Random? I think not! Liz's Story

My husband said I should share this story I wrote last week.  Hope you enjoy.

Liz was sitting at her usual table with 6 girlfriends, looking at the martini in front of her.  Several were talking about work of the day, one looked ready to fall asleep at any minute, and Liz, well Liz was just lost in thought.

“Liz?  Earth to Liz?” A friend’s voice brought her back to the present.

Looking up from her drink, Liz finally focused on her friend Denise. “I’m sorry, I just zoned out for a minute.”

Denise picked up her drink. “You sure did.  You looked like you were ready to cry.  Are you OK?”

Looking back at her drink, Liz replied.  “I don’t know.  All of a sudden I feel sad.  Like really sad, I don’t know why.  Just sad.”

Denise put her arm around her friend.  “It’s OK, that’s just a sign of menopause.  It goes away, I promise.”

Liz looked to her friend.  “I’m a little young for menopause.  I mean I’m only 45.”

Denise shrugged.  “You never know.  I once heard of a girl who went into menopause at 21.  She had to go on drugs and shit and was never right in the head after.  One of the symptoms is being sad, then you get really pissed off and want to kill someone.  Not that I would know, I’m only 43.  But I have wanted to kill a few people lately.”

Liz looked at her friend for a few minutes, then back down to her drink.  “I just feel melancholy right now.  I feel like I missed something today, something important, I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Maybe you are realizing everything with Tom is finalized.  It is time to move on and you’re missing the old you.”  Denise tried.

Liz thought about that.  “No, Tom and I were not meant to be, breaking up was a natural thing for us.  We had already gotten to that point where we were living apart, so strange as it sounds, this was the next logical step.  It’s not that.  I know it is something else.  I just feel like I am mourning something.”

Denise was quiet.  “Either way a drink will make you feel better, so drink up!”

Liz took another sip of her drink, searching through her mind for a cause.  She walked through every part of her day, trying to pinpoint the moment when the feeling of sadness engulfed her, not finding a specific event.  It was like one moment she was fine, then the next she felt like crying.  She took another sip of her martini, watching her friends making jokes, laughing, some picking up a guy watching them from the bar, others ordering a second round.  She felt alone in the crowd, she felt different, something was talking to her.

She fingered the condensation collecting around the glass, reaching into her soul, letting the sadness take her.  It wasn’t that doom type of feeling, it wasn’t that she wanted to crawl into a ball and sob, it was just an ache, like that of a slight headache, irritating but completely manageable.  She watched her friends again.  “I don’t want to be here.  I want to leave.”

Getting up, pushing the drink away, Liz said.  “I’m going to go for a walk.  I’ve got a bit of a headache and think the fresh air will make me feel better.”

Denise looked over to her friend, the rest of the table so deep into conversation they didn’t notice her leaving.  “Are you sure you are OK?  Are you walking down to see Tom?”

Liz frowned, was that where she was going?  Something inside of her said, “No.  Time to go.”  Looking back to her friend, she replied.  “No, I’m just going for a walk.  I may stop and check on you on my way back.”

Denise pulled Liz’s martini over.  “OK, well be careful out there, there are all kinds of thieves and low-life’s out there.”  She took a sip of Liz’s martini.  “Well some would consider people drinking in bars low-life’s also, oh well. It’s a little watered down but still tastes good, don’t want it to go to waste!”

Liz left the bar laughing, heading down Main Street, no real direction in mind.  She enjoyed the cool evening air, thinking it was making her feel better, her headache was moving on.  Maybe she needed to move on from something, perhaps that was the feeling running through her.  She walked down the street, not really connecting with anyone that passed her, lost in her own thoughts.

Passing by a small brick church, Liz took a few more steps before stopping.  She felt that lingering sadness pass her once again, looking at the church.  It was an old building, made out of cinder blocks, a small cross sitting at the top of a modest steeple.  The building painted white with a large wooden red front door, old black iron hinges, along with iron strips holding the pieces of wood together.  Liz stood at the bottom of the marble steps looking at the building.

“Am I feeling the need to go to church?  Is this what I am missing?”  She said to the damp night air.  “Maybe I just need to sit quietly there for a few minutes.”

