All I Want For Christmas Is...

The other night I was struggling to get into the house.  In one hand, I had a paper bag full of groceries.   In the other, my keys - which were difficult to see under the huge puff of Claire in her winter coat balanced precariously on my forearm.  Stella was standing next to me, ringing the doorbell incessantly.  Gary, on the other side of the door, was going crazy – his bark growing more intense with each chime.    

“Gary, be quiet!  Stella, please stop ringing the door bell!”  

I set Claire down.  She pushed Stella out of the way and made a move for the bell.  I blocked her with my now free hand.  She smiled and made a move for the stairs behind me.  I picked her back up and set the groceries down.  Should have done that in the first place. 

“Ahh, there we go.”  I said, finally hearing the lock click. 

Stella hung on the handle and pushed open the door.  Gary flew through the doorway -knocking Stella to the ground.  His tail whacking her in the face as he bound down the stairs.  

Tears ensued. 

Claire stepped around Stella and walked into the kitchen.  I picked her up and turned to glare at Gary.  He was gone. 

“Gary!"  Now I saw his tail sticking out from over by the garage.  “Gary!” 

He raced over with a gross tennis ball in his mouth.  Dropping it at the base of the stairs, he slowly backed off and started barking.  I set Stella down and she ran inside.  I turned my back on the dog and shut the door.  Maybe he’ll just run away...

“Mama!!” 

“What Stella, I’m right here.”      

“Mama!!!!!”

Stella was standing in the doorway to the dining room with Claire at her side.  I peered over the top of them.  A flash of heat race through my body. 

“Girls, go into the playroom.” 

“Gary’s in trouble, isn’t he Mama?”

I stepped forward and reached for a dining room chair.  My shoulders prickled and burned as I tightened my grip.   

“Stella, go show Claire the new Christmas books.” 

“Okay Mama."  She grabbed Claire’s hand and pulled her out of the room.

“Calm down…”  I said to myself.  But, I couldn’t.    

My eyes caught a glimpse of clear plastic jetting out from the underside of the hutch.  I stared at it for a while, eventually identifying it as the housing for the Keebler Grasshopper cookies we finished last night.  Several more pieces of the cookie packaging littered the floor.  My knuckles whitened. In the corner of the room, a mutilated, grease stained paper towel was afixed to the wall - about a foot high.  Stuck.  How, I don’t know.  Under the picture window, half of a dirty diaper lay, soiled side up – ripped at the edges, with some of the wet stuffing strewn about.  A Chinese take out box sat at my feet – licked clean.    

The dog continued to bark outside.  

I got down on all fours to look under the table.  Under normal circumstances, I might have screamed when the slightly warm fluid moistened my fingertips.  But, as I looked at my hand, firmly pressed into a dark wet spot on the edge of the area rug - I found myself slipping into a dark place - quietly adding this moment to the list of justifications for one day driving Gary to the local park, throwing the ball and leaving before he could retrieve it. 

The smell of the dog vomit hit me.  I gagged.  Coming up onto my knees, I brushed a few chunks of regurgitated gummy bear and Styrofoam off my hand. 

As I stood, I noticed a thick, all too familiar, layer of dog hair pressed firmly into my new black tights.  I tried to brush it off.  Nothing.  

Gary's bark suddenly sounded like an evil laugh.  

No.  

I was the one laughing.  ...  The sick, twisted sound of it took my own conscience by surprise. 

I headed into the kitchen, glanced in the playroom to make sure the girls were alive and saw the origin of destruction.  The cabinent under the kitchen sink flung wide open, the garbage can tipped over, the contents dripping onto the floor.  I waded in and turned on the faucet.  As I washed my hands, I wondered if I still had a chocolate bar from the kids Halloween candy in the pantry.  I could grate it and sprinkle on Gary’s dog food.

The barking stopped.  

It was too quiet.  Or was it?  Could it be?  Had Gary finally decided to explore the 100 acre woods behind our house?  A Christmas miracle?

As I cleaned the last bit of coffee grounds from my fingernails, I saw a blur of fur in the the kitchen window.  Yep, there he was.  Violently thrashing a stick on the pavement.  Stopping only to piss on his own dog house. 

I poured myself a glass of wine and walked into the play room.  As I watched Stella flip the pages of "Twas the Night Before Christmas" I started crafting my own letter to the winter wish granter...

"Dear Santa,  I've been a really good girl this year...."