5:30 a.m. The irritating beep of the alarm clock woke me abruptly, and I was up preparing for another work day. There wasn’t a minute to spare. I had to report for work by 6:45 a.m. I peeked through the window and wanted to scream! There had been a heavy snowfall overnight, my husband was away, and my two student offspring were still sleeping. I turned on the radio just in time to hear the announcement of school closures for the day. The students had a ‘storm day.’ The mere words turned me into a mass of anticipatory stress. What would these two partners in crime do or undo today?
My son was in grade twelve and my daughter was in grade nine. She was shorter in stature but an equal accomplice to her brother in his many pranks and practical jokes. It was ten days before Christmas and, as any working Mom knows, it is a time of astronomical stress, too many demands, and constant fatigue. I had all the symptoms of the overworked, distressed working Mom. Storm days were days when I wished the earth would swallow me whole. I well recalled the last free day these two had at home together. I came home to find my son with red marks all over his face and my daughter looking like she swallowed the goldfish. “What happened to you?” I asked my lanky son. “She gave me the German Claw when we were wrestling,” he grudgingly admitted. I began to see red. How could this diminutive girl put her big brother into a wrestling hold and leave him with marks like this? And why? I counted to ten, remembered that she could do anything to her brother and he would never fight back or hurt her. They were best friends. What one did not think of doing, the other one did. They conspired on pranks beyond the imagination of any normal human mind. So, before leaving for work on that snowy morning, I told them about the storm day. Maybe they would sleep all day, or at least longer than usual. A Mother can dream anyway. The work day progressed for me. I received only two phone calls from home. The situation seemed to be under control in spite of my fears. It was blustery and cold, but they were inside, warm and fed. Surely they would not repaint the house, or scorch their feet on the burner of the stove, which had happened the day my son had tried to walk completely around the house without touching the floor! He was quite proud of that accomplishment. Pushing those thoughts aside I worked until 4 p.m. Then I left to start my never-ending list of errands. I finally arrived home filled with dread. In eleven hours my two delinquents could have turned the world upside down, wounded each other, or reorganized the whole house. I was exhausted, and a tad ill-tempered by the time I arrived home. The outside Christmas lights were on and I entered our house to find the kitchen in a state of cleanliness, and filled with the aroma of baked chicken. The reflections of the lights through the large window, combined with an immaculate house, the smell of supper cooking, and two young people with smiles bigger than I thought imaginable, warmed my heart. “Well, since supper is underway, we’ll have time to get the tree up tonight,” I sputtered, still in a state of mild shock. “Yeah, we’ll help Mom,” they both answered, “Dad called too.” They related their conversation with their Dad. He had told them when he would be home soon and they suggested we put the tree up in the recreation room to surprise him. Something was starting to make my skin itch and I began to feel a mild dizziness. Was this really happening to me? After the meal they offered to do the dishes. This was surreal! In spite of my exhaustion I wondered if these two were really this compliant? I began to watch the news. Two cherubic beings stood in front of me and asked: “Aren’t we going to do the tree?” Oh, yes, the ‘Tree’. The three of us headed toward the family room where we always placed our tree. The smell of a fir met me as I opened the door. I reached for the light switch when suddenly the corner of the room lit up a most beautifully decorated Christmas tree, with gifts underneath! The music of ‘Phil Coulters Christmas’ began to play. I started to cry. I knew I would forever remember their present. Then I realized they were a gift to me, a gift I sometimes took for granted. They gave me the best Christmas present of all. They gave of themselves, and showed they understood and cared how their Mom was feeling.
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