The Mom Before Christmas

Thanks to Claire Wellington from Mason



Twas the night before Christmas, when all thru the abode

Only one creature was stirring and she was cleaning the commode.

The children were finally sleeping all snug in their beds,

while visions of Nintendo and Barbie flipped through their heads.

The dad was snoring in front of the TV,

with a half-constructed bicycle propped on his knee.

So only the mom heard the reindeer hooves clatter,

which made her sigh, 'Now what is the matter?'

With toilet bowl brush still clutched in her hand,

she descended the stairs and saw the old man.

He was covered with ashes and soot, which fell with a shrug,

'Oh great,' muttered the mom, 'Now I have to clean the rug.'

'Ho Ho Ho!' cried Santa, 'I'm glad you're awake.

Your gift was especially difficult to make.'

'Thanks, Santa, but all I want is some time alone.'

'Exactly!' he chuckled, 'So, I've made you a clone.'

'A clone?' she muttered, 'What good is that?'

'Run along, Santa, I've no time for chit chat.'

Then out walked the clone - the mother's twin,

Same hair, same eyes, same double chin.

'She'll cook, she'll dust, she'll mop every mess.

You'll relax, take it easy, watch The Young and The Restless.'

'Fantastic!' the mom cheered. 'My dream has come true!'

'I'll shop, I'll read, I'll sleep a night through!'

From the room above, the youngest did fret.

'Mommy! Come quickly, I'm scared and I'm wet.'

The clone replied, 'I'm coming, sweetheart.'

'Hey,' the mom smiled, 'She sure knows her part.'

The clone changed the small one and hummed her tune,

as she bundled the child in a blanket cocoon.

'You're the best mommy ever. I really love you.'

The clone smiled and sighed, 'And I love you, too.'

The mom frowned and said, 'Sorry, Santa, no deal.'

That's my child's LOVE she is trying to steal.'

Smiling wisely Santa said, 'To me it is clear,

Only one loving mother is needed here.'

The mom kissed her child and tucked her in bed.

'Thank You, Santa, for clearing my head.

I sometimes forget, it won't be very long,

when they'll be too old for my cradle and song.'

The clock on the mantle began to chime.

Santa whispered to the clone, 'It works every time.'

With the clone by his side Santa said 'Goodnight.

Merry Christmas, dear Mom, You will be all right.'

~Author Unknown~

YES PATRICIA, THERE IS A SANTA CLAUS

Couple of weeks ago I received an e-mail from a little girl that had an air of urgency about it. It certainly required an answer. And the e-mail read…Dear Mr. Whyte, some of my friends say there is no Santa Clause…is there a Santa Claus Mr. Whyte? And the letter was signed simply, Patricia.



Well Patricia, first I’d like to tell you that your little friends are wrong. You see hon, they don’t believe in things unless they can see them…and that’s kind of foolish.



There are so many wonderful things in life that you can’t see or you can’t touch. And Santa Claus is one of them. But he exists as surely as love and devotion and beauty and joy exist. And what a sorry old world this would be if there wasn’t a Santa Claus.



Do me a favor Patricia. You do your best to help your little friends find faith enough in their hearts to believe in old Santa. Because without that faith you see…they’re not getting nearly the kick out of life that they’re supposed to get.



And another thing. They won’t be putting nearly half as much back into life as they’re supposed to.



You see little one, the world needs the faith of children and without it that eternal light… the light that burns only in the hearts of the young would go out.



Now as you grow up Patricia you’ll know more and more that the things that you believe in your heart are a great deal more important than the things you can figure out in your mind. And hon, Santa Claus is a very real thing in everybody’s life.



Now I know that nobody has probably never seen Santa Claus come down a chimney but that doesn’t prove anything. You can’t see the love of your Mom and Dad but you know it’s there.



Tell you what Patricia…lets do this. You imagine that there’s a huge door. And behind that door are all the unseen wonders of the world. Now brute strength wouldn’t bring down that door. A charging army couldn’t knock it down. A small bit of faith is the key to that door. And if you’ve got that Patricia that door will swing wide open and you’ll behold the most beautiful things in life.



Santa Claus lives behind that door Patricia. So why don’t you do this hon. You try to make your friends understand. And you can tell them that Santa Claus lives forever…and thank goodness he does.



A thousand years from now…ten times then thousands of years from now he’ll go right on living in the hearts of children throughout this world.



No Santa Clause? Well that’s like saying there will be no more wishes, no more hopes, no more dreams.



Well, I’ve done the best I can to explain it to you Patricia. But just remember that no matter what anyone says Patricia…there is a Santa Clause.

Dear Darling Son and That Person You Married,

Merry Christmas to you, and please don't worry. I'm just fine considering I can't breathe or eat. The important thing is that you have a nice holiday, thousands of miles away from your ailing mother. I've sent along my last ten dollars in this card, which I hope you'll spend on my grandchildren. God knows their mother never buys them anything nice. They look so thin in their pictures, poor babies.

