack and putting it into stockings.  I was just about to give him what for, when I noticed him putting one of those rodent-like Zhu Zhu pets in Teena’s stocking.  I’d driven all around town and spent hours online looking for them, to no avail.  I put the phone down—but kept it within reach, and watched this man--who I figured out by now, must be St. Nick-- continue to fill the children’s stockings with goodies.

Harry caught my eye, and pointed to the cell phone, suggesting I still call the police.  I shook my head.  “St. Nick,” I mouthed to him.  Harry’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

Before we knew it, the big guy was done, and although I was grateful for his gifts, the smell of his pipe was really getting to me.  Honestly!  You’d think he’d be a better role model for the kids.

St. Nick gathered up his things and before we could say “thank you,” he flew back up the chimney.  We heard a bump as he got into his sleigh, and then a loud exclamation: “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

Which woke up Teena and Tiana so they were calling “Mommy,” from their beds, which woke up Ben and Jamie, sending them scurrying to our room clamoring: “Is it Christmas yet?” which woke up Amelia and had her crying again.

Thanks, St. Nick.  Merry Christmas to you too.