A Very Meowy Christmas

by Patricia Fry

  “While we’re doing this, how about if everyone sneaks their gifts in under the tree?” Savannah suggested. “Don’t let anyone see you, now. This is another opportunity to be creative.”

  Several minutes later, Rochelle peered under the makeshift tree and asked, “Are all the gifts under here?”

  “Nope,” Adam said. “There are five missing. I counted them and there are only four.”

  “Yeah,” Simon agreed. “Five people didn’t put their gift under the tree yet.”

  “Okay, how about this?” Michael said. “Everyone close your eyes while the five miscreants go get their gifts and sneak them underneath the tree.”

  “Mis…what?” Simon asked.

  Peter laughed. “Scoundrels: people who didn’t follow the rules. Do you boys have your eyes closed?” he asked. Once he was assured that they did, he tiptoed out of the room.

  “Now how many are there?” Michael asked a few minutes later. “Open your eyes. Are we missing any gifts now?”

  The boys rushed to the tree and counted. “Nine!” Adam said. “Which one’s mine? Can we open them now?”

  “Wait just a minute,” Savannah said. “I think we should take our time. How about we take turns? Shall we start with the youngest?” When the boys moaned, Savannah suggested, “Or the oldest?”

  Simon looked around. “How about the middle? Adam and I are in the middle of the old people and little people, right?”

  “How about we draw numbers?” Rochelle suggested.

  “Not again,” Simon complained. “What’s with us always having to draw names or numbers?”

  “It makes things more fair when there are a lot of people,” Peter explained.

  “Yeah, like getting in line at the carnival or a ball game,” Adam said.

  “I just sneak into the carnival,” Simon admitted.

  “Not any more you don’t, young man,” Peter scolded.

  “Yeah, you gotta stop being a mis-cre-ant ,” Adam said, laughing.

  Simon laughed too and asked, “Can I pick a number first or do we have to pick a number to see who picks a number first?”

  “That’s dumb,” Adam said.

  “I thought it was pretty smart, actually,” Simon joked.

  “Okay,” Savannah said holding a bowl with nine small pieces of paper. “Pick your number, Simon.”

  “Nine,” he complained. He looked frantically at Savannah. “Can I pick again. I can’t wait that long. Please?”

  Peter put a hand on Simon’s shoulder. “Nine’s a good number. Come on, of course you can wait. Just sit back, relax, and enjoy watching everyone open their gifts.”

  “Yeah,” Rochelle said, “and don’t forget, you have a gift to give. It’s just as fun to give as to get.”

  “I don’t think so,” Simon grumbled.

  “Maybe I’ll get number one,” Adam said, choosing his piece of paper. “Six,” he groaned.

  Once everyone had picked a number, Michael asked, “Okay, who’s number one?”

  “Teddy,” Savannah said. She glanced around the room. “Who made Teddy a gift?” When no one spoke, she prompted, “Lily, didn’t you wrap a gift for Teddy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you like to go get it and give it to him?”

  Lily ran to the tree and grabbed a gift wrapped in a section of brown paper bag with a piece of dried reed grass tied around it.

  “What did Lily make you, buddy?” Michael asked the baby, who sat on his lap.

  Lily put a finger up to her lips. “Shhh, Daddy. We can’t tell.”

  “Well, let’s open it and see what your sister made for you.” Michael helped the toddler open the crudely wrapped package and said, “Wow. Will you look at that, Teddy!”

  “What is it?” Adam asked.

  “Can’t you see that it’s a…Lily, why don’t you tell everyone about this beautiful… um…”

  “It’s a ladybug,” she said, proudly. “A toy ladybug, but he can’t chew on it, ’cause there’s marker. See, black marker for the spots. It’s…what is it, Mommy?”

  “A decoration.”

  “Yeah, for his room.” Lily asked, “You like ladybugs, huh, Teddy? This is your ladybug. It’s made out of a rock that looks like a ladybug. At home I can use real paint to make it red, right, Mommy?”

  “Yes, honey.”

  The toddler held his gift up to show Michael. “Bug.”

  “Yup, Lily, he likes it,” Michael said. “Good job, punkin.”

