Christmas Truths

It's a lonely time of year; Christmas, that is. People can surround you, but it still feels as if you are standing on the outside. Who's to say why some people fit in, and others don't? We are all born, live our lives and die, just the same. However, some are loved or accepted more than others. Or at least, that's how it seems. Sometimes, it takes enlightenment from the most unsuspecting of places to realise reality.

It was Christmas Day, and Emily had tried to call her family. Instead, she was met by either voice mail or a text. 'Can't talk right now. Will call you tomorrow.'

Wow, thanks, mum, she thought. Emily rarely saw her family anymore. She had moved away years ago, but she always tried to keep in touch. It just seemed that, at times, no one cared whether she did or not. Oh, they liked her pictures of the kids on Facebook and Instagram. They would send a Happy Birthday notification every year, but was it really because they cared or because they had a reminder? Those things online that let you know when the people you are closely related to had something important going on in their life.

This year, Emily was near tears. It had nothing to do with her immediate world. The day had been outstanding. Even if the kids had woken her and her husband up at four-thirty in the morning, it was Christmas; these things were acceptable. She had blearily followed her three monster's downstairs and sat on the couch, zombie-like while waiting for her husband to come down. It took that man forever to pull on a pair of trousers. She could handle that; the gremlins waiting to tear into all that colourful paper was another story. She had her phone out, ready to take a multitude of pictures of her spawn. As soon as their dad entered the room, chaos would ensue. Emily loved to call her children silly and inappropriate names. They understood them for the endearments that they were. Sarcasm had been mothers' milk to them.

"You, boy." She pretended to glare at her sixteen-year-old son, who stretched out on the couch beside her. His lazy, languid lounge combined with the floppy dark hair that fell into his eyes tried to cover his crimes. "You are the reason we are down here," Emily picked up her phone and faked a glare at it before pointing the device at him in mock accusation. "At four forty-three AM. This is all your fault. What is wrong with you, boy? You're a teenager; aren't you supposed to sleep till two, at the earliest?"

"It's not my fault mum," the raised eyebrows and puppy dog eyes he attempted made her giggle. "I just went to the bathroom, and they woke up. I can't help it!"

"That's your lying face," she raised her blonde brow. 

 "No, it's not," he lied, holding the same expression. "Honestly, I didn't wake them up."

 "Yes, you did, Mark." Seven-year-old Beau ratted him out. "You woke me up, then Lucy. But, mum, Marks a liar! You said Santa had been. He should lose a present. Can I have it?"

"Busted by your baby brother," Emily grinned, pulling Beau into her lap for a hug. "Come here, you little traitor and hug mummy. I love you, beastie."

"Mum," Beau drew the three letters into at least seventeen syllables. "I'm not a baby anymore." He protested as he tried to wipe the kisses off his face.

"Gasp, shock, horror!" Emily grasped her chest, pretending to be in agony. "You mean, you're too old for cuddles and kisses from your mummy now? Oh no," she pretended to sob. "Who will love me? My baby boy is too big for cuddles!"

Lucy had just come into the room and rolled her eyes. At fifteen, she often tried to act as more of an adult than a child, but still, there's no such thing as being too grown up at times like these. "I will," She crowed and jumped on top of her mother. "I love you more than Beau, mum. More than Mark and more than dad! I love you more than anyone else. I love you much more!" Her brothers did not see the smirk on her face. The girl was genuinely devious and made her mother so proud.

"No!" shouted Beau. "My mum! I love her the most. And she loves me more. Let me in," He gave a tiny warrior bellow and dove in as he tried his best to wiggle in between his sister and Emily. How dare she try to steal his mother's affection from him?

Not wanting to be left out, Mark joined the fray. He pulled both Lucy and Beau off, tossing them on the couch and pulled Emily into a hug. They didn't have a chance. At sixteen, Mark was over six-foot-tall and weighed nearly one hundred and ninety pounds of pure muscle. He had had a gym membership since he was twelve. The boy had discovered the junior gym membership when he went to high school and had been a dedicated disciple ever since. "She was my mum first. So, I love her the most because I loved her longer." He grinned proudly. The little shit, he knew how to rile Beau like a pro. Those two were so much alike it was scary. 

Just then, her husband Paul walked in. One salt and pepper eyebrow arched up, making him look comical. He was becoming more salt than pepper, but Emily still looked at him as if he hung the stars in the sky. He would always be that dashing laughing boy she fell in love with more than twenty years ago. "Well, if that's the case." He pulled Emily from her son and lifted her in his arms, bridal style. "Then I love her the most and vice versa because I have loved her the longest. "Nuu-uhhh," Beau said. "That means granny and grandad do. Because they have known her since she was born."

"Yeah, but we never see them," Mark's face was suddenly marred with a frown. He had seen how his mum sometimes cried when she got upset with something her family had said or done. He was old enough to understand that her side of the family had all done things that hurt his mum's feelings. He didn't even think they knew they were doing it. It was like mum wasn't as important as the rest of them. Mark couldn't understand it. His mum was awesome, and he wouldn't trade her for the world.

