We all gathered for Christmas up at my sisters’ house.
~ My sister and Piper set up a little “Christmas store” for The Banshee, consisting of toys, clothes, dolls, etc., things in good condition that Piper had decided she wanted to give away. And rather than just give The Banshee everything — that kid doesn’t really need more stuff — they devised this little store game for her. They set everything up at the top of the stairs, gave The Banshee some “Christmas bucks,” and told her she could buy whatever she wanted. Cute and smart, no? That way The Banshee gets stuff she really wants and will use. The Banshee, who’s 5, was quite serious about the whole process. She considered everything carefully, weighed her options. Well, no. Right off the bat, she knew she wanted an only-worn-once dress of Piper’s — that girl does NOT like dresses — but after that, with the rest of her Christmas bucks, she ruminated. She debated. This was a BIG DEAL. After all, critical decisions regarding toys she would play with for 20 minutes and then forget about forever were being made. Finally, she selected a game for herself but then found herself torn. She wanted to buy some blocks for her little sister, Baby Banshee (who’s 2), AND she wanted to buy some books for herself. She loves books, already loves to read, really wanted those books, but she didn’t have enough money left, you see. Piper had priced some of the items herself and so some of the pricing was just a bit wonky. Like, oh, used kids’ books for 5 Christmas bucks each and sets of blocks for 9 Christmas bucks. Maybe just a little pricey. So poor Banshee, with just 10 Christmas bucks left, was in a quandary. Oh, how she wanted those blocks for Baby Banshee and, oh, how she wanted those books! She said, “Well, I want those blocks for Baby Banshee so I guess I won’t get the books.”
My sister stepped in. “Well, sweetie. If you want to do that, I think we can work out a deal on the books, okay?”
“Really? Okay!”
So Baby Banshee got her blocks and Banshee got her books.
O happy day, pippa!
~ Before Christmas Eve dinner, my sister, sister-in-law, and I went for a walk. At one point, my sister-in-law proclaimed they had gotten my parents the best presents ever.
“We got them Amazon gift cards for their Kindles.”
(Which my parents are OBSESSED with.)
“You’re kidding,” my sister said. “We did too!”
“Uhm,” I said, “so did we!!”
We panicked, tried to think of some last-minute change we could make, and then I said, “You know, it is what it is. Leave it alone. They’ll probably think it’s funny.”
And they did. My parents howled. I think it was one of their favorite parts of Christmas. That all three kids, with no pre-planning or discussion, had gotten them the very same thing.
~ At one point, in the fading daylight, I walked out to retrieve something from our car. A neighbor across the street stood in his driveway with an old man, maybe his dad, dressed as Santa.
“Hi Santa!” I called.
“Hey there!”
“You look great! Hey, are you going to be out here for a minute?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, great, because I’ll bet my nieces would want to come and see you.”
“Okay. I’ll wait.”
Seems like a good idea, right? How fun, and all that. Good job, Tee Tee, I thought to myself.
I ran inside, calling to everyone within earshot, “Hey, you guys! Come see! Santa is outside! Right now! Come SEE!”
A hubbub ensued as my entire family spilled out onto the street. I stood next to my SIL who clutched a smiling, wide-eyed Baby Banshee in her arms. Piper hung back a bit, but Original Banshee just marched onward, straight towards “Santa.”
And he, in turn, staggered and weaved his way towards her.
“Santa,” you see, was drunk.
Oh, sweet baby Jesus in the manger.
Banshee waited for him on the sidewalk, eyes blazing with excitement.
Please kill me.
“Hey! Ho ho …… he-ey, li’l girl!”
Banshee’s brow furrowed a teeny bit. Baby Banshee burst into tears.
“Wha’ss your name?”
“Uhm …. Banshee.”
“Bansheesh?”
“Banshee,” she corrected his pronunciation.
“Oh, okay. Banshee.”
“Yes.”
“How old are you, Bansheesh?”
“I’m 5. And a half.”
“Wow.” Santa wobbled like a Weeble. I could feel my entire family gaping at me in horror. Fine. I just didn’t look at those judgey wieners.
