I woke with a craving for one more slice of pumpkin pie. No matter how much I stuff myself at dinner, I always wake up starving sometime between dinner and breakfast. On the good years, I can hold off and have pie for breakfast as I hide from the enthusiastic shoppers trying to nail down the best deals the local stores have to offer. With so many stores closing down lately, I shudder to think of the hordes descending on the few remaining brick and mortar bastions of holiday joy. I don’t need the cheery carols meant to keep those crowds of shopper in line, however, because my Christmas joy arrives at my doorstep uninvited the day after Thanksgiving.
Had I looked at the clock, I would have just rolled back over and resisted the urge for one little nosh with a heap of whipped cream on top. I didn’t realize that Thanksgiving was firmly in our rearview mirror when I stumbled down the stairs with my hair awry and my pajamas askew.
As I plated a piece of pie and reached into the fridge for the bright red spray bottle of happiness, I froze. Had I heard it? It couldn’t be. I glanced at the clock: 12:01.
“Oh no,” I mumbled, closing my eyes tight, “I’m not ready.”
“I can see that, mom, but you’re still lovely,” a saccharine voice greeted me from the area of my kneecap. “You are going to need another container of the whip.”
I slowly opened my eyes and looked down in time to see a tiny little man clad in green begin climbing up one of the stools to my kitchen counter. He planted himself happily in front of my slice of pumpkin pie and plunked a chubby little finger into its middle. That finger then went into his mouth.
“Delicious, but where is my whip?” He doffed his peaked hat, placing it gently on the counter next to the pie plate to reveal his pointed ears.
I sighed and sprayed a slightly ungenerous dollop of whipped cream onto his, formerly my, pie. He gave me a quizzical look, but my face convinced him that I wasn’t to be trifled with unless he was going to make me a trifle for a change. I watched him wolf down pumpkin deliciousness and ruled out that idea—he’d just eat the components to a good trifle instead of layering them into a thing of beauty and deliciousness.
As the last crumb of pie disappeared, he looked up to me with a huge grin, “Thanks, mom. You always know how to make a fella feel welcome.”
I stared at him, holding back the tart reply that I wished he didn’t feel so comfortable in my home. He took my silence as tacit encouragement.
“So what else do you have for me?”
I threw my hands up in the air, “What do I have for you?”
“Yes?”
“A list of cleaning projects you should plan to do this year instead of taking over my house and leaving a mess for me?”
“A mess for you?”
“Glitter. Foil. Shreds of wrapping paper…” I started.
He raised a hand to stop me, “Oh. I see. You don’t want me to leave mementos of my visit around the house to make you miss me. I can do that.”
After a few seconds of staring at him silently as he hefted the can of whipped cream and sprayed some into his mouth, I turned slowly, announcing firmly, “I’m going back to bed.”
“Sweet peppermint dreams, mom,” he called out to my back, chasing his comment with another hit of the whipped cream.
~~
The next morning, I woke to the sweet giggles of my babies downstairs and the delectable scent of a breakfast I didn’t make wafting up from the kitchen. I pulled on my robe and slipped my feet into slippers that felt different than normal. Looking down, I beheld feet clad in green velvet comfort with toes that curled up toward me. I frowned down at the bells on their very tips and took a few tentative steps. I breathed a sigh of relief and leaned over to feel that the bells were as soft and silent as the rest of my new apparel.
As I padded down the stairs, the intoxicating aroma drew me into the kitchen. Even the sound of Christmas carols dominating the room couldn’t turn me back as my stomach grumbled and reminded me that I had never eaten my midnight pie last night. My mind gently pointed out that maybe, for that reason alone, I should be more patient with my holiday guest. Rounding the corner prompted it to offer a second reason.
Elfis stood at my usual spot before the stove. Of course, he stood on a step stool, but he worked just as fervently as I ever had to keep all the pans on the stove cooking food to perfection. One held bacon, another had eggs, and the one receiving the main portion of his attention held pancakes speckled with red and dark brown.
“Here she comes, the hardest worker in the world: a mom,” he announced as he glanced over his shoulder and his eyes rested upon me.
I paused, taking in the rest of the scene before my eyes. My children huddled over plates that clearly had already been filled with food, shoveling the last bites happily into their mouths. My husband looked up from a similar plate to smile at me and pat the stool next to him.
“Don’t worry, mom, I am making a batch fresh so you can have as much as you want,” Elfis waggled his eyebrows at me, “And then I have a surprise for you…”
“Oh do you?” I interrupted as my eyes assessed the number of dishes already in the sink and those soon to join them.
“I do. A beautiful surprise and then I shall wash the dishes, which may be a surprise you would prefer.”
I blinked slowly. When I opened my eyes, a plate piled with modest portions of bacon, eggs, and peppermint chocolate chip pancakes sat before me. I took a deep inhale. My husband nodded encouragingly, and I took a tentative bite. Finally, something the little elf did that didn’t instantly irk me. He grinned at me and removed the festive tea towel he had fashioned into an elf-sized apron. Underneath, he wore a new fashion accessory, a candy cane striped holster for a microphone. He drew his weapon of choice and jumped up on the opposite end of the counter from me to appreciative applause from my family.
“This is for you, Mom,” he said with a wink.
“Since Thanksgiving passed me by,
Well, my thoughts have a new place to dwell
Well, it's down at the end of Cocoa Street
At Noël Hotel
“Where it'll be, it'll be so snowy, baby
Well, it’s so snowy
It'll be so snowy, I could fly
“Although it's always crowded
You still can find cocoa
For peppermint lovers
Or another winter’s glow
“It'll be, it'll be so snowy, baby
It'll be so snowy
It’s so snowy, you could fly
“Now, the bellhop's singin’ carols
And the desk clerk's dressed in red
Well, they've been so long on Cocoa Street
They'll never, never look back
“And it gets so, it gets so snowy, baby
Well, it is so snowy
It’s so snowy, you could fly
“Well, now, if your cocoa leaves you
And you need to warm a spell
Well, sing a carol down Cocoa Street
To Noël Hotel
“Where you will be, you will be, you'll be so snowy, baby
Well, you will be snowy
You'll be so snowy, you could fly”
He paused here to dance for us, shaking his hips in a way I still found more disturbing than provocative, particularly as it made the bells on the ends of his shoes jingle merrily. Then he resumed:
“Although it's always crowded
You still can find cocoa
For peppermint lovers
Or another winter’s glow
“Where they get so, they get so snowy, baby
Well, they're so snowy
They'll be so snowy, they could fly.”
I giggled as one child turned to the other and asked, “Is he singing about skiing?”
Elfis didn’t laugh. He just shook his candy can microphone disapprovingly our way. That resulted in more hysterical laughter and holiday cheer pouring out into the room.
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