they wanted--even when they didn't know what they
wanted until they had it.
What would childhood be like without believing
in Santa Claus? Not the kind of childhood I wanted
for our twins!
Even for those locked away, Christmas was a busy
time, even for one beginning to despair, and doubt, and distrust. Secretly, Chris and I had been making gifts for Momma (who really didn't need anything), and gifts for the twins--plushy stuffed animals that we tediously backstitched by hand, and then filled with cotton. I did all the embroidery work on the faces when they were still flat. I was, in private in the bathroom, knitting Chris a cap of scarlet wool--it grew and it grew and it grew; I think Momma must
have forgotten to tell me something about gauge. Then Chris came up with an absolutely idiotic and
horrific suggestion. "Let's make the grandmother a
gift, too. It's really not right to leave her out. She does
bring up our food and milk, and who knows, a token
like this may be just the thing needed to win over her
affection. And think how much more enjoyable our
lives would be if she could tolerate us."
I was dopey enough to think it might work, and
for hours and hours we slaved on a gift for an old
witch who hated us. In all this time she had never
even once said our names.
We bonded tan linen to a stretcher frame, glued on
different colored stones, then carefully applied gold
and brown cording. If we made a mistake, ever so
painstakingly we'd do it over and make it right so she
wouldn't notice. She was bound to be a perfectionist who'd see the slightest flaw and frown. And never, truly, would we give her anything less than our best
efforts could produce.
"You see," said Chris again, "I really do believe
we have a chance in winning her over to our side.
After all, she is our grand- mother, and people do
change. No one is static. While Momma works to
charm her father, we must work to charm her mother.
And even if she refuses to look at me, she does look at