A week into our yearly invasion by our number one elf and I am ready to let sugarplums dance through my head while waiting for Santa’s arrival. Of course, I have another four and a half weeks of baking cookies on demand, singing carols, and being called…
“Mother!” A voice not of my creation summons me into the living room.
I blink at the sparkle of bright lights and so much glitter that I almost feel like every craft store in the area must be out by now. My son and daughter and their holiday chum, Elfis, greet me with smiling faces as I step through the door. Suspicion creeps in. I eye them all carefully, wondering what new craft or holiday tradition awaits me.
“There you are, Mother. I have the bestest news for you.”
“Oh?”
“You’ve been invited…” he squeals with delight and begins jumping up and down.
The kids join him. I wonder if they are in on the secret or just picked up on his enthusiasm. Either way, three tiny people jumping up and down somehow has me feeling seasick. I take a seat on the nearest chair and wait for them to calm down.
“We’ve all been invited…” my son adds to Elfis’s puzzling statement.
“To meet Santa…” my daughter continues.
“At the North Pole,” Elfis sings.
I stare at them all in shock. “Really?” Now my voice squeaks.
“Really,” Elfis assures me, “And we need to leave right now since this is the first day of the busiest month of the year.”
“But what about my husband?” I bite my lip.
“Elfira has gone to work her magic at his workplace. He’ll be there with you.” Elfis beams at me.
I stare back, mystified. He takes that as acceptance of the invitation and grabs my hand. His other hand extends to my daughter who reaches out for my son, who eyes her hand as one would a rotten fish suddenly swimming at them and scoots closer to me. I smile at him when his hand connects with mine and his fingers entwine themselves among my own. Then the world around us goes fuzzy before coalescing into the perfect holiday scene.
An immense fir tree reaches toward the cavernous ceiling of the large room in which we find ourselves. As I ponder where one would find a tree so large, I realize that actual dirt forms the floor around it. Behind the tree, an immense array of glass windows looks out on a snowy vale with more lovely evergreens. The one before me, however, outshines them all with glittering lights and old-fashioned candle sconces lighting up millions of ornaments. Toward the top of the tree, delicate hand-carved ornaments dangle from the branches, while those on the bottom depict some of my children’s favorite characters cast in plastic. I could spend all day just examining each one, but my attention quickly moves elsewhere.
“Ho! Ho! Ho! Finally, you made it back to see me,” Santa’s deep voice booms through the immense room.
I turn toward him, smiling as my heart fills with love and happiness, in short, the Christmas Spirit. “Santa!”
I am a child again not thinking as I race toward him and throw my arms around his neck. He giggles merrily and enfolds me in strong arms. The soft fur at the cuffs of his coat tickles the back of my neck as he releases the hug to grip me by the shoulders and push me back. He takes a good look at me. I hold my breath as his eyes examine my face.
“All those teeth came back in, didn’t they, my dear? And you still have such a sweet smile,” as I beam at him, he looks past me toward my children who huddle together in awe, “And I bet you passed that smile on to these to youngsters. Come on Charles and Shirley. Don’t you want to give Santa a hug?”
He throws his arms open wide and they rush to him. As he enfolds them in his arms, he whispers to them. They whisper back and he nods, leaning back to stroke his beard as he contemplates me again.
“Yes. You have made some wonderful children. So nice to have a whole family on the nice list.”
At his words, I glance around the room, wondering where my husband is. Before I can ask, double doors open at the hands of two tiny elves. Each holds a gingerbread cookie about as tall as he is in one hand while holding the door for Mrs. Claus, my husband, and Elfira, who has set aside her standard wardrobe of black for crimson red and forest green. My husband has a cookie in each hand and a delighted smile on his face.
“Honey, she made your chocolate chip cookies,” one of said cookies completely disappears into his mouth as he closes his eyes rapturously.
“Yes, dear, thank you so much for the recipe. We love them year round,” she winks at me and holds out a tray.
The children and I each grab one. As silence descends except for ravenous nibbling, Santa waves for us to come closer to him. Then he gestures for Elfis to stand at his side, which the little imp does though he looks uncomfortable at the center of things.
“As Elfis’s human family, you should be here to support him at his first big concert.” Santa’s voice booms as he gestures toward one of the banners hanging on the snow flocked walls.
I contemplate the painted rendition of my family’s elf on the shelf while my children coo in delight. Elfis hangs his head shyly as Santa claps him on the back. My husband nods politely but I can tell all of his energy focuses on savoring every morsel of cookie.
“This is a big honor, Elfis. Your concert tonight will bring the Christmas spirit and help your friends and family here at the North Pole finish the last minute preparations for bringing happiness to every child in the world—no matter how old.” He turns to me at the last few words and winks before continuing. “I wanted to make sure he shares that spirit with his human family, too. I know some of you are already feeling the holiday blues brought on by so much activity. Hopefully, this helps. That and the knowledge that each of you will have a very special gift picked especially for you by my wife and I this year.”
The kids cheer. My husband nods happily. And I lower my head to surreptitiously wipe away a tear.
“And you get to be backstage and root me on,” Elfis says, grabbing my hand and my husband’s hand and dragging us along in his wake.
I hear Santa’s laughter reverberating through the large room as my daughter grabs the hem of my shirt and runs to keep up. Soon we are situated in comfortable chairs just behind the curtain, watching Elfis perform Christmas classics in the style of the King.
He starts with “Blue Christmas” and we sway to the deep tones of his voice as his voice pours out of speakers bedecked with mistletoe throughout the candy cane colors of the immense coliseum. Tiny, squeaky voices can’t resist joining him from the audience—mine among them.
He closes with such a moving rendition of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” complete with whole body wiggling worthy of the King of Rock and Roll that tears flow down my face, some of them for my grandmother, who adored him. Maybe, I am even beginning to appreciate his little elven double after all these years.
~~~
I spent the last month trying to tap out 50,000 words while the whole world took it upon themselves to try to distract me, so you’ll forget my mildly late post. At least I posted it on the right day, right? Hope you are gearing up for a fun but stress free holiday, dear readers.
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