Her footsteps were light on the marble steps, the door heavy pulling open slowly.  The inside of the church was a deep oak, the walls paneled, different stages of the cross pictured along the side walls, depicting Jesus’ journey.  The floor was slate tile, the pews in the church a dark oak, red vinyl padding on the kneelers, small prayer companions sitting in little bins in front of each seat.  The altar of the church was deep oak, purple silk coverings draping over it, white candles burning on either side.

Liz stepped in, closing the door behind her, slipping into the last pew of the church, unsure if she should kneel or sit.  Sitting back quietly, picking up the prayer book, opening it to a random page, she read through the prayer for the Dead.

“We commend into thy mercy all other thy servants, which are departed hence from us with the sigh of faith and now do rest in the sleep of peace: grant unto them, we beseech thee, thy mercy and everlasting peace.”

The words running through her, Liz felt the sadness once again.

“I’m sorry are you here for the deceased?”  The voice was masculine.

Liz turned, a priest, dressed in purple and white, his hands holding onto the mantle staring at her.  He was young, perhaps around her age, blonde hair and bright blue eyes with even white teeth smiling at her.  He was thin, the flowing robes not hiding the fact, Liz looking down to his black shoes, around the church, not sure what to say.  Her breath caught, noticing the very sparse coffin sitting in front of the altar.

It was a simple coffin, made of wood, not the sleek chrome and mahogany she remembered when her grandfather passed away.  Two purple candles sat on either side, their fire glowing.  Liz was glad the lid was shut, she really wasn’t sure what she’d do, getting caught by a priest, realizing there’s a dead body in the church.

“I’m well, not really here, I was just walking down the street.”  Liz stammered.

“You are not a relative of Nottingham?”  The priest asked looking at her.

“Not really.” Liz almost whispered.

“Then are you a friend?”  The priest asked.

Liz looked around the empty church, where was everyone.  She felt that sadness again.  “OK, I guess you could say I am here paying my respects.”  She felt guilty with that statement,  but with an empty church, she figured the guy probably needed a friend.  “He will be missed.”

The priest looked at her strangely.  “This is the funeral for Vera Nottingham?”

Liz almost fell out of the pew.  “Oh, I am sorry.  I was just stopping by paying my respects.”  Getting up, figuring a quick getaway was in order.

Before she could get to the back door, the priest stood in her way, Liz looking back at the coffin hoping as she turned it wasn’t opening, like some horror movie.  “I am sure Ms. Nottingham appreciates you coming.  Don’t forget to sign the guest book.” The priest replied.

He ushered Liz over to small wooden table holding a small guest book.  Liz picked up the pen opening it, feeling sadness run through her noticing not a single name in the book.  She signed her name neatly to the book.

The priest closed the book.  “We are 30 minutes over due, come up and we will hold a short service.  The funeral home has been trying to remove her from the church for the last fifteen minutes.”  He stood behind her, pushing her up to the altar and the casket.  Liz looked around for a camera or something, her mind saying this cannot be happening.

Standing in front of the casket, watching the priest open the Book of Common Prayer, Liz bowed her head listening to him say a few prayers, including the one she read in the pew.  In her mind, she said her own type of prayer.

I’m sorry.  I know that I am not supposed to be here.

But, I just want you to know that you had a friend at your funeral.  You were real.

And even if no one else shows up tonight, I believe you will find love and peace on the other side.

She looked up, the priest quiet staring at her.  Liz wondered what she missed.

“Amen.” He said again quietly.

Bowing her head, Liz whispered.  “Amen.”

Walking through a side door, two men in black, took the silk adornments off of the casket before rolling it through the same door and out of sight.  Walking with Liz to the back door, the priest stopped, shaking her hand.

“Thank you for attending Ms. Nottingham’s funeral.  I was afraid no one would show up.”  He said with a small smile.

Liz looked at him.  “Sure, I’m glad she had a friend.”

The priest looked around the quiet, lonely church.  “You are a good friend.”

Feeling guilty, Liz shook his hand, opening the large wooden door.  

“Oh, and by the way.” His voice echoed through the church.

Liz turned.

He smiled at her.  “You know that some say when a person dies and no one will miss them, mourning is assigned to a random human.  This is why sometimes you just feel sad.”

Liz’s mouth dropped, her heart sped up, her face felt on fire.

