carrying four bags of groceries, and she insists on helping me cook dinner.
“Did you remember the stuff for my school party?”
“Already got it,” I say, thinking of the candy I bought last night for her teacher.
“Where are your brothers?”
“Ben said to tell you he’s at Robert’s and to remind you he stayed home last night. Nick is watching TV.”
Before we start cooking, I go downstairs to check on Nick. His air mattress is out of the box, inflated, and occupied.
“He’s been lying there since we got home from school,” Megan tattles. “I’ve been trying to get him to go through Christmas decorations with me.”
I put my foot on the edge of his mattress, creating a ripple of airwaves.
“Ready for bed?”
I gather several blankets from the laundry room and toss them to my son.
“It’s you and me tonight, kiddo.”
Dinner preparations are delayed by a telephone call from my boss. The copy desk has a question about my school story. In the middle of our conversation, I hear what sounds like two elephants racing up the family room stairs.
Our Christmas culprits must have left another gift.
Nick and Megan are tussling over the doorstep deposit, a package of four holiday gift boxes. Megan lets go of the bag without warning, and Nick flies backward onto the air mattress. The plug pops. Nick reacts with a wrestling move. He grabs Megan around the knees and she goes down. Both of them are laughing as the mattress flattens.
“Did either of you see them?”
“Almost,” Meg says.
The kids explain that when they heard a car coming toward the house, they raced to the door to see if they could catch our true friends in the act. The fray on the stairwell delayed them.
“I found the present,” Nick says.
“But I reached the door first. I let you open it,” Megan reminds him. “Remember what you promised.”
Nick makes a face at his sister, and I get the feeling he made a promise I am not going to like.
“What’s up?”
“He’s going to get
all
the boxes of Christmas decorations out of the closet in the basement for me,” she says.
“Nick?”
He avoids answering and instead admires the artwork on the newly arrived card. The message, again, follows “The Twelve Days of Christmas” carol. Most of the writing is in red crayon, except for the words
gift boxes
, which are in blue. The first letter in each phrase is boxed on all the lines but one.
n the Fourth Day
f Christmas
our true friends give
to you
our Gift Boxes
hree Rolls of Gift Wrap
wo Bags of Bows
ne Poinsettia
our All of you
.
“Look at this, Mom. They used
f-o-u-r
instead of
f-o-r
in the last line. That’s different from the other cards.”
“Well, there are four of us.”
“Maybe it’s a clue,” Nick says. “And why are these letters boxed?”
Nick grabs paper and a pencil from his backpack and copies out each of the boxed letters:
O-O-Y-F-T-T-O-F
.
“That’s not one of my spelling words,” Meg says.
We try reversing the letters:
F-O-T-T-F-Y-O-O
.
“Hopeless,” she says. “Maybe the boxes are for decoration.”
Nick isn’t giving up.
“What if there are clues on all the cards that we have to piece together.”
I think he might be onto something.
“I have the first note. I’m not sure about days two and three.”
“We’ll save them from now on and check them every night,” he says. “I’ll figure this out.”
A half hour ago he was ready for bed; now he’s heading downstairs with his sister to unleash Christmas on the house. I’m relieved he’s feeling energized by the mystery.
I go upstairs to change out of my work clothes and then check my e-mail. By the time I return to the kitchen, Megan has abandoned her brother, who says he doesn’t need her help until the boxes are out of the closet.
“He didn’t want me down there. Besides, I promised to help make dinner.”
She lines up the contents of the grocery bags on the kitchen counter, which include the ingredients for my
“Did you remember the stuff for my school party?”
“Already got it,” I say, thinking of the candy I bought last night for her teacher.
“Where are your brothers?”
“Ben said to tell you he’s at Robert’s and to remind you he stayed home last night. Nick is watching TV.”
Before we start cooking, I go downstairs to check on Nick. His air mattress is out of the box, inflated, and occupied.
“He’s been lying there since we got home from school,” Megan tattles. “I’ve been trying to get him to go through Christmas decorations with me.”
I put my foot on the edge of his mattress, creating a ripple of airwaves.
“Ready for bed?”
I gather several blankets from the laundry room and toss them to my son.
“It’s you and me tonight, kiddo.”
Dinner preparations are delayed by a telephone call from my boss. The copy desk has a question about my school story. In the middle of our conversation, I hear what sounds like two elephants racing up the family room stairs.
Our Christmas culprits must have left another gift.
Nick and Megan are tussling over the doorstep deposit, a package of four holiday gift boxes. Megan lets go of the bag without warning, and Nick flies backward onto the air mattress. The plug pops. Nick reacts with a wrestling move. He grabs Megan around the knees and she goes down. Both of them are laughing as the mattress flattens.
“Did either of you see them?”
“Almost,” Meg says.
The kids explain that when they heard a car coming toward the house, they raced to the door to see if they could catch our true friends in the act. The fray on the stairwell delayed them.
“I found the present,” Nick says.
“But I reached the door first. I let you open it,” Megan reminds him. “Remember what you promised.”
Nick makes a face at his sister, and I get the feeling he made a promise I am not going to like.
“What’s up?”
“He’s going to get
all
the boxes of Christmas decorations out of the closet in the basement for me,” she says.
“Nick?”
He avoids answering and instead admires the artwork on the newly arrived card. The message, again, follows “The Twelve Days of Christmas” carol. Most of the writing is in red crayon, except for the words
gift boxes
, which are in blue. The first letter in each phrase is boxed on all the lines but one.
n the Fourth Day
f Christmas
our true friends give
to you
our Gift Boxes
hree Rolls of Gift Wrap
wo Bags of Bows
ne Poinsettia
our All of you
.
“Look at this, Mom. They used
f-o-u-r
instead of
f-o-r
in the last line. That’s different from the other cards.”
“Well, there are four of us.”
“Maybe it’s a clue,” Nick says. “And why are these letters boxed?”
Nick grabs paper and a pencil from his backpack and copies out each of the boxed letters:
O-O-Y-F-T-T-O-F
.
“That’s not one of my spelling words,” Meg says.
We try reversing the letters:
F-O-T-T-F-Y-O-O
.
“Hopeless,” she says. “Maybe the boxes are for decoration.”
Nick isn’t giving up.
“What if there are clues on all the cards that we have to piece together.”
I think he might be onto something.
“I have the first note. I’m not sure about days two and three.”
“We’ll save them from now on and check them every night,” he says. “I’ll figure this out.”
A half hour ago he was ready for bed; now he’s heading downstairs with his sister to unleash Christmas on the house. I’m relieved he’s feeling energized by the mystery.
I go upstairs to change out of my work clothes and then check my e-mail. By the time I return to the kitchen, Megan has abandoned her brother, who says he doesn’t need her help until the boxes are out of the closet.
“He didn’t want me down there. Besides, I promised to help make dinner.”
She lines up the contents of the grocery bags on the kitchen counter, which include the ingredients for my
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