Making a List, Checking it Twice

It’s almost Christmas,

And all through the house,
Not a creature is stirring,
Not Spike, not Beanie, Not even Sofia after a mouse.

But Sara is not done with her shopping… and online times are drawing near to a close.

I’m not in total panic.

Yet.

I have six hours in a truck tomorrow with Walter- we can plan dinner on the way. Check lists. Make sure everything is done. Set up a mobile command center with our cell phones.

One more trip to Rochester to pick up the last of the things from my mother’s house. Maybe after that I can start thinking about Christmas cards.

Not that I’ve done the thank you cards for the funeral. Think there might be an all in one card out there? Merry Christmas or Happy Hanukkah- you choose- and thanks for your loving support after my mother died? There must be a Hallmark card. One with a small puppy on the front, with sad eyes, dressed in a Santa suit and a Star of David necklace.

Of course being away means one less day to get ready for Christmas. Once I’m sure of the food, though, everything else is easy.

I hope.

Of course there is some wrapping to do… but I’m not going there today.

Personally, I only have a few Christmas wishes. I wish there was snow on the ground. Here, the Artic Circle… you know. Where it should be this time of year. I wish I wasn’t going through a list of kid’s stationed in Iraq so my own children can adopt a solider this year. They know I hate the war. It’s wrong, it has always been wrong; too many people have died over poor policies, ineffective strategies and an idiot for a president. Not just Americans, but the thousands of Iraqis. Not soldiers but babies. Children. Grandmothers. Our soldiers are mere pawns of power hungry bureaucrats in Washington, DC who care only about keeping the rich rich, and the poor out of the voting booths.

I have always made sure my kids talk about the war at least once a month. It is so easy, in our comfortable home, with plenty of food on the table, and quiet nights only broken with the sound of the train rumbling nearby, to forget what it’s like in a war zone. If American children- and let’s face it, the soldiers are mostly 18 to 22 years old, they are children- are over there fighting every day, I’m going to make sure my children are aware of it.

I find most War supporters are eager to wave their flags but rarely talk to their children about the war.

So, we are adopting a solider. Going to send some non-perishable goods they have requested- Shaving cream. Razors. Beef jerky. Gum. And a letter from the boys describing why they wanted to do this-

Because we want to help them and make them feel like they are home, Jake said.

It’s George Bush’s fault we’re at war, he adds. Not theirs.

From the mouths of babes, as they say.

Honestly? All I want for Christmas is a little less global warming and the end to the war.

Not such a big list. And maybe I won’t get it this year but you know what? I’m raising three boys to think they are both pretty reasonable things to ask for.