  Lily smiled widely.

  “I’m number two,” Peter said.

  “Who made Peter’s Christmas gift?” Savannah asked. When no one spoke up, she said, “Oh, wait, that was me.” She picked up something wrapped loosely in tissue paper and handed it to Peter.

  “What did Savannah make for me?” Peter asked.

  Simon moved closer. “What is it, Mr. Peter? It looks kinda lumpy.”

  “Yes, I think it was the biggest gift under the tree this evening,” Peter said.

  “And Teddy’s was the tiniest,” Adam said.

  “Well, Peter,” Savannah said, before you open it, I’d like to say that you were probably one of the hardest to create a gift for.”

  “I was? I don’t know why. I like a lot of things.”

  Savannah smiled. “But you’re so talented. I felt such pressure. Then I just started thinking about what you love most and realized it’s your family and your art. So that’s what inspired your gift.”

  “How touching,” Rochelle said. “What is it?”

  “Well, after that delightful introduction,” Peter said, “I can’t wait to see what Savannah came up with.”

  As he removed the paper, Savannah explained, “It’s a picture frame to use for one of your paintings or maybe a crazy shot we’ve taken of each other up here.”

  “Made of pinecones,” Peter said. “How thoughtful. It will definitely go in my office. And yes, a picture of us together this week would be most appropriate.” He examined it more closely and smiled at Savannah. “Nice job. Thank you.” He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  “That’s pretty cool,” Simon said. “You made that, Savannah?”

  “Yes, using some of that glue we bought and baby pinecones. There are a few random pods in there, and they’re glued to pieces of kindling I found in the woodpile.”

  “Very good job,” Rochelle said. “I’m impressed.”

  Gladys smiled. “My daughter is creative.”

  “Who’s next?” Adam asked. “I’m next after next after next…”

  “And next after that,” Simon said. “You’re number six.”

  “I know,” Adam said.

  “Who’s number three?” Michael asked. When no one spoke, he said, “Lily, what number’s written on your paper?”

  She opened it, turned it, scrutinized it, and shouted, “Three!”

  “Okay, it’s your turn to open a gift,” he said.

  Gladys jumped to her feet, picked up a gift, and handed it to Lily. “This is for you, sweet girl. Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas,” Lily repeated, looking down at the small gift wrapped in tree bark and tied with a piece of string.

  Lily pulled the string on the bow. It came untied and the bark fell away. She looked down at what was left and exclaimed, “It’s a dolly!”

  “That’s right, Lily,” Gladys said. She laughed. “I wasn’t sure she’d know what it was. It’s very similar to a doll my grandfather made for me once.” She put her hands to her cheeks. “Making that was a trip down memory lane.”

  “It’s adorable,” Rochelle said. “What did you use to make it?”

  Gladys admitted, “Well, I cheated a little and used string and also cloth from an old flour-sack towel I found in the ragbag here.”

  “You did some sewing on it. Where did you get a needle and thread?” Rochelle asked.

  Gladys grinned. “I always carry a sewing kit in my luggage.”

  Michael frowned. “Now is that even legal?”


  “Just look at your daughter,” Gladys said quietly. “She loves it.”

  Michael smiled when he saw Lily cradling the doll. “So what else did you use in making it?” he asked.

  “The body’s stuffed with some of the cloth. I embroidered flowers on it to make the skirt and sewed on the eyes and mouth. I was going to use moss for the hair, but I knew it would be too fragile so I cut a few pieces of fringe from the old throw I carry with me in the car and sewed it on for hair.”

  “Green hair,” Lily said.

  “It’s probably fragile,” Michael said. “You’ll want to put that dolly on a shelf and look at her. She probably isn’t to play with.”

  “I want to hold her,” Lily insisted.

  Gladys nodded. “That’s okay. Just remember to be gentle.”

  “Okay,” Lily said, smiling down at her doll.

  “Good job, Mom,” Savannah said.

  “Yes, so far I think you have the prize for most creative,” Rochelle added.

  “But you didn’t use all things from nature,” Michael complained.

  “How can you say that?” Gladys balked

  “Material isn’t from nature,” Adam said.