Thank you so much for the Christmas flowers, dear boy. I put them in the freezer so they'll stay fresh for my grave. Which reminds me -- we buried Grandma last week. I know she died years ago, but I got to yearning for a good funeral so Aunt Viola and I dug her up and had the services all over again. I would have invited you, but I know that woman you live with would have never let you come. I bet she's never even watched that videotape of my haemorrhoid surgery, has she?

Well son, it's time for me to crawl off to bed now. I lost my cane beating off muggers last week, but don't you worry about me. I'm also getting used to the cold since they turned my heat off and am grateful because the frost on my bed numbs the constant pain. Now don't you even think about sending any more money, because I know you need it for those expensive family vacations you take every year. Give my love to my darling grandbabies and my regards to whatever-her-name-is -- the one with the black roots who stole you screaming from my bosom.

Merry Christmas.

Love, Mom

ANGELS

This was written by a Metro Denver Hospice Physician:

Sent from a listener: Lois Shuler

I was driving home from a meeting this evening about 5, stuck in traffic
on Colorado Blvd., and the car started to choke and splutter and die - I
barely managed to coast, cursing, into a gas station, glad only that I
would not be blocking traffic and would have a somewhat warm spot to
wait for the tow truck. It wouldn't even turn over. Before I could make
the call, I saw a woman walking out of the 'quickie mart' building, and
it looked like she slipped on some ice and fell into a Gas pump, so I
got out to see if she was okay.

When I got there, it looked more like she had been overcome by sobs than
that she had fallen; she was a young woman who looked really haggard
with dark circles under her eyes. She dropped something as I helped her
up, and I picked it up to give it to her. It was a nickel.

At that moment, everything came into focus for me: the crying woman, the
ancient Suburban crammed full of stuff with 3 kids in the back (1 in a
car seat), and the gas pump reading $4.95.

I asked her if she was okay and if she needed help, and she just kept
saying ' don't want my kids to see me crying,' so we stood on the other
side of the pump from her car. She said she was driving to California
and that things were very hard for her right now. So I asked, 'And you
were praying?' That made her back away from me a little, but I assured
her I was not a crazy person and said, 'He heard you, and He sent me.'

I took out my card and swiped it through the card reader on the pump so
she could fill up her car completely, and while it was fueling, walked
to the next door McDonald's and bought 2 big bags of food, some gift
certificates for more, and a big cup of coffee. S he gave the food to
the kids in the car, who attacked it like wolves, and we stood by the pump eating fries
and talking a little.

She told me her name, and that she lived in Kansas City Her boyfriend
left 2 months ago and she had not been able to make ends meet. She knew
she wouldn't have money to pay rent Jan 1, and finally in desperation
had finally called her parents, with whom she had not spoken in about 5
years. They lived in California and said she could come live with them
and try to get on her feet there.

So she packed up everything she owned in the car. She told the kids they
were going to California for Christmas, but not that they were going to
live there.

I gave her my gloves, a little hug and said a quick prayer with her for
safety on the road. As I was walking over to my car, she said, 'So, are
you like an angel or something?'

This definitely made me cry. I said, 'Sweetie, at this time of year
angels are really busy, so sometimes God uses regular people.'

It was so incredible to be a part of someone else's miracle. And of
course, you guessed it, when I got in my car it started right away and
got me home with no problem. I'll put it in the shop tomorrow to check,
but I suspect the mechanic won't find anything wrong.

HOW TO STAY YOUNG

Michelle Williams


Keep only cheerful friends. The grouches pull you down. (keep this
in mind if you are one of those grouches)

Laugh often, long and loud. Laugh until you gasp for breath. And
if you have a friend who makes you laugh, spend lots and lots of time
with HIM/HER.

The tears happen: Endure, grieve, and move on. The only person who
is with us our entire life, is ourselves. LIVE while you are alive.

Cherish your health. If it is good, preserve it. If it is
unstable, improve it. If it is beyond what you can improve, get help.

Don't take guilt trips. Take a trip to the mall, even to the next
county, to a foreign country, but NOT to where the guilt is.



Tell the people you love that you love them, at every
opportunity.

Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get a second
time.

Lost time can never be found. Be kinder than necessary, for everyone
you meet is fighting some kind of battle.

A LETTER TO SANTA

Submitted by Jessica Back

Dear Santa,

I've been a good mom all year. I've fed, cleaned and cuddled my children on demand, visited the doctor's office more than my doctor and sold sixty-two cases of candy bars to raise money to plant a shade tree on the school playground. I was hoping you could spread my list out over several Christmases, since I had to write this letter with my son's red crayon, on the back of a receipt in the laundry room between cycles, and who knows when I'll find anymore free time in the next 18 years.

