The sound of Nora, screaming again, lulls me out of my sleep. It was a good sleep, too. I dreamt I was sampling the shrimp buffet at a swanky hotel in Madagascar while Mr. Pink played "Don't Cry For Me, Argentina" on the piano. You know, as it sometimes happens.

I shrug into my enormous brown plaid fleece bathrobe and blearily head out to the hallway.

There, on the landing, is an elf holding an enormous 1980's boom box.

"JESUS CHRIST!" I scream, jumping back.

"Um, no. He's scheduled to visit you next Christmas," squeaks the elf.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I ask, checking out the elf and fighting the urge to swat at him with a rolled-up newspaper. Dressed entirely in green and red, I am stunned to see that he has gold bells on his shoes, and shiny gold epaulets with jumping reindeer embroidered on them. Wait. Hang on a second...I lean in to look closer. The reindeer aren't jumping they're....wait a minute...

"Dude. The reindeer on your epaulets are doing something entirely inappropriate," I say, standing up straight.

The elf sighs. "It was a practical joke. Elf tailors, man. They're the worst of the lot. And they're pretty pissy, too, as they're all Keebler cast-offs. The needle is mightier than the sword and all that, so they get back at us via their trade. Speaking of which, nice robe, babe. If you wanted something that screamed 'Never have sex with me, ever again, ever' then you've found the right garment. What, a little black lace is too much to ask?"

I glare at the elf. "It's sleeping time. The black lace is for rumpy pumpy time. We can't all be Debbie Does Dallas all the time, you know."

The elf pushes a button on his ridiculous boom box, and at once the screeching sound that I know of as my daughter ceases. "Right, I'm Cecil."

"Cecil?" I ask. "Cecil the elf? Seriously?"

"You got a problem with the name Cecil?" the elf asks agressively.

"No no," I say, waving my hands in front of me. "No problem." Elves. No sense of humor.

"So I'm Cecil - " He breaks off and looks at me as though he's daring me to say something. When I don't, he continues. "- and I'm here to pick you up."

"You're not my type. Although considering where your head comes up to on me, I have some ideas about how we can pass the time," I reply.

"Ha ha," Cecil snaps. "Listen, lady, I've heard every elf joke in the book. Don't waste my time trying to think up new material. Just come with me, the big guy wants to see you."

"Santa?" I ask. "Why doesn't he meet me in Starbucks like he usually does?"

"Because you're on maternity leave, and the only time you enter a Starbucks right now is with two shouting babies and a look that implies you've lost the will to live. Now come with me."

The elf has a point.

I follow Cecil off the landing, down the stairs and outside. As he opens the front door a burst of freezing air pours through the house, and I pull my robe closer. We step out into the yard.

There are 8 reindeer and an enormous red sleigh on my front garden. The sleigh is elaborately decked out in gold trim, entirely too much gold - it looks like Father Christmas rocks the pimp angle. The runners alone look like solid gold bars. On the front of the sleigh is draped a set of thick leather reins, and I see they're tied around an enormous gold rearview mirror with a pair of fuzzy dice draped on them.

"Nice dice, Cecil."

"Thanks."

"Nice reindeer, Cecil."

"Thanks."

"I'm not cleaning that up, by the way."

"I didn't figure you would."

I get in the sled, and sit on the warm red leather. "Uh, Cecil?" I ask. "How long will this take? I'm only asking because I have feminine issues to be wary of."

Cecil climbs in, grabs the reins, and looks confused. "What?"

I consider this - do elves even have ovaries? "I have my women's monthly just now."

"What?"

"I'm menstruating."

"Not following you, Helen."

I sigh exasperatedly. "I have my period, Cecil. My period."

"Nope, don't understand."

"I've got the candy cane flow, dude."

"OHMIGOD!" shouts Cecil. Immediately a white paper is whizzed into my face. I look at it - it's the paper that the tube and lube guys put down on your floorboard when the car is serviced, so the carpet doesn't get mucked up. I'm shocked to see the two outlines of feet on the white paper are elf size, and they even have the gold bells sillhouetted. "Sit on that," Cecil instructs. "That'll protect my finest Moroccan leather."

I think I hate Cecil.