  “Sure it is. It’s cotton,” Gladys argued. “It grew in the fields—probably in Bakersfield— and was picked…”

  Michael interrupted. “Yeah, and hauled off and sent to a processing plant where it became fabric.” He smiled. “Good job, Gladys.”

  “Who’s number four?” Adam asked.

  “Me!” Savannah said gleefully.

  “Oh,” Adam said, smiling hesitantly at Savannah. “I drew your name.” He reached under the tree and picked up a small box.

  “Where’d you get the box,” Gladys teased, “from the country store? That’s not from nature is it?”

  “I found it under the porch, so I made my gift so it would fit in there.”

  “It’s an old match box. Clever,” Michael said, reaching for a high five with his son.

  “It was Peter’s idea,” he admitted. He handed the box to Savannah. “I hope you like it.”

  “I’m sure I will,” she said. “I always like the gifts you give me, and this one will be extra special because you made it.” She shimmied. “Can’t wait to open it.” But before she could remove the blades of grass Adam had tied around the box, Rags bumped her arm with his nose. “Rags,” she scolded. She moved over a little and invited, “Come on, Rags, come sit with me.” Once Rags was settled, she said, “Help me open my gift. It’s from Adam. Let’s see what we got from Adam.” She told the cat, “He made this, you know.” She lifted the lid and looked down into the box where a piece of rock art lay in a bed of leaves.”

  “It’s Rags!” Adam blurted. “I found some rocks to glue together to make Rags.”

  Savannah was stunned. “Oh, Adam,” she gushed. “What a thoughtful gift.” She removed the small cat replica from the box and looked it over from all angles. “I love this. What a great job!”

  Adam looked at Peter. “He helped me with it. He let me use some of his paint for the eyes and nose and the white where Rags has white fur. Since the rocks were gray we didn’t need to paint the rest of him.” He looked scornfully at Rags. “There might be some of his actual fur on it because he got in the way while we were painting it.”

  Savannah leaned toward Adam and hugged him. “All the better. Thank you so much. I will treasure this always.”

  Adam smiled widely, then said, “Okay, who’s number five. I’m next after five.”

  “That’s me,” Rochelle said.

  “Oh…” Simon yelped, standing. He picked up a package wrapped in a spray of pine needles and tied with string. He’d glued a small pinecone on the bow.”

  “What a pretty package,” Rochelle said. “Clever, Simon. So what’s in it?” she asked, not expecting an answer. Once she had removed the wrapping, she stared down at the gift, then smiled affectionately at Simon.

  “I know you like hearts,” he said, “so I made you a heart gift. Well, I found the heart rock when we were taking care of the fox, and Mr. Peter helped me make some paint.” He became more animated. “That was fun, making paint.” He moved closer to her and pointed. “See, I painted the whole rock sort of pink and drew hearts on it with other colors. I hope you like it,” he said. “I’ve never made anything for someone else before. That was kind of weird. I just kept thinking, ‘I hope she likes it.’”

  “Simon,” Rochelle said, taking his hand, “this is probably one of the most important and meaningful gifts I’ve ever received. Except for maybe one other one.”

  “What’s that?” he asked, “A diamond ring? A new car?”

  She shook her head and looked into his eyes. “No, you.”

  Not knowing how to react, Simon lowered his eyes, shuffled his feet and shouted, “Who’s number six?” He then said, “Wait, that’s you, Adam.”

  “Yes, my turn,” Adam shouted. “Which one’s my present?”

  Peter pointed. “That one in the red bark.”

  “I figured that one was from you,” Michael said. “You and your superior creative skill—colored gift wrap, no less,” he teased.

  “I think everyone has shown superior creativity,” Savannah said. “I’m blown away.”

  “Here, buddy,” Peter said, picking up the package and handing it to Adam.

  The boy carefully pulled away the wrapping and revealed a wooden fish. He stared at it for a moment, then said, “Mr. Peter, did you buy this? It looks like something from a store.”

  Peter shook his head. “Nope. I carved it. It’s supposed to be a replica of the fish you caught the other day. I thought you’d like this to remember the great day we had fishing together—all of us.”