“Have a nice evening.”  The priest said before turning and walking down the empty church, his footsteps echoing in her mind.  Liz walked out the door, headache gone, heart feeling lighter, not minding the light rain falling making her way home,

How Sweet It Is - The News

THE NEWS

We arrived at the restaurant, one of my father’s favorites because being thrifty, he always felt that he saved money on the buffet, especially if my brother was there.  This was a seafood buffet, a typical Maryland tradition, full of different fresh catch of fish, crab cakes and your usual buffet fare - macaroni and cheese, salads, ribs, chicken, the whole nine yards.

“Do you have a reservation?” The host asked us.

“No.” My father answered.

“Then the wait is 45 minutes.” He said looking down his glasses at us.

We put our name in, milling in the front of the restaurant with a million other people, the air warm from so much body heat.  Sweating because we were dressed for winter and hanging inside a restaurant.

A different host went walking through the milling crowd yelling. “The Smith Party!  Smith Party of 6?”

My Dad waited watching for any sign of the Smith party.  Finally after several attempts, he raised his hand.  “We are the Smiths.”

My sisters and I, raised as good Catholics were shocked.  Has he lost his mind?  We are not the Smith party.  He looked at us and winked.  We followed him to a table in the back, large and roomy for all six of us.

The waiter came up addressing the table.  “Good morning!  My name is Phillip Yu.”

My Dad looked around the table, especially at my brother, the “bottomless pit.”  “Yes, you fill up me.”

He started explaining the procedures of the buffet, when a hostess walked up to us.  “Are you the Smith party?”

My Dad looked around the table, then back to the girl.  “Never heard of them in my life.”

She looked at her clipboard, back at the table, walking away.

We all looked at him, and a few minutes of silence he looked back at us.  “What?”

It was a delicious family dinner.

THE NEWS

“The doctor is schedule to meet with us between 12 and 1 today.  Have you gotten your plane ticket?” My sister’s voice sounds stressed.

“Yeah, I’ve got a ticket on order, so I can be there on Friday if you need me to be.”

“Let’s keep praying.  The important thing is that it hasn’t gotten to his internal organs, if it’s gotten to his internal organs than it is bad.” I hear papers rustling over the phone.  Knowing my sister, she’s already all over the internet, researching and printing out different options, treatments.

“How bad?” I really don’t want to hear the news, but I have to know.  If I am coming to see him, I’m not going to be blind sided.

“Four to six months.  If he’s lucky.” It sits between us on that phone connection, like the cancer sitting in my father.

I’m not going to believe it. “OK, let’s just wait and see what the tests have to say.  And let’s get everyone to pray.” We needed warriors, we need them fast.

“I will.  I’m sure I’ll be talking to you tomorrow.” I don’t like the sadness in her voice, she can’t let herself be down, not at a time like this.

“Be strong.  Don’t let him think that you don’t have faith.” I say to her, myself included.

“I know.” She sounds doubtful.

“I love you.”  I want to be off the telephone, off it now.

“I love you too.” The connection between us drops, but I’m still holding the phone.  It takes me a few minutes before I finally replace it on the cradle.

The conversation haunts my dreams when I actually did sleep.  It is like a broken record.  “Four to six months” looping endlessly as I occupy myself with chores around the house.  I keep telling myself that sometimes doctors can be wrong.  We are praying for a miracle, and don’t we deserve it?  He’s already been through so much, really?  Does this have to happen?  Keep positive, it won’t be in his internal organs.

I catch myself asking why, why did this have to happen to us?  I know that we are not immune to everything, but why something this terrible?  Why this much pain and suffering?  Why something that maybe I can’t handle?  I’ve always been there for him, the positive heart when things get down.  Can I do it this time? I hear my aunt’s voice again telling me we cannot ask these types of questions-the answers are God’s.  Don’t spend time torturing, focus on moving forward with the job.

I think about the warrior.  He’s in that hospital bed probably awake, wondering the same questions.  Maybe he’s taking himself to a different place, a place where he is happy.  I hope they gave him a sleeping pill, I remember him saying how hard it is facing things when you are tired.

He’s the one living through this, he’s the one with the fight on his hands.  I just don’t want it to be him, I don’t want him to have to go through this pain.  He’s the greatest person I know, he wouldn’t hurt anyone, now he’s the one hurting and there is nothing I can do about it.  

I try accomplishing things but distraction makes my efforts in vain. Each time I look at the clock I think, “3 more hours until the meeting,” or, “two more hours to the meeting.”  I call him once in the morning, when I know he is alone.

