It Wasn't Santa Claus

We always enjoy Christmas. Ok, not always, but pretty much. I shop and spend money just hoping to please everyone. I wrap gifts at the last minute. I put up a tree purely out of guilt and obligation. I slave for hours over the food in the hot kitchen with my itsy-bitsy oven. Then I subject myself to ridicule over burned food. This year, it was not only the biscuits, but the coffee cake. I think I sneaked that one by, however, because I removed the entire bottom of the cake before I put it out on a plate. But not the biscuits. They noticed the biscuits.

I well remember the year that I did not burn the rolls. (Hey! There's a lot going on around roll-time. I just forget about them until I smell them...burning.) Anyway, one year I did not burn the rolls. This is memorable because one of the kids asked, as he buttered the golden lump of bread, "Hey, Mom! Where's the black stuff we're supposed to peel off the bottom?"

This year was pretty normal. After a lovely brunch with burned biscuits, we cleaned up the kitchen, read the Christmas story (the one about Jesus--remember it?), opened our gifts and played some games.

As the crowd began to disperse into different rooms, I heard the front door open and a woman's voice exclaim, "Suprise! We're here! Merry Christmas!"

I was surprised. I wasn't expecting anyone. Nor did I recognize the man and woman standing in my entry way bearing many, many gifts. I welcomed them cordially and wished them a Merry Christmas.

My husband came in from the kitchen. He smiled, greeted them cheerfully and wished them a Merry Christmas as well. I looked to him for introductions figuring they must be someone from his work, clients of his or someone he knew from church. He looked to me for introductions, assuming she must be one of my friends from my "PMS Group" as he calls it. My son thought I had invited yet another homeless family over to share this blessed occasion.

The lady apparently thought we were guests in this lovely home. She looked around for an awkward minute or so. Finally she said, "You know what? I think we're in the wrong house. I'm supposed to be at my brother's house and you're not my brother. I don't recognize this house."

Her husband turned around without a word and went back to the car.

We directed her next door to her brother's house while encouraging her to leave the gifts with us.

She didn't.