“What are you doing up here? Did you find Mommy?” she asked.
I nodded and wrapped my arms around Gramma’s neck. “Mommy’s sleeping.”
Gramma didn’t like that. Her face got liney and mad, like the time when I had dropped The Lion King into her fishbowl.
“Mommy’s sleeping, huh? Maybe we should wake her up, don’t you think?”
I thought real hard about that.
If Mommy was sleeping because she had done the Bad Stuff, then Gramma would yell. She would tell Grampa, and he would yell, too, and Mommy would yell back, and I would have to hide because I didn’t like it when they yelled.
But if Mommy was sleeping because her tummy didn’t feel good, she should stay sleeping because sleep made you better when you didn’t feel good.
So, I shook my head.
“No,” I said, tapping Gramma’s nose. “Mommy’s tummy doesn’t feel good.”
“Oh, it doesn’t, huh?”
I bobbed my head real fast. “Uh-huh. Billy’s tummy didn’t feel good when I was at his house. His mommy said he maybe caught a bug, so I think Mommy caught Billy’s bug too.”
Gramma’s face wasn’t liney anymore. Now, she looked sad, like she wanted to cry, and I didn’t think I liked that.
I poked at her lips and tried to make her smile again.
“Mommy caught a bug all right,” Gramma muttered in a quiet voice, and I was happy because I was right.
Then, she really did smile, and I felt good again. Because I’d made it happen.
“Come on, my little man,” she said, carrying me back to the stairs. “Let’s go make some cookies, okay?”
“Yeah!” I threw my fists in the air like Superman.
“Chocolate chip?”
I shook my head.
Gramma looked surprised.
“No?! But you love chocolate chip!”
“I wanna make oatmeal today.”
“Really?”
She couldn’t believe it. Gramma knew I didn’t like oatmeal.
“Yeah.” I stuck my bottom lip out because, now, I was sad even though I didn’t really know why. “They’re Mommy’s favorite.”
Then, Gramma was sad again, too, but she nodded. “Okay, little Soldier. We’ll make oatmeal cookies for Mommy.”
***
Age Six
Grampa zoomed around the living room and made the plane noises. My arms stretched out real wide, and Gramma laughed as she put another sparkly ornament onto the Christmas tree.
It was the biggest, glitteriest tree I’d ever seen, and I knew Santa was gonna love it and leave me tons and tons of presents.
“I know being an airplane is fun, but I think someone needs to get some sleep,” Gramma said, and I knew she was talking about me.
“No!” I yelled, trying real hard not to yawn. “I gotta stay up for Santa!”
Grampa put me down and bent over to tap my chin. “Oh, but if you stay up, Santa won’t come.”
I couldn’t help it. I yawned big, stretching my mouth out like a lion, and Gramma laughed again.
“How about Grampa flies you up to your room and gives you a nice, soft landing in your bed?”
I looked at the tree and felt a little sad. If I went to bed, I wouldn’t get to see if Santa liked it or the tinsel I’d helped put on the branches. But I really was getting sleepy, and what if he didn’t come if I was awake anyway?
So, I stuck my lip out and nodded, and Grampa chuckled, picking me up once again and zooming all the way up the stairs and down the hall to my room.
Mommy’s door was open, and she wasn’t inside.
She hadn’t been inside in a long time.
Grampa swooped me down onto my Mickey blanket and knelt at the side of the bed. He smiled, and I told him I thought he looked a lot like Santa. That made him happy, and he smiled even bigger.
“You think so, huh?”
I nodded. “Yeah. ‘Cause you have a big white beard and glasses.”
“Do you think”—Grampa came real close and made his eyes big—“I could be Santa?”
I couldn’t stop laughing. “Nooo!”
“Oh, no? And why not?”
“Because you’re not fat!”
Grampa laughed. I loved Grampa’s laugh. He didn’t sound like Santa, but it made me just as happy.
“You know, if you and Gramma keep baking all those cookies, I will get fat. And then can I be Santa?”
I thought about that, but then shook my head. “You don’t have reindeer.”
“Maybe Sully wants to be my reindeer.”
“Grampa,” I groaned, smacking my hands against my fluffy Mickey Mouse blanket. “Sully can’t be a reindeer. He’s a dog.”
“Hmm …” Grampa cupped his chin and closed one eye. “I guess you’re right. I don’t really fit the criteria.”
I didn’t know what that meant, but I agreed anyway.
Then, I asked, “Is Mommy coming home soon?”
It had been a long time since I had seen Mommy. I’d heard Gramma say something to Grampa about picking her up in a few weeks, but how long ago was that? When did a few weeks end? And where had she gone anyway? Nobody would tell me, and it made me sad.
Grampa sighed and said, “Soon, buddy.”
“Where is she?”
“She went on a little trip, but she’ll be back soon.”
“But not for Christmas?”
He sighed again and shook his head. “No, not for Christmas. Not this year.”
Mommy was going to miss Santa and the tree and Christmas, and now, I wanted to cry. What if Santa didn’t know where she was? What if she didn’t have presents? What if she didn’t get me anything after she said she was going to?
“Hey, hey, hey.” Grampa wiped away a tear as it rolled down my cheek. “Mommy will be here before you know it. She just needed to go on a trip for a little while, but I promise she’s coming back good as new, okay?”
“B-but what if Santa can’t find her?”
“Ah, buddy …” Now, Grampa looked sad as he put his hand on top of my head. “He always knows, and I bet he’s gonna bring Mommy the best present in the whole world.”
I didn’t know what that was, but I fell asleep, thinking about it. Maybe it would be a fire truck or a castle or a gigantic pirate ship. Those were things I’d like, and maybe Mommy would like them too.
When I woke up, I ran down the stairs with Sully before Gramma and Grampa were even awake to see if Santa had come, and he had. A great big pile of presents was stacked under the tree in colorful, sparkly wrapping paper, and I bounced against the bottom step at the sight. Even the stockings above the fireplace were full—Mommy’s too!
“Look, Sully. Presents,” I whispered loudly. “Let’s see if Gramma and Grampa are up.”
We turned around and ran back up the stairs to burst through Gramma and Grampa’s door. They grumbled and growled as I jumped onto the bed and crawled between them.
“Santa came!” I cheered, jumping up and down.
“Did you hear that, Gramma?” Grampa mumbled, sounding too sleepy to be excited. “Santa came.”
“I heard,” Gramma replied, her eyes still closed.
“Let’s go open them!” I jumped some more.