But, seriously, Santa. Get a grip.
“What do you …. want fer Chrissmass, Bansheesh?”
She rattled off a list of things so quickly, I couldn’t make it out. I was hoping to hear her say, “A lame conversation with a gross drunk Santa,” but, nope, didn’t hear it.
“Okaay. Well, Sanna ….. Sanna has a pressent fer you.”
“Ohh!”
“Well, not righh now …. later on ….. later, yesh, something fer later.”
He looked like he could just melt into the sidewalk, leaving a weird red-and-white 80 proof blob. At least the gin blossom matched the costume.
“Yess ….. Sanna …. has pressentss fer later but you haf to be asleep, righh?”
He weaved and tried to smile a Santa smile. He didn’t make it. The Banshee’s brow furrowed even more. Her face fell.
“Okay.”
“Well, Murry Chrissmass ….. Bansheesh!”
The Banshee murmured in response.
“Uhmm ….. Merry Christmas, Santa.”
We all trundled back inside. I hung at the back of the pack, lost in a certain seasonal self-loathing. I glanced over my shoulder and watched as “Santa” was helped back across the street by his son.
Inside, The Banshee said, “Mommy, that wasn’t the real Santa Claus!”
Her mom tried some damage control. “Well, sweetie, he was just one of Santa’s helpers.”
“No! I don’t think he was one of Santa’s helpers either!”
“You don’t?”
“NO! He had tape on his mustache, Mommy! I saw it! He was just an old man who likes to play dress up!”
The rest of us practically sprinted out of the room to find somewhere we could laugh where The Banshee wouldn’t see us.
Yeah. Good job, Tee Tee.
~ Christmas Eve evening is our “Circle” tradition. We all sit in a circle by the tree and one of us reads Luke chapter 2 from the family Bible. Piper and The Banshee had both snuggled up to their Uncle Beloved on the sofa. I had Younger Nephew, now 15, snuggling up to me. He still does that, at his age. Er, well, sometimes, it’s his feet in your lap or your face, but I prefer to view this as a positive. After the reading, Dad passes around the 50-year-old song sheets so we can sing Christmas carols. We all know ALL the words to ALL the carols, but nevertheless, he must pass out the song sheets; it’s tradition. Even though I don’t look at it, I actually think I wouldn’t be able to sing carols in Circle if the song sheet wasn’t in my hand. It’s now a Pavlovian response: Clutching a 50-year-old song sheet = ability to sing Christmas carols on Christmas Eve. This year, The Banshee joined her voice to our chorus. She knows all the words, too, without looking or reading, and apparently believes the way to make her voice sound good is to make it all quavery with vibrato, like an old lady’s voice. So here’s this blonde-haired, 5-year-old angel, snuggled up to her older cousin who is snuggled up to her Uncle Beloved, singing O Holy Night like some 93-year-old church soloist. A LOUD 93-year-old church soloist. She shook those notes out like a dusty rug. She quaked like a San Andreas temblor. Younger Nephew, her cousin, shot a glance at me, I smiled, and that was all it took. He started shaking with laughter; I started shaking with laughter. We couldn’t look at her anymore. She was killing us — and completely oblivious to us, thank God. She was completely adorably oblivious.
Our quavering Christmas angel, our precocious granny child.
When we were done singing, The Banshee surprised us all and sang two solos: Silent Night and Angels We Have Heard on High. Thing is, she sang them perfectly, without old lady quaver, and completely on pitch. The kid can sing, genuinely sing. I know whereof I speak here. When she let herself just sing with her natural little kid voice, all by herself, with no self-imposed pressure to be “adult” like the rest of us, well, I just lost it, and not with laughter this time. Glancing around the room, I saw that I was not the only one in the room who started to cry for joy at The Banshee’s quirky in-your-face sweetness.
Later, as we held hands and prayed in our circle, the soundtrack playing in my head was The Banshee’s golden little voice crooning, “Glo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oria, in excelsis Deo!”
Gloria, indeed.
(More snippets to come …. since these are almost more saga than snippet.)
