They scampered from our room.
I took one leg out from underneath the comforter, opened my eyes, and stared at the ceiling. I was wide awake then and resigned to beginning my day. And I really wanted to see the boys when they saw their loot.
How many more Christmases will there be that involve Santa? I thought.
“Adam? Honey?”
There was a moan from his side of the bed.
“The boys are awake.”
“Okay, okay,” he said. “I’m up.”
We got out of bed and pulled on our robes. The floor was ice cold because the furnace didn’t cycle on until 6 a.m. Crank the cat wandered in and mewed.
“Merry Christmas, Crank,” I said. I reached down and patted her fur. “I’ll get your breakfast in a minute.”
“I’ll push up the thermostat,” Adam said. “It’s not supposed to reach fifty today.”
“Dang, it’s early.” The bedside alarm clock read 5:15. “Get the movie camera! I’ll turn on the coffeepot.” Fifty degrees, I thought. It was probably ten below in Massachusetts, where my father and brother lived.
Naturally, the coffee machine was on a timer, but that timer didn’t swing into action until six thirty. In any case, this was our division of labor.
“Right! Good idea,” Adam said. “And I’ll light a fire.”
On the way to the family room, we looked in on the boys, whose hearing was as acute as that of any prized hunting dog in the land. Sure enough, they had just hopped back into their beds and were pretending to be asleep. But their rapid breathing, flushed faces, and devilish grins betrayed them. They had probably been having a pillow fight or simply jumping on their beds, trying to hit the ceiling, which was pockmarked with traces of chocolate and only heaven knew what else.
“All right, you two little scamps, let’s go see if Santa left you anything besides a lump of coal,” Adam said, shaking his head.
Max and Luke leapt from their beds and tore around us, racing to the living room screaming with excitement. More screaming ensued. We looked at each other, shook our heads, and smiled the parental smile of resignation.
“Kids,” Adam said and turned on the movie camera.
“Ya gotta love ’em,” I said.
I clicked on the coffeepot, made hot chocolate, fed the cat, then opened the back door, giving Rufus the opportunity to sniff around the backyard. The next chance I would have to sit down would be for breakfast and then dinner, so for the moment, I curled up in the corner of the sofa and watched my boys tear open gifts.
The following hour was spent documenting our lives on film, opening box after box, drinking hot cocoa and mug after mug of coffee and trying out various presents. Christmas carols sung by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir played in the background. And a lovely fire crackled again in the fireplace, warming the room. Norman Rockwell himself could not have done a better job of staging a diorama of the Great American Family.
Santa, in his extraordinary generosity, had left remote-control cars for the boys, in addition to boxes of Legos and a bonanza of other amusements. Adam and I exchanged engraved key rings for our new cars. There were many new sweaters, bottles of inexpensive perfume and aftershave the boys bought us from the drugstore with their tiny allowance, new camera equipment for Adam that excited him, and the latest model of a food processor, which thrilled me. My father, John, had sent us a check for four hundred dollars inside of a nice card that said to buy something special for ourselves. And my brother, JJ, and his wife had done the same. I wished my father and JJ were joining us for Christmas. I loved Ted dearly and he was included in every holiday and event in our lives, as it should be. But it’s not like that with my family. They are just too far away. If I was lucky, I saw them once a year.
“That’s awfully generous,” Adam said. “I probably won’t buy a sweater.”
“Me either,” I said.
“What did we send them?”
“Steak-of-the-Month Club. Wine-of-the-Month Club. I guess the divorce courts must be having a good year,” I said, rereading the card from my brother. “Still, it sure would be nice to see them once in a while.”
“Really?” Adam said in a high voice. “Do you really think so?”
“Adam Stanley!” I laughed, knowing that my sister-in-law drove him insane. “You’re gonna make Santa turn his sleigh around and come back here and take away all your sweaters.”
“Oh, no!” Adam recoiled in mock horror. “Then I’ll definitely behave myself.”
“Momma?” Max said. “Don’t you know Aunt Tasha works Daddy’s last nerve?”
Works Daddy’s last nerve? Where had he heard that expression?
“You hush! Who told you that? Your daddy loves Aunt Tasha!”
“Little pitchers have big ears,” Luke said solemnly. He sounded like an old man.
Adam arched an eyebrow.
“Boys? Here’s your Christmas morning piece of wisdom. Families are your given tribe, and you have a duty to your given tribe to take care of them when they need help, to be respectful of them, and so on. But they are not your chosen tribe. Those are your dear friends who you love and treasure because they make your life rich with all the things that matter.”
“What tribe are we?” Max said. “Is there a tribe for your kids?”
“Well? Let’s see . . .” Adam said, and I could see he had dug himself a rather nice hole.
“You are our precious hearts,” I said. “That’s the most special tribe of all!”
“Yay!” said Max.
“Aunt Tasha drinks like a fish,” Luke said, sucking in his cheeks over and over and making Max crack up.
“Poor Aunt Tasha. I’m sure she has her reasons,” Adam said.
“I’ve only ever seen Tasha like that once when she drank wine on an empty stomach!” I said. “Aunt Tasha does not have a problem with alcohol.” She has other issues, I thought, but not booze.
Reluctantly, I left my cozy spot, went to the kitchen, and dug around under the sink. I knew Adam thought that being married to my brother was reason enough to drink your head off. He had said so on many occasions. When it came to JJ, Adam could be the most judgmental and unforgiving person in the world. Maybe Tasha just liked to whoop it up once in a while?
And Adam believes himself to be a Christian. He believes himself to be the picture of benevolence. I thought, true Christians don’t judge.
While Adam busied himself putting batteries into the remote-control cars for the boys, I scooped up wrapping paper and ribbon.
“What time is your dad coming, sweetheart?”
“I told him three o’clock. Is that still okay?”
“Yep. It’s perfect. How’s he doing? I haven’t seen him in a while.”
“You know Dad. Gloomy Gus.”