With a snap of the leather, we're up in the air. It should feel cold but somehow doesn't, although I could do without the crinkle of paper under my ass. As we climb higher I look down over London, then Glasgow, then it grows dark over the Highlands.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we've now achieved our cruising altitude," Cecil says into a radio whose speaker is aimed directly at me. "I'm going to go ahead and turn off the seat belt sign now so you can feel free to move about the cabin. But if you are in your seat, we do ask that you sit on the paper, as I'm not cleaning the seat after you. Blood is hell to get out of leather. We know you don't have a choice about your travel so thank you very much for choosing to fly Air Santa."

I sigh. I fucking hate the elf.

We start to descend over what looks like a massive white landscape.

"Cecil?" I shout. "I don't see any North Pole. I don't see any of anything here. Are you leaving me here to get mugged and killed by the indigent polar bear population?"

"Hold your horses!" snarks Cecil.

We land gently on the snow, and as I look around I see a large log cabin standing to my left. There is a sign over the front that says "Frosty's", and inside the windows are lit up. Everywhere else I look is dark and snowy, with no sign of anyone, anywhere.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Frosty's, where the local time is - "

"Can it, Cecil." I hop out of the sleigh. "And whatever you're feeding Blitzen up there, you may want to reconsider. The gas that boy is emitting could melt an ice cap."

I make my way to Frosty's, and open the door.

Inside is a bar. Around every small table are elves holding enormous jugs of what looks like root beer. Straight ahead is a long wooden bar, and two tall human-sized stools are set right up against the middle. On one of them is a familiar figure dressed all in red, with a red hat lined with white laying on the bartop, beckoning.

I walk up to him. "People are going to talk if we keep meeting like this," I say to Santa's profile.

"Evening, Helen," Santa says politely. "Can I take your robe?"

"You could do, but I wasn't exactly expecting to go anywhere tonight and I'm naked as a jaybird under it."

Santa coughs, embarrassed. "Er....um...fancy a drink?"

"God yes. This is the weirdest night ever," I reply. The elf bartender passes me a root beer. I pretend to drink it as I hate root beer, but I fear elf anger even more. "Is this the North Pole? Because it's not quite what I expected. I was thinking toy shops, carollers, big Christmas tree, maybe even some penguins pulling some sleighs. You know. Christmas shit. This? This is a bar."

"It is a bar, but that's because the North Pole is closed to outsiders. We don't let anyone in. So I brought you here."

"East Berlin lives on then, eh Santa?" I ask. "So - how's it going, big guy?"

Santa winces. "Not so good. I have a hernia - too many kids want those damn Play Stations, and do you know how heavy those bastards are? I'm going to need a second sleigh just to hold them all. That, and my son's decided to drop out of college to become a batik tie-dye expert. Imagine how happy Mrs. Claus is."

"It's creepy to think you have kids, Santa."

"Even Santa has to have the beef seen to, kid."

"Stop talking immediately or you'll blind me with embarrassment."

We pause.

"How old's your kid?" I ask.

"Harry's 193," Santa replies.

I think about this for a minute. "You named your kid Harry? Harry Claus? What, do you hate him or something?"

"I know, I know, we should've thought about that. Hindsight and all that. My year isn't helped by that stupid Fred Claus movie, people now seem to think I have a long-lost brother or some such nonsense."

"That movie sucked jingle balls, that's for sure," I agree.

We sip our root beer in silence.

"How's your year been, kid?" Santa asks gruffly.

"It's been wild," I reply. "Really wild."

"I've heard. Nick and Nora are on the Nice list, you know."

"They're not even 10 weeks old yet, they'd be hard-pressed to be on the naughty list."

"Fair point. But I've seen Nora's colicky episodes. They don't bode well for her teen years."

"You've seen them? You're spying on me?"

"Helen, please. I'm Santa Claus. I see you when you're sleeping. I know when you're awake."

I take a swig of the horrid root beer. "Man, I went through so much therapy to get over my paranoia and you come up with this slightly stalker talk. I get it that it's your job, but you may want to dial it down a bit."

"Sorry."

We both sigh a little bit, and Santa turns to me. "Helen, is there anything you want from me this year? Anything at all?"

I sit up and look around. The elves at the tables are all looking at me, expectantly. The place is quiet, reverent even. I look at Santa.

"It's been an amazing year, Santa. Truly. I've bonded with my family. I have a beautiful engagement ring. My mental health is leaps and bounds better, I may get depressed and stressed but I'm a life raft that's not going to sink. Angus and I have been through a lot, but we're making it through it and, I think, getting stronger from it all. I really love him."

