My excerpt is from my book in progress, A Drinking Family Christmas, which is a non-fiction piece. Somehow during the those few weeks of the official holidays, my usually big-on-behaving family's tinsel comes untied and folks start doing things like stealing Christmas trees and composing irreverent carols and buying plastic Santa Clauses at the Salvation Army to use for riflery practice with the nephews. I blame it on stress, but that doesn't necessarily make it any more acceptable.
The selection I chose includes the finishing lines of a description of the state of my home and psyche in the dwindling days before Christmas, when school is still in session but the big guy in the red suit is pending like a hurricane on the weather radar. The carol lines in red just seem appropriate for framing purposes.
Haul out the holly, put up the tree before my spirits fall again . . .
“Mama, can I get a cell phone for Christmas? All my friends have one and I neeeeed one,” begged the 12 year-old.
“So he can call his girlfriend,” taunted his 10 year-old brother, sneaking in a jab to the ribs as he walked by.
A chase, a punch, and a loud argument ensued, accompanied by my daughter’s heightened volume of complaints and the sound of a large beast tearing through our upstairs, overhead.
I pushed my chair back from the table and stood amidst the Christmas clutter flirtatiously mingling with the everyday clutter. A change of heart swept over me like a burning fever. Giving in to the holiday spirit, I yelled, “Doesn’t ANYONE care that Santa is watching!”
For we need a little music, need a little laughter, need a little singing ringing through the rafter, and we need a little snappy “happy ever after,” need a little Christmas now . . .
How does Christmas arrive at your house?