“Hey Pops, how are you?” My voice sounds falsely light.

“Better.  I was so tired last night.  The sleeping pill knocked me out last night.” He sounds like himself, I am glad.

“Good, I’m glad you got to sleep.” I’m pacing my living room.

“I tell you, I am so happy that all those tests are over with.” He does sound genuinely happy.

“So it was hard.” My heart reaches through the line to him.

“It was murder.  I started at 8 o’clock yesterday morning and went until 730 last night.  God, I was exhausted.  I am so glad that that’s over.” I can hear his smile.

“You are a strong person.  You made it through the tests, you can make it through anything.” I am proud of him, he simply moves forward, finding something positive.  

“I hope so.  I just want to know.  I hate this waiting part.” I feel his sigh.

“Yeah, me too.  But the meeting is today and at least you will know.” I am telling myself the same thing.

“The doctor did not make it sound too good.” He is back to sounding stressed.

“Screw him.”  I hear laughter.  “Just wait until you get the tests back.  Wait until we know everything that’s going on.”

“Yeah, I know.  It’s just hard.” We both hate waiting.

My heart breaks to hear him say that, but I’m not going to let him hear it.  “Are you eating?”  Typical Irish comment, in the face of crisis make sure there’s enough food.

“I ate all of my breakfast.  I just wish that I could get my appetite back.” There is the sound of movement in the room.

“One thing at a time, the only way you can keep your strength is to eat.” What else can I say, focus on something I can control.

“You sound like my mother.” There is the smile back.

“After all that hospital shit, you’ll be ready for a big steak, huh?” I can see him in his favorite joint, Steak and Ale (“Kelly don’t you love restaurant names that make sense, Steak and Ale, why name it anything else?”)

“Uh huh.”  His silence is telling me it is time to go, his attention is elsewhere.

“OK, I’ll call you later on this afternoon.  I love you, Pops.” We each have our pet names, he is and will only be the person calling me Kate.

“I love you too Kate.”

I can hear the conversation in my head again as I walk around the house wondering what to do.  I can’t work, every time I sit at my computer my fingers poised over the keys, nothing comes to mind.  I go and hold my dog, or I wipe down the kitchen counters again and again.  I think about washing clothes walking up stairs throwing them in.  I sit at my computer again, check my e-mail, the writing that I need to do ,scaring me because it is not coming.

Three hours until they call me.

There are encouraging e-mails from everyone in the family, I feel strength in their support.  

WTF - You Can't Make This UP

Here's a REAL News story.  Seriously.

The Real Deal.

Found on a popular news site.

Woman Gives Birth To A Lizard.

Click Woman Gives Birth To A Lizard

There's an angry mob looking for the poor 31 year old, and scientists are saying she had a phantom pregnancy.  They're saying that the poor lizard was just going for a walk when a woman accidentally gave birth on him and lo and behold he's got a new Momma.

But it got me thinking.

I remember when our first son was born.  Both of us getting a look at that baby for the first time and thinking, "What the....."

He could have been misinterpreted as a lizard.  He had a long chisel shaped head, goo all over him, not exactly the births I'd watched on TV where they put this beautiful clean baby on the mother who has all of her makeup on, not sweating from pushing a basketball out, in a nightie, looking at her man with total love in her eyes as she holds the youngun for the first time.

Sure we were elated with the addition to our family, but had someone not known they could have mistaken him for a little alien or even, yes, a lizard.

So before you stone that poor women, remember, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, that a mother loves her child no matter what.

A friend once said to me, looking at my baby, "You know, why is it that beautiful celebrities have such ugly babies?  Why, your child is just gorgeous!"

What?

Do Your Children Play THESE Games?

My kids have made up their own games.  In case you have younger children, here's some insider knowledge on how to play their games.  These are the same children that pose angelically next to me in all the photos I post to Facebook.

The Wrong Answer - My youngest will ask the oldest a question.  It doesn't matter what the question is, "How are you," "Do you want me to give you twenty dollars," or ,"Is your hair really on fire."  What does the oldest come back with,

Your face

Seriously, he answers everything the youngest says with Your Face.  My first thought is, what does that mean?  Your face.  Then as he says it over and over again, I start to get annoyed.  The youngest continues to ask the same question over and over again, always getting the answer, "your face."  I turn in the car and look at both of them thinking, "How did they get such good grades at school, when they probably answered every question on their test with Your Face."

