Yes Virginia...

“What is going on in this house? Yesterday the Christmas stockings went missing and now I can’t find the Christmas fruitcake. This is insane.” Carrie looked at her husband Jack in frustration.

“Maybe the fruitcake will mysteriously show up overnight tonight and turn up right back where it belongs, just like those stockings did,” he replied with a laugh, waving his fingers at her. “Mwahaha.”

“Yeah, that was weird.”

Carrie still couldn’t explain the whole stocking fiasco and she never did figure out where they went to and where they came back from. She still swears, though wouldn’t say so out loud, that she heard what sounded like hooves on the roof overnight. And there was also that strange note sticking out of her sock this morning apologizing for the exuberance of the elves and that all the missing stockings were now safely reunited with their rightful owners. Then the note was signed with a large calligraphy style S, followed by a post script stating the oversight would be made up in an appropriate swimmingly manner.” Weird was right.

“I thought you didn’t care about that fruitcake. You said you were pressured into buying it at the bake sale and were going to get rid of it anyway.”

Carrie tucked her dark curls behind her ears and looked up at the ceiling, a gesture of agitation she had developed years ago. “I don’t care about it and I don’t want it. I told Jeff he could take it to school with him when they did their auction and bake sale the day after tomorrow. I don’t have time to bake by the time I get in at night, but needed to donate something along with the food bank groceries we bought for him. When I went to the hospital gift shop open house on the weekend, one of the volunteers handed it to me and commented on what a nice tin it was and how it would support such a good cause, and so forth, so I bought it with the intention of re-donating it.”

“So, buy another fruit cake.”

“I suppose I’ll have to if I can’t find it. But Jeff thought the tin was neat the way the Santa appeared to move when you tilted the lid; he thought it would sell for more than the fudge just because of that. I need to pick up more anyway for the sale; the kids are working very hard to collect donations for that new athletic facility and every dollar counts. I just don’t want him to be disappointed; he is working so hard with all the fun-raising efforts. He wants to see that pool become a reality.”

“He’ll be fine. Just get him a whole truck-load of goodies and he will make sure it’s all sold. At a premium, no doubt.”

Carrie turned at the sound of her ten-year old as he banged his way through the back door, books falling as he used the toe of each shoe to pull the heal off the other and send them flying against the wall.

“Laces. Untie the laces.” Carrie yelled as she gazed at the clump of mud sliding towards the floor.

“Mom,” he said with excitement as he walked into the kitchen and dropped what books he still had on the table. “You. Are. So. Cool.” Each word its own sentence.

“Look at that honey,” Jack offered, “You’re cool.”

Carrie shook her head, “Okay sweetie-pie. I’m cool. I’ll take it.”

“No Mom, really. I can’t believe what you did. You are the coolest mom in the school. Oh and you too Dad, you’re cool too. But Mom is cooler.”

She glanced at Jack who raised an eyebrow in response.

“What I did? What exactly did I do”?

“That tin. All that money. It’s amazing.”

“Whoa. What tin; what money?”

“The one you said was a fruitcake. The one with the dancing Santa.”

“You took it?”

“You said I could, it was for the sale.”

“Mystery solved,” Jack added.

“Wait,” she looked at Jack and then back at their son. “What’s this about money?”

“There was ten-thousand dollars in the tin. Mrs. Henkle wanted me to take it back, she said it was a mistake, but I told her you said that it was for the sale, for the school, so we could get that pool. They’re going to name part of it after you. You’re the coolest. I can’t believe you did that for me.”

Carrie grabbed the kitchen counter as she felt the room sway, unsure of how to answer her son. Or what to say to her husband, who was staring at her with a rather strange expression on his face.

“Mom, are you ok?”

“Carrie, what’s this about? What’s going on?” Jack asked as he grabbed her arm, steadying her and pulling out one of the kitchen table chairs. “Sit down; you’re as white as a ghost. What happened?”

As Carrie sat down, she thought about the strange note that had been left in her Christmas sock and pulled it out of her jeans pocket where she had put it after reading its now not so cryptic message.

“Okay. Well. I guess there is something I need to tell you.” And she began to read the note.