Christmas Eve morning
The child let me sleep an extra hour. It was glorious. I reveled in that lovely wake-up-slowly, it-the-weekend fuzz.
The child was patiently watching a movie in the next room.
It is Christmas Eve morning. I am at my parent’s house. I am on vacation.
The child and I creep down into the quiet house. I beeline to the garage to get my morning “cold caffeine”.
*beep* *beep* *beep*
“Mom,” the child asks quietly, “what is that?”
I stare at the soft, green, glowing box beside the door. “It’s the alarm system, sweetie.”
“Do you know how to turn it off?”
“Ummm….”
“Mom?”
I ignore her and rack my brain. Right! Dad gave me the code last time I visited.
*beep* *beep* *beep*
I get into my phone and the encrypted database where I keep passwords and codes. My thumb keeps slipping off the buttons.
*beep* *beep* *beep*
The beeps are coming faster now. Scrolling through the list. Why do I have so many passwords? Ah! Here it is!
*beep* *beep* *beep* The beeps are coming fast and furious, then changed into something akin to an munchkin duck having its tailfeathers removed by a vacuum cleaner.
“Mom?”
Punch in the code. The angry duck stops. I breathe a sigh of relief. Now I can get finally my soda.
I go into the garage, the child blathering happily beside me, and open the box of sodas up on the high shelf. The child asks me a question and I look away for just a moment — a fraction of a moment, really.
*thump* *thump* *thump* *thump* *thump* *thump* *thump* *thump*
A shimmering, silver stream of soda cans start rolling out of the box, down around my shoulders, and then roll happily around the garage, rejoicing in their sudden, unexpected freedom. The child dances around cheering. I open my arms and embrace the chaos.
It Is, after all, Christmas Eve morning.