Here are my Christmas wishes:

I'd like a pair of legs that don't ache (in any color, except purple, which I already have) and arms that don't hurt or flap in the breeze, but are strong enough to pull my screaming child out of the candy aisle in the grocery store.

I'd also like a waist, since I lost mine somewhere

If you're hauling big ticket items this year I'd like fingerprint resistant windows and a radio that only plays adult music, a television that doesn't broadcast any programs containing talking animals, and a refrigerator with a secret compartment behind the crisper where I can hide to talk on the phone.

On the practical side, I could use a talking doll that says, "Yes, Mommy" to boost my parental confidence, along with two kids who don't fight and three pairs of jeans that will zip all the way up without the use of power tools.

I could also use a recording of Tibetan monks chanting "Don't eat in the living room" and "Take your hands off your brother," because my voice seems to be just out of my children's hearing range and can only be heard by the dog.

If it's too late to find any of these products, I'd settle for enough time to brush my teeth and comb my hair in the same morning, or the luxury of eating food warmer than room temperature without it being served in a Styrofoam container.

If you don't mind, I could also use a few Christmas miracles to brighten the holiday season. Would it be too much trouble to declare ketchup a vegetable? It would clear my conscience immensely. It would be helpful if you could coerce my children to help around the house without demanding payment as if they were the bosses of an organized crime family.

Well, Santa, the buzzer on the dryer is calling and my son saw my feet under the laundry room door. I think he wants his crayon back. Have a safe trip and remember to leave your wet boots by the door and come in and dry off so you don't catch cold.

Help yourself to cookies on the table but don't eat too many or leave crumbs on the carpet.

Yours Always,

MOM...

P.S. One more thing...you can cancel all my requests if you can keep my children young enough to believe in Santa.

THE CHRISTMAS PAGEANT

Submitted by Suze Unger

My proudest moment came during the children's Christmas pageant.

My daughter was playing Mary, two of my sons were shepherds
and my youngest son was a wise man. This was their moment to shine.

My five-year-old shepherd had practiced his line,
"We found the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes."

But he was nervous and said, "The baby was wrapped in wrinkled clothes."

My four-year-old "Mary" said, "That's not 'wrinkled clothes,' silly. That's dirty, rotten clothes."

A wrestling match broke out between Mary and the shepherd and was stopped by an angel, who bent her halo and lost her left wing.

I slouched a little lower in my seat when Mary
dropped the doll representing Baby Jesus, and it bounced down the aisle crying,
"Mama-mama."

Mary grabbed the doll, wrapped it back up and held it tightly as
the wise men arrived.

My other son stepped forward wearing a bathrobe
and a paper crown, knelt at the manger and announced, "We are the three wise men, and we are bringing gifts of gold, common sense and fur."

THE GLASS

By Dr. James Vuocolo



Some folks go through life pleased that the glass is half full. Others spend a lifetime lamenting that it's half-empty. The truth is: There is a glass with a certain volume of liquid in it. From there, it's up to you!

MARRIAGE THOUGHTS

Thanks to Susan Kohorst for sending this Wake Up Call



When a man steals your wife, there is no better revenge than to let him keep
her.
- Sacha Guitry

I had some words with my wife, and she had some paragraphs with me.
- Anonymous

"I don't worry about terrorism. I was married for two years."
- Sam Kinison

Two secrets to keep your marriage brimming 1. Whenever you're wrong, admit
it, 2. Whenever you're right, shut up.
- Nash

The most effective way to remember your wife's birthday is to forget it
once...
- Anonymous

A good wife always forgives her husband when she's wrong.
- Milton Berle

First Guy (proudly): "My wife's an angel!"
Second Guy: "You're lucky, mine's still alive."

CHRISTMAS SHOPPING AT WAL-MART

(E-MAIL from a listener)

My ten year old daughter and I was shopping at Wal-Mart. I asked my
daughter what she wanted for Christmas this year. To my surprise she
replied, may I go get the things in a cart and show you. She had a cart
filled with things for all ages. I then questioned her about the baby
things. Her reply was look at these tags and you understand. She had
taken several tags from the giving tree. This is all I want for
Christmas. Coming from a 10 yr old…does this mean she is growing
up? If so I am not ready. I am very pleased that she was thinking of
others but I'm not ready for her to be growing up yet. It makes me
cry to think how unselfish she is.


Karla Hartley.

A Baby's Hug

Submitted by: Shelly Hoff

We were the only family with children in the restaurant.
I sat Erik in a high chair and noticed everyone was
quietly sitting and talking.


Suddenly, Erik squealed with glee and said, 'Hi.' He pounded his fat
baby hands on the high chair tray. His eyes were crinkled in laughter and his mouth was bared in a toothless grin, as he wriggled and giggled with
merriment.