Yeah, sometimes she was hard on him. He had to do chores, work and go to school. He often wanted to play with his friends on the x-box, but he wasn't allowed. Too much Xbox would evidently rot his brain. Mum always said, 'everything in moderation.' May God save him if she ever heard him swear or if he talked back to their dad. Life wouldn't be worth living. Mum had told them multiple times that she was legally required to feed, clothe, and shelter them. Everything else was a privilege that could and would be taken away. And man, had she done it. His friends thought she was a bitch at times, and it made him so angry.

Sure, she was hard on him. She told Mark a long time ago that she never expected more than he could give but that she always wanted him to give a hundred per cent in everything he tried. Mum was also the first one to be there when they needed her. He remembered once when he got hurt at school. She was at work and pregnant with Beau when he fell, cutting his palm open. The car had broken down, so she had walked all the way there when the school called her. He had cut his hand pretty bad. It was mum that took him to the hospital and sat with him the whole time. She was the one who told him stories about her past injuries and extolled how brave he was. In his eyes, his mum was awesome.

So, what if granny and grandad were caught up in his aunts and uncles' lives? They didn't matter. They wouldn't get up at four-thirty in the morning with a smile and open presents. If you asked him, they were a bunch of arseholes who didn't deserve his mum. He would never say that because mum would give him a massive row over his language. Not to mention, she would scold him for disrespecting his relatives. Family was family, in her eyes. In a way, he agreed with her. Family was family; except, he didn't think that they were part of theirs. If they were, then they wouldn't ignore mum like she was something to throw away when they didn't have time for her. They always called when they wanted something, though. That's not family; that's just users.

Mum had been in a great mood all day. She and dad went back to bed for a few hours, but Mark was okay with that. He kept an eye on Beau, and so did Lucy. Two teenagers could handle a seven-year-old kid for a couple of hours anyway. Plus, with his new hot wheels, Beau didn't care about anything else. After their nap, mum made Christmas cookies, and we all got to help decorate. Not to mention eat a lot of cookie dough. It was always the best part of cookie making, that sweet, chewy, raw goodness in your gob. Mum always made too much dough, purely so we could eat it. Then she started Christmas dinner. There was nothing that smelled better than mum's yeast rolls. It made your mouth water every time that wonderful aroma started to fill the house.

She made enough to feed at least twenty people; she always did. Beau set the table, and we said grace. We laughed and joked and read lousy cracker jokes.

"Hey, what do you get if you cross Santa with a duck? A Christmas Quacker!" Beau chortled gleefully when he told that gem.

"You are such a weirdo," Lucy rolled her eyes.

"You're weirder." He fired back.

"You are both weirdos," Mark added to have a say.

"Children, we are all weirdos. Normal is boring," mum smiled her sweet happy smile. It was Marks favourite. She only did that smile when she was with them. Or babies, mum had a real weakness for babies.

After Christmas dinner, we all wandered off to do our own thing. Dad had passed out on the couch with his food baby; Beau was back with his hot wheels. The entire living room had become a racetrack. Blue and yellow plastic tracks were draping the coffee table, chair and part of the couch. Lucy had disappeared into her room; Santa had brought her a new kindle; we wouldn't see her for a few days. But, hey, Christmas miracles do happen, Mark thought.

He was just about to head to his room when he heard his mum on the phone. Mark stopped to listen, and his heart sank at what he heard. Mum had turned the phone onto speaker as she often did.

"No, it's okay," Emily said weakly. he could see the tears welling in her eyes, but she fought them back. "I didn't mean to interrupt your gathering David. I just thought I would call and wish you a Merry Christmas."

"Yeah, you too, Em. We are just swamped now. Mum and Dad are here. She wants me to take some pics for the family. She wants to have a new family portrait done for over the fireplace at theirs."

"Oh, I didn't know that." Emily worried her lip while rubbing at a random place on her jeans. Mum didn't tell me that she wanted a new photo made."

"Um, yeah," David hedged. "It's just a photo with us and all the grandkids. Mum knew you wouldn't want to come down for that. Well, Sis," he muttered uncomfortably. "Umm, I've got to go. Hey, call back tomorrow when I have a few minutes to talk to you."

"Okay, well, I guess I will talk to you later, little brother. Love you."

"Yeah, talk later Em, Bye."

Mark felt frustration well up. Honestly, he felt like punching his uncle. Did he have any idea what he had just said? The man had the empathy of a slug. He might only be sixteen years old, but his parents had taught him how to think about other's feelings. How did mum come from a family like hers and be so kind? Mark knocked on her bedroom door and stuck his head in. "Hey, mum, you off the phone?"

"Yeah, baby," she forced a grin while wiping at her eyes. "What's up?"

"Mum, I heard what uncle Dave said. Please don't get mad at me for saying this," He ducked his head in embarrassment before blurting. "but the mans' an arse."

"Mark," Emily squeaked. "Language."

"I'm sorry, mum, but it's true. They all are. I'm tired of them making you feel like crap. I want you to know that you are an awesome person. We all love and appreciate you. I know it hurts, but we are all here for you."

Emily hugged Mark as hard as she could. "You know what? You're right. It's their loss. How did I get so lucky to have such great kids?"

Mark blushed in embarrassment but pulled his mum in for a hug. " I don't know, mum, I mean, I am pretty amazing!" 

She laughed at his antics and hugged him tighter. At least she knew that she was loved and wanted. They would never throw away her affection.