Christmas Eve found the adults in my household toddling off to bed well past midnight, me having dosed up on anti-wheezing meds. An hour later, weary but wakeful, I was nestled into the living room recliner, finding the semi upright position more breathable. The tree lights were on, the cat was purring on my lap, and the house was otherwise quiet. Peace on earth, joy to men, all that. I had just barely began to doze when ~
~ suddenly, I heard a noise from above the ceiling! A
tramping, prancing kind of noise!
It wasn't Santa Claus, of course. Instead it was at least one and possibly two medium-sized children, armed with chutzpah and a flashlight, sneaking into the living room illicitly in the middle of the night to see what was under the tree.
I sat bolt upright and said, "
WHAT are you doing? Who is that...?"
The kid or kids wisely vanished back upstairs so rapidly that I never did figure out who it was. But I have my suspicions... (Bah, humbug!)
An hour after that, the tree lights flickered and went out, and the ventilator fan sighed to a stop. I woke briefly, realized the power was out, and went back to sleep.
When the power came back on, there was daylight coming in the windows and so I went to wake the family. Husband Bob was soundly out of it, while the kids were gathered at the top of the stairs urgently listening for the first sign that it was safe to come down and join us.
Into the room they came, ostentaciously yawning and stretching ...
... 10-year-old Timothy, wearing a red fuzzy sleeper (the last one we own; it's ratty and disgusting and he loves it anyway). Tim habitually wakes up bright eyed, talkative and cheerful, and the rest of us hate him for it. From across the room he took one look at the stockings lined up on the couch and said, "They're full of round things? Oranges?"
... 11-year-old Jonathan, right behind Tim, eyed the stockings suspiciously and said, "There's nothing showing out the tops."
... 12-year-old David, my redhead, joined us a moment later. David has a quirky sense of humor; he suggested that we should just go back to bed and save all the presents and things for next year. He was so amused by tormenting his younger brothers with this plan that he never said a word about the oddly lumpy stockings across the room.
... 14-year-old Jeremy and 16-year old Ben came last. Unlike the younger three, Ben and Jeremy had both been honestly asleep. They came muzzily into the room and looked at their father for permission to go plunk themselves down somewhere.
"Okay, kids," Bob announced. "You can go on over to the stockings now." The three younger ones raced ("Watch out for the coffee table!") over, shoving each other and jockeying for position. The two older boys were moving more sleepily, but no less eagerly.
"Potatoes???? You got us stockings full of
potatoes??!" That was Ben. He and Jeremy traded disgusted puzzled looks with each other.
David picked up a potato. "Hey Dad, want to go play catch?"
Jonathan started rummaging through his stocking,
sure there would be something there besides spuds.
Timothy was triumphant. "I
knew there was something round in there!"
"Ummm, but Tim, it's
potatoes." That was Ben again. He turned to me, "Mom, did Santa get confused or what?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. I guess Santa must be having some financial difficulties and potatoes were cheap. Either that, or he got you guys confused with some kids on the Naughty List or something ... you know, the kind of kids who would sneak down in the middle of the night with a flashlight to see what he'd left for them..." (No one reacted to that, by the way.)
My attempt at sleuthing thus foiled, I suggested that Ben should hand out the presents. The rest of the kids sat on the couch, while Bob and I had the recliners and our houseguest Don took another chair. I cautioned Ben, "Be sure to show me the presents before you hand them to your brothers. There are some of them we want to save for a bit later, okay?"
He gave me a look, and started handing out gifts. Watching over the handout procedure, we were able to pace it so that a piece of the spud gun got opened only occasionally -- interspersed with their "real" gifts.
The first spud gun part that came up was the duct tape. Jeremy was so thrilled with it that I realized I was going to have to go back to the store and buy more for the spud gun project. Ah, well.
Next part that turned up was the 4" round, 10" long chamber. Ben got that one. He looked through it at first his dad and then me, then shoved it up his arm as far as the elbow as if it were a splint. "Okay,
why???" he inquired, and Bob said, "Huh. Santa must've thought he was at a plumber's house or something."
I said, "Well, it'll come in handy if you break your arm."
David opened an end cap. "Uh, Mom? What's this for?"
Ben spoke up. "Hey, it'll fit on my splint. Huh. We could make a vase for Mom." They put the two pieces together on the coffee table.
Jonathan and David got cans of hair spray, then started giggling because they both have crew cuts. "Was this for Mom?"
Jeremy opened a package the size and shape of a large, rolled up poster. It turned out to be more PVC pipe. "Hey, cool, watch this!" Settling the wrapping paper back onto the PVC pipe, he blew it across the room as if it were an oversized straw wrapper. Ben handed the wrapper back to him and he did it again. When he shot it at me, I crumpled it up and tossed it to the wrapping pile. Settling back against the lumpy stocking full of potatoes, Jeremy mock-pouted. "Great! Now I don't have any ammunition for my pipe gun!" (Bob had a coughing fit right about then.)
Timothy opened the PVC glue. "Hah hah you guys! I can glue all your pieces together!"
Jonathan retorted, "Yeah, but
why?"
Eventually, the coffee table had a pile of oddments that the kids kept looking at quizzically. Ben gave me a look from across the room that told me he'd figured it out, but he didn't say anything as the younger four fitted the pieces together, pulled them apart, and discussed what it could possibly
be.
Finally Ben couldn't stand it any more. "I know what it is," he announced. "Jeremy, you do too -- don't you?"
Jeremy professed to be puzzled, but he was grinning too. The other three were still stumped.
"Potato gun~! Look, you guys, the potato goes in here and ... hairspray? Mom, was that what the hairspray was for?" I admitted it was. "And you -- Dad, how does the igniter work?"
All other gifts were abandoned as we trooped over to the computer to look at the spud gun sites y'all recommended above.
Jeremy just kept shaking his head. "I can't believe you guys did this to us..."
Timothy had a more important question in mind. "Does this mean you've got
real stockings somewhere for us?"
Thanks to everyone who helped us with this!
pax