The elves around me are melodramatically wiping away pretend tears and grasping each other's arms with fake drama, pausing to snicker and add on more pantomime. I want to cook the little bastards in a dish called Elf au Vin. I accept I will burn in Christmas hell for that, but some things would be worth it.

"And I had two tiny embryos that changed my world forever. I cherish them a hundred times a day." I smile at him, as he is smiling at me. "So not this year, Santa. There's absolutely nothing I want this year. I have the brass ring, and I won't ever forget it."

He reaches out an arm, and places it on my shoulder. "Isn't altruism grand?" he asks softly.

I look around the bar, and realize it's empty. There's not an elf in sight, they're all gone, it's just Santa and I. I reach out and squeeze Santa's hand and am not surprised to find it's warm. "Thank you, Santa." I say softly. "Thank you for everything. You outdid yourself this year. I can't imagine what's in store for 2008."

I get up. "I gotta' be getting home. The babies may sleep all night, but it's not a long night. I suspect you need to get some rest, too."

Santa stands up and hugs me, and it's as comforting as I thought it would be, like being held by hot cocoa, squishy pillows and Mr. Snuffleupagus all at once. "You've come a long way, kid. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks Santa."

"They're beautiful, you know. The two of them are really beautiful."

I smile. "I think so too."

I walk to the door, and turn around. "Merry Christmas, Santa."

Santa gives me a half-wave, his nose bright pink. "Merry Christmas, Helen."

I reach the door and open it. "And Santa? I still believe, you know. I always will."

Santa smiles. "I know, kid. That's why I see you every year."

And when I get home I tiptoe into babies' room and pat them gently. Someday, they'll meet Santa themselves. Until then, I'll thank the big guy every year for the greatest gift he's ever given me.

That, and I'll be setting out elf traps from now on.

Especially since someone didn't clean up after the reindeer and my favorite pair of black lace knickers seem to be missing.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 09:12 AM | Comments (14) | Add Comment
Post contains 2180 words, total size 12 kb.

1 Another amazing and most enthralling and entertaining Santa narrative. Thanx; you made my day.

Posted by: Charles at December 11, 2007 10:48 AM (kl+xy)

2 *LOL* Enteretaining as always.

Posted by: ~Easy at December 11, 2007 12:14 PM (WdRDV)

3 *believes with all her might* Great story, Helen. Thank you.

Posted by: Lisa at December 11, 2007 04:12 PM (EcHBm)

4 Hah. I still believe in Santa too. And now I want a Wendy's Frosty in the worst way. And french fries. Damn the stupid ice storm that will prevent me having them RIGHT NOW.

Posted by: Tracy at December 11, 2007 04:23 PM (zv3bS)

5 a nasty elf with a black lace fetish? You get the most interesting houseguests!

Posted by: caltechgirl at December 11, 2007 04:27 PM (/vgMZ)

6 Oh that makes me smile!

Posted by: SaraJane at December 11, 2007 04:43 PM (FUHEd)

7 Oh hell yes, you know I still and always will believe. And I expect those elves would be right nasty. I think it might be those pointy shoes.

Posted by: Teresa at December 11, 2007 05:29 PM (KwnWf)

8 I am so thankful for YOU. I had about zero Christmas spirit this year and your stories (I re-read last years too) are really getting me in the mood! Thanks Chica. Ohh and the babies, I want to eat em they are so cute and getting big.

Posted by: Cheryl at December 11, 2007 05:34 PM (n3lCA)

9 Truly beautiful, Helen. As the years that I've read go by, the more attached I am to reading your blog. I look every day to see what you've said. Thanks for writing for us and for yourself.

Posted by: Jen(aside) at December 11, 2007 05:50 PM (F5hBK)

10 Aww, baby. Awesome. I still believe, and I love you. Merry Christmas! xoxo

Posted by: Margi at December 11, 2007 06:14 PM (KF0g8)

11 Love your Christmas stories. And it's true, you've come a long way. Just wish I could come that "long way", too.

Posted by: diamond dave at December 11, 2007 10:14 PM (8Dssq)

12 That was wonderful!

Posted by: kenju at December 12, 2007 12:15 AM (TiGru)

13 So lovely... Thank you.

Posted by: Richmond at December 12, 2007 12:23 AM (J0cwf)

14 I still believe, too. Nice early Christmas gift(s) this year, huh?

Posted by: physics geek at December 12, 2007 06:17 PM (MT22W)

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