The Foreignist

It was Christmas Eve and our two little wide-eyed wonders were tucked snuggly in their beds, trying their hardest to go to sleep.  Our oldest son Garrett (4) was convinced that he had to do everything just right on the night before Christmas to avoid at all costs the inclusion of his name on Santa’s naughty list.  He just knew that if old St. Nick came and there weren’t yet visions of sugarplums dancing in his head he was in big trouble!  It was way too risky to stay awake, but who can sleep under such pressure!  So, he tossed and turned as we ate Christmas cookies and waited for the sound of silence to ring out like the Hallelujah chorus from his bedroom. Our toddler Caleb was up way past his bedtime and had no trouble at all falling fast asleep as soon as his chubby cheek hit the pillow.

Then, the night truly began.  Elton and I wrapped, opened, assembled and tested miles past our hearts’ content. At 3:00 am we felt we had finally accomplished every last detail so that our work would pass the four-year-old’s thorough inquisition. And off to bed.

A short time after we had fallen asleep we were awakened by a loud crash from our living room.  Santa?  The Grinch?  Mr. Marbles?  More likely a burglar… Hmmm, I asked  my six foot five inch husband to go check on the matter. Mustering up the most intimidating yawn possible, he lumbered out of the room. Seconds later I heard him laughing from the living room.  He said Joseph had decided to jump from the holy stable perched on our kitchen counter. He had crashed to his doom on our hardwood floor and pieces of his head and body were tragically strewn halfway across our living room.  The scene was gory.  What made him do it?  Was it all the pressure of getting the perfect gift for the newborn King of Kings? I mean who can find a topper for gold, frankincense and myrrh at 4 a.m. on Christmas morning?  Was it jealousy over all the hype about Mary, who’d been so down-to-earth when they had dated?  Whatever it was, our little nativity scene was josephless now and a little more twenty-first century for it.

Nonetheless, Christmas went on as scheduled. The next morning our four-year-old charged into our bedroom like a stampeding herd of buffalo asking if he could open his presents.  He had forgotten to mention Santa, he just knew that all the mysteries in life that mattered would be revealed on this very day.  We drug our tired bodies out of bed and picked up the snoring toddler on our way to the living room.

Scene: the family living room, setting for all Conrady Christmas magic.  Enter: ecstatic Garrett, snotty-nosed but happy Caleb, and barely surviving Mom and Dad.  Aaaannnndd ACTION!! Actually FRENZY!  Lots of running back and forth, squealing with delight and shouting “YEA!!”  It was very satisfying to see the boys’ response to the toys Santa had brought them, even though the four-year-old inquired as to why Santa brought one toy in a box. Santa didn’t use boxes in the movies.  I explained most convincingly that if Santa didn’t use boxes he would lose all the tiny pieces to the toys before he ever came down our chimney, I mean through our door (we don’t have a fireplace).  What can I say? This was before my morning cup of coffee.  It was a little trickier to explain why Santa also forgot ninety percent of the batteries necessary to work all the toys he had brought.  Absent-minded fatty…must be why he keeps a list.  Maybe I should try that.  But instead of smearing the most endearing figure in my child’s life at this moment, I just said, “I’m sure he MEANT to bring the batteries… guess he just forgot.”  The four-year-old replied very matter-of-factly, “Aaanndd… he forgot to finish his milk and cookies too,” a scenario to which he simply could not relate.  I said, “Santa must have been in a BIG hurry.”  He seemed satisfied with that and also pretty darn satisfied with his toys considering they weren’t even working.  He also seemed quite content with his brother’s new toys and announced at one point, “Mom, Santa brought Caleb a really cool toy.”  Visibly thinking…. And then, lightbulb!  “Mom! Mom! Caleb didn’t get on the naughty list!” He sounded most surprised, especially since he had been threatening Caleb with the naughty list for the past two weeks any time Caleb didn’t comply with his orders.  What can I say? He’s a great big brother.

Presents opened, roast beast eaten, friends visited, eye shot out (wait, that’s not for a couple more years), cider sipped, coffee guzzled, microwaved and guzzled some more (we have really big Christmas mugs), and finally as Silent Night was approaching, family called.  It was in this priceless moment that I heard my son explain to his grandparents half a world away that our house was the last house Santa had visited. He knew this because Santa had been in too big a hurry to leave batteries, finish his snack, and take a box out to the dumpster. This must have meant that the sun was coming up and he had to rush away before he finished in order to keep Christmas a secret.  Brilliant, I thought.  And oh so innocent.  Ahhh, I wonder how long that will last.  No need to think too far ahead, just sip your coffee, savor its French-vanilla flavor and savor this American Christmas in Croatia.  Chevy Chase turns to me, eyes heavy and says, “We did it.”