  “Gosh,” Adam said, “thanks a lot. This is really rad. I didn’t know you could carve things. That’s something I’d like to learn.”

  “Cool,” Peter said. “Maybe before we go home we can do a little whittling together. You and me and whoever else wants to join in.”

  “Sure,” Adam said. He ran to his father with the carving. “Look at this, Dad. Isn’t it cool?”

  Before Michael could comment, Simon called out, “Who’s number seven?”

  “Hold on there,” Peter said. “Let Adam show his gift to everyone.”

  Minutes later, Michael said, “Okay, I’m number seven. Which of those interesting presents under there is mine?”

  “Oh,” Savannah yelped. She reached for something under the tree and handed it to Teddy. “Give this to Daddy,” she instructed.

  By the time Teddy relinquished the gift, he had stripped most of the wrapping off, but he finally allowed Michael to take it from him.

  “What is this, buddy?” Michael asked.

  The baby pointed at it and babbled.

  “It’s a blubbernoodle ga-ga,” Michael announced.

  The older boys laughed so hard they both rolled over onto the floor.

  Trying to squelch her laughter, Savannah moved closer to Michael and said, “It’s a weather rock.”

  “A weather rock?” he questioned. “What does it do? Forecast the weather?” He said to the rock, “So what’s the weather going to be tomorrow?” He then held the rock to his ear and listened.

  The boys were giggling by now. “No, Dad,” Adam said between chortles.

  “Oh, do I have to program it first? Where’s the on and off switch? Do you have the charger for this thing?”

  “No,” Savannah said, laughing almost too hard to speak. “See the rope around the rock?”

  “Yeah,” he said, “so I whirl it over my head? Better stand back,” he warned. “Dad,” Adam said, “you hang it up and if it’s moving, that means it’s windy. If it’s wet, it’s raining, and if it’s not wet, it’s not raining.”

  “Oh, what a great idea,” Michael said. “Thank you, Teddy. Good gift. Fist bump?”

  Everyone laughed when Teddy fist-bumped his dad.

  “One more, then me,” Simon announced.
/>   “Oh, I’m number eight,” Gladys said. She looked at the two gifts left under the tree and asked, “Which one’s for me?”

  “This one,” Michael said, picking it up and handing it to her. Now keep in mind that’s a one-of-a-kind, unique gift just for you, Gladys. No one in your circle of friends or acquaintances has one just like it. I can guarantee that.”

  “Oh,” she said, smiling broadly, “sounds special already.” She took the crudely wrapped gift in her hands. “What is it, what is it? I can’t imagine.”

  “Open it, Grammy,” Adam said, sitting down next to her. “I know what it is, I helped my dad with it.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “You’ll know in a minute. Just open it.”

  “Oh, Michael. How special,” Gladys gushed.

  “It’s a…what do you call it, Dad?”

  “Easel for a photograph,” he explained. “I thought maybe you’d like to display a favorite photo—perhaps one from this wonderful weekend.”

  “What a great idea,” she said. “This is really attractive.”

  “I put the glue dots on there,” Adam admitted. “Dad and I didn’t have paint and we decided to make it fancier with glue dots.”

  “Polka dot tripod frame. Very clever,” Gladys said. “I really like it. Thank you for your part in it, Adam. Michael, very nice. Good job.”

  “You’re welcome.” He glanced around the room. “Well, this has been fun. Time for bed. Thanks everyone for coming…”

  “Wait, Mr. Michael,” Simon wailed. “I didn’t get my turn. See, there’s one more present under the tree. I’m number nine. That’s my present, isn’t it?”

  “He’s just kidding,” Savannah said, patting the boy’s knee. “Of course he knows it’s your turn. Now who made Simon’s gift?” she asked.

  “Me,” Rochelle said quietly, raising one hand. She approached the tree and picked up the lone package, handing it to Simon. “This is actually from Mr. Peter and me.”

  The boy looked at her, then Peter. He carefully removed a strand of long grass that had been tied around a spray of pine needles. “It’s a pine cone,” he said, looking it over.

  “Yes, to remember our trip by,” Peter said.

  When Rochelle saw the disappointment in Simon’s eyes, she said, “Look at the bottom.”