It looked old.
It looked like it’d seen better days.
It looked like it was made out of macaroni.
“I’m not exactly sure,” I told Noelle honestly. Bits had snapped off the spray-painted pasta, and I suspected it had been around for a while. “Why don’t we put it here on the coffee table and we can ask Chris when he gets back?”
“Where’d he go?”
“He’s just run to the store,” I told her.
“I hope he brings back Oreos,” Noelle mumbled, forgetting about the pasta ornament and grabbing another from the box. Attention span of a goldfish.
I quickly texted Chris to see if he could grab some Oreos before I picked up the bag I’d bought at the Christmas tree farm. It had been filled, well at some point I assume it had been filled, but today the shelves were depressingly bare, although there were some cute little handmade trinkets I couldn't resist. I carefully unwrapped the tissue paper, folded it in a neat pile, and placed the line of ornaments down beside me. It wasn’t until I was halfway through the bag that I realized I may have gone a little overboard.
Noelle and I lined them up along the windowsill and admired our handy work. It was looking decidedly festive in here, and with carols blaring from my phone it was hard to avoid the holiday spirit.
“Mom?”
“Yes, Noelle.”
“Can we make cookies?”
Huh? This kid never stopped. There were still decorations to be hung, boxes to be put away, and things to be tidied, and already she was moving on to the next thing. I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried to ward off the headache.
“How about you help me finish packing away this mess, then we can see if we have all the things we need to make cookies?” I negotiated.
Noelle looked at me and rolled her eyes. Some days I wanted to smack her sassy little butt, but I couldn’t. She could’ve only gotten that attitude from one place so I had no one to blame but myself. “But cleaning up is boring,” she informed me.
“Well, so is time out, so you choose,” I pushed back.
“Fine.” She huffed before grabbing a box and starting to shove things in it roughly.
The disappointment for Noelle kept coming. If I thought Chris’s fridge was bare, then his pantry was something else. I tried to explain to Noelle that we didn’t have all the ingredients to make cookies and suggested instead she make a card for Chris to say thank you for buying her a Christmas tree.
“But I don't have any glitter,” she whined.
Damn, I wish this kid still napped.
“You’ve got your colored markers. Why don’t you start with them?” I asked, pulling a page from a notebook in my bag and folding it in half to make a card.
Noelle snatched it from my hand, and I went to reprimand her, but decided it wasn’t worth the argument. If drawing kept her entertained for a moment while I finished these decorations and got cleaned up, I’d take the win.
“How do you spell Chris?” Noelle asked, and I spelled it out for her.
“What the?”
I pulled the tissue paper-wrapped package out of the bag and unwrapped it carefully. I didn’t remember putting this in there. In fact, I specifically remember walking by it, picking it up, shaking my head, and putting it back. Buying mistletoe while staying with a man who set the dormant butterflies in your belly into flight was a risk I wasn’t going to take.
There was no doubt, though. A bunch of mistletoe was in the bag with a bright red ribbon tied around the stalk.
I set it aside like it was a spider that was going to bite me and kept cleaning. But it was like an elephant in the room. My eyes kept drifting back to it, wondering where it’d come from, and more importantly, why.
I found the crumpled ‘Merry Christmas’ sign near the window and taped it back up.
When I picked up a small box stuffed in the corner, I opened it up, realizing instantly that maybe I shouldn’t have. But now Pandora’s box had been opened, curiosity was eating me.
Noisily, I pulled out the glass ornament, glad Noelle hadn’t found it first. It was fine glass, so fine I held it with two hands not wanting to drop it. Engraved on it read, ‘Christmas 2012. Chris and Shayna’. Ouch.
