December, 2015

If Santa Is Real, Why Are All The Gift Tags In My Mommy's Handwriting?

Ducky loves to throw big Christmas/holiday parties (so do I, to be honest), and they have a company-wide holiday party at NCIS that never fails to please, full of food and magicians and games and Santa and presents. Lexi has hit several parties over the years. She's always friendly to everyone at Daddy's work, but Gibbs' team is extended family so she's always dragging someone around the room in loco parentis if we aren't keen on going with her.

Wandering past conversations in midstream can be interesting. (Shades of Harriet, the Spy.) You get a line here or there that makes you want to eavesdrop on the rest of the conversation… and sometimes makes you very glad that you aren't going to hear what comes next.

"She's been making these digs at me ever since they arrived, carping, carping, carping, rearranging my kitchen cabinets, rearranging my furniture, I'm gonna kill myself before they go home! I'm stuck in Christmas hell!"

"So we cleaned out grandma's house and she had return address stickers from every charity in the country. Maybe the world. If they sent her some useless piece of 'free' crap, she felt duty-bound to send them some money. There isn't a penny left from Pop-Pop's insurance!"

"I'm waiting, waiting, I pull into the parking space—mind you, I had been waiting and signaling—and this old bat in a Chevvy from, maybe 1950, leans out the window and screams, 'Merry effing Christmas, bitch!' Now, I ask you!"

"It's not like the kids can even carry a tune, and they schedule this crap in the middle of the day, my supervisor rags on me for taking time off…"

"Nope. Didn't put 'em up this year. Last year, my brother swore that if I put them up, he'd take them down. The goddamned lights were up until May. I put lights around the doorway, that's enough!"

"The Christmas card list is insane. Four hundred people. Maybe five."

"And you know fifty of them?"

The last exchange was between Abby and yours truly. "I've probably met two thirds of them because of our Christmas party. But actually knowing them—yeah, maybe fifty."

We were joking that the lyrics for Twelve Pains of Christmas were being played out while we wandered the room. Singing Christmas carols, holiday specials ("Isn't there a law somewhere about how many times they can air Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer?"), charities, in-laws—it was hard not to laugh.

"I love Christmas! It's my favorite time of year!"

I laughed. "I thought Halloween was your favorite."

"It is! Costumes and candy and parties! But Christmas is my favorite, too!"

I rolled my eyes good-naturedly. "And Fourth of July is your favorite because of fireworks and picnics… and Easter because you like to hide eggs where nobody will find them… I'll be you say Groundhog Day is your favorite, too, when it rolls around."

"It's a great movie!"

Another eye roll and laugh. We passed by Lexi and Ducky enjoying the sleight-of-hand magician's performance, Tony holding his Secret Santa gift up to his ear and squinting, listening hard (was he afraid he was getting a bomb?), Jimmy and Breena trying to corral their girls (good luck with that)… There was a line of kids a mile long waiting to talk to Santa—even though Christmas had been and gone the day before. (Scheduling conflicts and all that stuff made the party fall after Christmas.) The kids figured Santa was just taking requests for the next Christmas, so all was good. And the parents figured the kids would forget what they asked for in twelve months, so they were fine with the plan, too.

Two girls, hand in hand, were waiting while their mother wandered off to get refreshments. "Did you have a good Christmas, Lainey?" Abby asked with her usual perkiness.

The younger girl, barely six, nodded enthusiastically. She rattled off a list of toys and goodies that would make Toys R Us proud. "And Santa ate all the cookies I left! And there was snow by the fireplace!" She looked nervously toward Santa. "He doesn't look like he did last night. Does Santa have a disguise?"

I looked at her in surprise. "You saw Santa?"

She giggled and blushed. "I sneaked out of bed… I saw Santa putting presents under the tree, and Mommy kissed Santa!" Ah, another Christmas song brought to life.

Her sister, a world-wise twelve-year-old, snorted derisively. "I've got news for you. Santa at the house was just Daddy!"

At least she didn't say this Santa was Daddy, too. Still, her sister folded her arms and looked stormy as we turned away.

Abby leaned close and whispered in my ear. "I've got news for her—until tonight, Daddy was in Seattle."

Bah. Humbug.