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Yes, Virginia
Dec. 9th, 2009 09:55 amOr: The Rest of the Story About the Christmas Tree
Or: How Dave Mitchell is Santa Claus Incognito
Night before last at 2 in the morning, the faux Christmas tree we had, collapsed, one of the legs on the base, sheering in two. Broken ornaments everywhere. The husband cut his foot on some of the glass.
The crash was horrible and got me out of a sound sleep and out of bed. It's not a sound like any other. At first I thought one of the cats had tipped it over and it was no big deal. Just right it and clean up glass. And then the husband and Ant (also driven out of bed) told me about the destroyed base.
Tree was functionally so many plastic bits.
My heart sank. We couldn't replace it. I didn't know what to tell the Mouse. By some miracle, the Mouse and Bean slept through the carnage, which was a blessing. Dealing with a meltdown at 2 AM would have been brutal.
I twittered the event and it mirrored to Facebook, like it does. I started to look for another tree, through Freecycle or through people's garages, whatever, even though the husband had already told me he would take care of it. I couldn't bear the thought of the Mouse not having her Christmas tree. It matters when you're 5. It didn't need to be huge or expensive, it just had to be there.
Dave Michell comments on my FB to stop looking. It's taken care of.
I responded with, Dave, what have you done?
I got no answer. But I was suspicious. I didn't know *what* he had done, but I knew he'd done something.
I called on my way home to tell the Ant I was on my way and we chatted a bit. She sounded a bit perkier than I was expecting, considering the empty front room.
I walked in the door last night and Dave was sitting in the easy chair and there was a new faux tree already set up, the Mouse and Ant putting ornaments on it.
I burst into tears and Dave grinned at me. Mouse jumped up and down. Apparently he didn’t even call to tell the Ant he was on his way. She’s sitting there, doing her thing when the doorbell rang.
She called out, “Who is it?” cause y’know, no one was due to come by.
She hears, “It’s your crazy uncle!”
The Mouse started yelling, “It’s Uncle Dave! It’s Uncle Dave!”
The Ant opened the door, he stood on the back steps with an enormous box and a box of ornaments.
She said, “Is that what I think it is?”
He said, “Yes, it is.”
He brought a new tree, ornaments to replace the broken ones and a package of Hello Kitty Christmas clings for the window (because he said he couldn’t just walk by them, the Mouse had to have them.) Said he’d been wondering what to get us for Christmas anyway, and this just presented itself, so…
Aside from recounting this, I am speechless. I cannot even describe how this makes me feel, let alone how much it means to me, especially for the Mouse. The Bean is still too young to care, but Mouse isn’t.
I would have just thrown lights on the big ficus, hung some ornaments on it and called it good, if it had just been me. But I knew that wasn’t going to work for her. We’ve had a tree every year she’s been alive.
And y’know what makes this even more of a situation where I am robbed for words?
Apparently, if Dave hadn’t gotten the drop on them, Vicky Jo and my mother-in-law were gearing up to replace the tree themselves. And that’s not counting the lovely woman on Freecycle who got to me last night who did yes, happen to have an extra faux tree (with ornaments), did I still want it?
Not one agent of the Spirit of Christmas, but four.
Gifts of the Magi and Virginia and the newspaper and Dickens all rolled into one.
So.
Yuletide miracle.
"Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy."
Thank you, Dave.
Or: How Dave Mitchell is Santa Claus Incognito
Night before last at 2 in the morning, the faux Christmas tree we had, collapsed, one of the legs on the base, sheering in two. Broken ornaments everywhere. The husband cut his foot on some of the glass.
The crash was horrible and got me out of a sound sleep and out of bed. It's not a sound like any other. At first I thought one of the cats had tipped it over and it was no big deal. Just right it and clean up glass. And then the husband and Ant (also driven out of bed) told me about the destroyed base.
Tree was functionally so many plastic bits.
My heart sank. We couldn't replace it. I didn't know what to tell the Mouse. By some miracle, the Mouse and Bean slept through the carnage, which was a blessing. Dealing with a meltdown at 2 AM would have been brutal.
I twittered the event and it mirrored to Facebook, like it does. I started to look for another tree, through Freecycle or through people's garages, whatever, even though the husband had already told me he would take care of it. I couldn't bear the thought of the Mouse not having her Christmas tree. It matters when you're 5. It didn't need to be huge or expensive, it just had to be there.
Dave Michell comments on my FB to stop looking. It's taken care of.
I responded with, Dave, what have you done?
I got no answer. But I was suspicious. I didn't know *what* he had done, but I knew he'd done something.
I called on my way home to tell the Ant I was on my way and we chatted a bit. She sounded a bit perkier than I was expecting, considering the empty front room.
I walked in the door last night and Dave was sitting in the easy chair and there was a new faux tree already set up, the Mouse and Ant putting ornaments on it.
I burst into tears and Dave grinned at me. Mouse jumped up and down. Apparently he didn’t even call to tell the Ant he was on his way. She’s sitting there, doing her thing when the doorbell rang.
She called out, “Who is it?” cause y’know, no one was due to come by.
She hears, “It’s your crazy uncle!”
The Mouse started yelling, “It’s Uncle Dave! It’s Uncle Dave!”
The Ant opened the door, he stood on the back steps with an enormous box and a box of ornaments.
She said, “Is that what I think it is?”
He said, “Yes, it is.”
He brought a new tree, ornaments to replace the broken ones and a package of Hello Kitty Christmas clings for the window (because he said he couldn’t just walk by them, the Mouse had to have them.) Said he’d been wondering what to get us for Christmas anyway, and this just presented itself, so…
Aside from recounting this, I am speechless. I cannot even describe how this makes me feel, let alone how much it means to me, especially for the Mouse. The Bean is still too young to care, but Mouse isn’t.
I would have just thrown lights on the big ficus, hung some ornaments on it and called it good, if it had just been me. But I knew that wasn’t going to work for her. We’ve had a tree every year she’s been alive.
And y’know what makes this even more of a situation where I am robbed for words?
Apparently, if Dave hadn’t gotten the drop on them, Vicky Jo and my mother-in-law were gearing up to replace the tree themselves. And that’s not counting the lovely woman on Freecycle who got to me last night who did yes, happen to have an extra faux tree (with ornaments), did I still want it?
Not one agent of the Spirit of Christmas, but four.
Gifts of the Magi and Virginia and the newspaper and Dickens all rolled into one.
So.
Yuletide miracle.
"Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy."
Thank you, Dave.
