I must first apologize to my sister, Aby, because I told her I wouldn’t blog about the fact that her presents didn’t arrive in time for Christmas, that even though she mailed them out in plenty of time they ended up going from Edwardsville, Illinois to the Volunteer State where the volunteers apparently took off the days before Christmas and kept our presents hostage. The thing is, the box of presents arrived on Wednesday of this week and I simply had to tell the pathetic story of what happened next.
I opened the box. I looked at the tags. I found my present and set it aside. I found the three girls’ presents and set them aside. Then I saw a tag that looked like this:
The photo is intentionally small and wee out of focus because that’s how the label looked to me when I lifted the package out of the box. I mean, we’re talking presents here and presents are fun and the tag said “Mom” and the one after that looked the same and the one after that, and soon there were four presents on the table for Mom. And quite quickly, the box was empty. And there was no present for Mark.
Hm, what to do, I wondered, as I stacked the three girls’ presents on the floor near the tree? The girls had already gone their separate ways and we’d have to get their gifts to them over the course of the next few weeks as we saw each of them. No big deal. At least they got presents. Hm. That done, I stacked Mom’s pile near the piano so they were out of the way until I could drive them to her house some 20 minutes away. Then, to buy more time, I opened my birthday card which contained well wishes from Aby and money for the present I’d gotten for Arthur from Aby. Then, realizing Mark was deeply involved in a book, I quietly opened my Christmas present, whispered, “Thanks Abbers and Jay.” Then, not knowing what else to do, I sat down on the couch with a book.
Lucky for me, it was a great book and it wasn’t until hours later that Mark rose from the couch and, upon strolling by the kitchen table, asked where the new, blue “Life is Good” tee had come from.
“Oh, from Abbers and Jay.”
He stopped, looked around the room and saw the pile of three identical packages and said, “Those are for the girls?”
“Yup.”
He saw the other pile near the piano. “And those are for Mom?”
“Yup.”
This boyish frown came over his face and he slapped his arms and asked, “Didn’t I get anything?”
“Apparently not, my Cutiepie.” I got up and gave him a hug and said that Mom was the big winner this year, and well, that I was sorry.
“Poor me.” He wandered over to the girls’ pile and, noticing they all looked the same, asked, “There wasn’t a fourth one that looked like those?”
He looked again so much like a five-year-old boy that hadn’t gotten what he wanted for Christmas that I gave him another squeeze. Then he walked to the piano and started looking through Mom’s stack. Suddenly, he lifted up a rectangular box and said, “You silly thing. This one says `Mark’ on it.”
“Oh, good,” I said, kicking myself. I watched as Mark ripped open the meticulously wrapped present. “Oh boy, some socks . . . and a turtleneck.” I was thinking the socks looked small for him and after he lifted the turtleneck to his face he said, “It’s a medium.” Then, doing what I should have done, he put his reading glasses on and read the tag. “Oh golly, this says it’s for Mom.”
“Hm.”
Mark set Mom’s open present aside and looked closely at her other presents and found that the large bag neatly held together with a nice ribbon was actually labeled “Mark.”
Inside, was a very nice, large, puffy sweatshirt.
And while Mark was happy, I felt like a complete idiot and wondered what to do about Mom’s box with the socks and turtleneck in it. How could I explain why the box looks like the dogs ripped into it and re-wrapped by a three-year-old?
Hm. Dusty did open his own presents. I could say he got hold of Mom’s present.
But no, I can’t do that to the Angel Pups. But I could blame it on Purrkins. He opened his own presents, too.
But no, he’s a good kitty. Hm. I could blame the ferrets. They’re curious and get into everything.
No. That’s not right, either. I’ll have to confess . . . that Aby should have put “Hunk” on Mark’s present so it couldn’t be confused with Mom’s? No. That doesn’t quite seem right, either. It’s not her fault. Alas, I must admit that I really need to use my reading glasses. My apologies, Mark. And Abbers. And Mom. Hope you like your socks and turtleneck, Mom. You’re lucky they didn’t fit Mark because otherwise, we might not have noticed.
P.S. Thanks for the box, Abbers and Jay. Purrkins loves it. Well, at least I think that’s Purrkins. I probably should put on my glasses to be sure.