Stonewall Game.  They will be sitting RIGHT NEXT to each other, usually in the car and my youngest says, "Wolfgang,"
He doesn't answer him.
"Wolfgang"
Yes, they are sitting right next to each other and he acts like he doesn't hear him.
"Wolfgang."

Does the youngest stop and do something else?  No he continues to sit there saying his brother's name over and over again until I swerve the car off the road, avoiding the ditch and turn around and scream, "PLEASE ANSWER HIM."  Say anything, even Your Face just acknowledge the kid!


Come And Get It - this game they play involved anything they both are trying to get to.  Elevator buttons, Wii controllers, certain chair at the breakfast table (yes, we do have four)  When it becomes apparent that we are going to the elevator, table, car - there's a WWE smack down right in front of me as the older one throws the youngest to the floor as does a Carl Lewis type sprint to the desired object.  Periodically he can be tripped by the youngest along the way, but if the youngest makes it to desired object, then the oldest will throw him out of the way with a "your face."

MINE! - The youngest will have a desired object - pencil, paper, DS, dog - and if the oldest one wants it, he immediately takes it out of his hands.  The youngest will scream, the parent will scream, "give it back" and then the wrestling begins.  Usually the only object that survives this game is the dog, and she's gotten smart enough to hide when she sees a child coming toward her to pick her.

The Room Key - this game is a lot like a combination of Keep Away, and I want it.  The room key hits the front desk and usually the taller one has the advantage of grabbing it first.  They then wrestle to the elevator with the younger one crying that it was "his turn" to use the key.  I stand in the elevator acting like I don't know the children as they fight all the way up to the floor.  Finally down the hallway to the door, where the oldest attempts to use the key and it doesn't work.  I wait patiently as he continually says, "I got it," and the door will not open, luggage digging into my shoulder.  Finally we realize the key has been de-magnetized in the fight and someone has to go back down to the desk and get a new one.

I Dare You - this is a game my husband and I play.  I've gotten very good at this one.  They boys will start with an argument, that then turns into the sounds of elephants playing downstairs, with a lot of grunting.  My husband starts by looking at me, then going back to his computer.  Looking at me again, as I am oblivious to the noise (yes, I know it's another one of their games) Finally like me playing the Stonewall game, he can't stand it anymore and says, "Shouldn't one of us go down there?"

To which I answer, "Your face."





shouldn't you go stop that


Tell your borther to get up, son screams, "GET UP

You know you're a writer when

You child asks for a story for their Halloween Party - and you surprisingly come up with one - complete with the names of everyone in the class!

Twas the school day before Halloween, 

And all through Mrs. Markland’s class,

All the kids were excited. fighting over the Hall Pass.

Their bookbags were hung filled with candy and stuff,

In hopes that soon they could eat enough.

The children were seated, bottoms in chairs, 

While visions of Trick or Treating made it hard to bear.

And Mrs, Markland trying to teach at the Smartboard

Had just settled when Jayden pulled the power cord.

When outside the door, there arose such a clatter.

Rebekah, Mike and Jaylin ran to see what was a matter.

Away to the door, Mackenzie and Kailynn ran in a flash,

Zakhia pulled open the door with a crash.

The trees of Old Richmond still had fall leaves,

The wind was blowing, making more fall from the trees.

When, what to Jaylin and Christopher’s wandering eyes pops,

But one BIG pumpkin, 20 maybe 30 pounds tops!

A funny pumpkin, full of seeds and fun,

Zander said it was Super Pumpkin, Tanner said no that’s not the one.

It rolled past the tree, and into the room,

Brandon jumped in the air as past him it zoomed!

The pumpkin rolled and laughed as it did,

Kaleb tried to grab it but past it he slid.

Cecelia said, “Stop let’s see what it does.”

The children stood still, their voices a buzz.

“My name is Jack,” the pumpkin said loud,

“I need your help,” he said to the crowd.

“What could he want,” Iselle whispered to Julia.

“Maybe he thinks we want pumpkin pie,” said Cynthia.

“Help me have some fun on Halloween.”

“I don’t want to dress up as a king or a queen.”

Jack the pumpkin rolled as he said, “I’m not a phantom.”