I looked around and saw the source of his merriment. It
was a man whose pants were baggy with a zipper at
half-mast and his toes poked out of would-be shoes. His
shirt was dirty and his hair was uncombed and unwashed.
His whiskers were too short to be called a beard and

his nose was so varicose it looked like a road map.

We were too far from him to smell, but I was sure he
smelled. His hands waved and flapped on loose wrists.
'Hi there, baby; hi there, big boy. I see ya, buster,'
the man said to Erik.

My husband and I exchanged looks, 'What do we do?'

Erik continued to laugh and answer, 'Hi.'

Everyone in the restaurant noticed and looked at us and
then at the man. The old geezer was creating a nuisance
with my beautiful baby. Our meal came and the man began
shouting from across the room, 'Do ya patty cake? Do
you know peek-a-boo? Hey, look, he knows peek- a-boo.'

Nobody thought the old man was cute. He was obviously
drunk.


My husband and I were embarrassed. We ate in silence;
all except for Erik, who was running through his
repertoire for the admiring skid-row bum, who in
turn, reciprocated with his cute comments.

We finally got through the meal and headed for the door.
My husband went to pay the check and told me to meet him
in the parking lot. The old man sat poised between me and
the door. 'Lord, just let me out of here before he speaks
to me or Erik,' I prayed. As I drew closer to the man, I
turned my back trying to sidestep him and avoid any air
might be breathing. As I did, Erik leaned over my arm,
reaching with both arms in a baby's 'pick-me-up' position.
Before I could stop him, Erik had propelled himself from
my arms to the man.

Suddenly a very old smelly man and a very young baby
consummated their love and kinship.


Erik in an act of total trust, love, and submission laid his tiny head upon
the man's ragged shoulder. The man's eyes closed, and I saw tears hover beneath his lashes. His aged hands full of grime, pain, and hard labor, cradled my baby's bottom
and stroked his back. No two beings have ever loved so deeply for so short a time.

I stood awestruck. The old man rocked and cradled Erik
in his arms and his eyes opened and set squarely on mine. He said in affirm commanding
voice, 'You take care of this baby.'

Somehow I managed, 'I will,' from a throat that
contained a stone. He pried Erik from his chest,
lovingly and longingly, as though he were in pain. I
received my baby, and the man said, 'God bless you, ma'am,
you've given me my Christmas gift.'

I said nothing more than a muttered thanks. With Erik in my arms, I ran for the car. My husband
was wondering why I was crying and holding Erik so tightly, and why I was
saying, 'My God, my God, forgive me.'

Sometimes, it takes a child to remind us of what is
really important. We must always remember who we are, where
we came from and, most importantly, how we feel
about others. The clothes on your back or the car that you drive
or the house that you live in does not define you at all;
it is how you treat your fellow man that identifies who you
are.

DIRT ROADS

Author: Paul Harvey

What's mainly wrong with society today is that too many Dirt Roads have been paved.

There's not a problem in America today, crime, drugs, education, divorce, delinquency that wouldn't be remedied, if we just had more Dirt Roads, because Dirt Roads give character.

People that live at the end of Dirt Roads learn early on that life is a bumpy ride.

That it can jar you right down to your teeth sometimes, but it's worth it, if at the end is home...a loving spouse, happy kids and a dog.

We wouldn't have near the trouble with our educational system if our kids got their exercise walking a Dirt Road with other kids, from whom they learn how to get along.

There was less crime in our streets before they were paved.

Criminals didn't walk two dusty miles to rob or rape, if they knew they'd be welcomed by 5 barking dogs and a double barrel shotgun.

And there were no drive by shootings.

Our values were better when our roads were worse!

People did not worship their cars more than their kids, and motorists were more courteous, they didn't tailgate by riding the bumper or the guy in front would choke you with dust & bust your windshield with rocks.

Dirt Roads taught patience.

Dirt Roads were environmentally friendly, you didn't hop in your car for a quart of milk you walked to the barn for your milk.

For your mail, you walked to the mail box.

What if it rained and the Dirt Road got washed out? That was the best part, then you stayed home and had some family time, roasted marshmallows and popped popcorn and pony rode on Daddy's shoulders and learned how to make prettier quilts than anybody.

At the end of Dirt Roads, you soon learned that bad words tasted like soap.

Most paved roads lead to trouble, Dirt Roads more likely lead to a fishing creek or a swimming hole.

At the end of a Dirt Road, the only time we even locked our car was in August, because if we didn't some neighbor would fill it with too much zucchini.

At the end of a Dirt Road, there was always extra springtime income, from when city dudes would get stuck, you'd have to hitch up a team and pull them out.

Usually you got a dollar...always you got a new friend...at the end of a Dirt Road!