“I need your help to become a Jack O Lantern.

Max jumped up high, “We can help you with that.”

Dawson jumped with him, “Pumpkin Pie makes me fat.”

Mrs. Markland came with a knife and a scoop.

Emma cut open the top and pulled out some goop.

“Ewww, Yuck, Golly Gee.”

Max’s hand were full of pumpkin and slimy.

Julius gave him some eyes, Daylan carved out the nose.

Max wanted to give him pumpkin toes.

They decided on a happy pumpkin, with a big smile,

Cameron  said, “He’s got some pumpkin style.”

They carved and made a pumpkin to be proud,

And as the he rolled away he said to the crowd.

Thank you for making my halloween howl,

Off to Trick or Treaters I’ll prowl.

Thank you Old Richmond, I feel so dandy,

Happy Halloween to you, now go eat your candy.

Pinterest - sucking on that great teat of my time!

Have you been over to Pinterest yet?  I’d say don’t go because it’s one of those black hole places on the Internet that is a huge mouth that sucks all the time out of your life.  “Oh look at this beautiful picture on Pinterest, what?  It’s already Christmas again?”  Of course, I have to tell you to go to Pinterest because then you’ll see all the COOL stuff I’ve found and put on my bulletin boards.

It started, just like any other new Internet site with a little peek in there, “wow look at this, oh, I could try that recipe, hey that’s a really funny quote.”  Pinterest like all the other sites, then sucks you in my creating a username for you and before you can say Pinterest, you’ve got an account.  It doesn’t stop there, I’m sure Pinterest is out in the blogesphere shouting, “Hey!  Did you see Kelly Melang is here?”  Because, the next day I start getting emails, “So and So is following you on Pinterest,  hey, another person in following you on Pinterest.”

Sidenote here:  I must be a pretty cool person to get so many followers on Pinterest so quickly right---you didn’t hear me say that.

So with over 60 friends following me, my first thought is not, “wow that’s a lot of followers” but “Holy Crap, my Pinterest boards are EMPTY.  I gotta get some Sh*t out there, I mean my following awaits!”

Here’s the second way Pinterest sucked on the great teat of time, you can spend the rest of your lift looking for badges, or making badges to make your board look COOL!  

“Did you see that eggshell craft Maria put up on her board?”

I think, “Really, a crummy eggshell craft, didn’t you see the making your own ink and paper craft on MY board?”

My other friend, “I saw a funny quote, ‘Run like you stole it.”

“THAT’S FUNNY?  I could so shut that board down with the quotes sitting on MY favorite quotes and places board.”

So I figured that 5 Hour Energy was created to help us Pinterest freaks, it helps us through that maniacal hour of trying to find just the right pin for my “In My Mind” board that makes it PERFECT!  Buwahahahah!

So pin away friends, and if you haven’t seen Pinterest yet, get ready for the great sucking noise as you log in as time slips away, but don’t forget to check out my AWESOME board!  Are you letting Pinterest suck away on your teat of time?

Gingerbread Men and Winter Snack

Fun story written for the kids in max's class, they LOVE it when I use their names in my stories, of course it has a gingerbread theme!

Twas the party before Winter Break, when all through Old Richmond School Mike, Samiya and Tanner were excited, parties are cool. Tyler ran to the table of crafts made with care, In hopes that good eats would soon would be there. Julius and Jessica were nestled all snug in their seats, While visions of cookies and candies danced at their feet! And Mr. Brookshire with his clipboard and Mrs. Lynch with her tea, Settled with a big pile of gifts with glee! When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, Max sprang from his desk to see what was the matter. Away to the door Jayden and Hannah flew like a flash, Emma even jumped over the bucket of trash! A funny looking schoolbus pulled into the lot, Katie knew something special it brought. When, what to Eli’s wondering eyes should see, But a big gingerbread Man and all of his friends set free. He was a happy cookie, so yummy and nutritious, Daylan knew in a moment it they’d be delicious. More rapid than runners Gingerbread ran down the hall, Followed by all his pals, big and small! "Come now my gingerbread friends, let’s go! There’s a party at Mrs. Lynch’s you know! They have special icing so today we are a treat! Now dash away! Dash away! You’re cookies to eat! As quick as a cat down the hall they flew, Jumping into Mrs. Lynch’s Classroom two by two. In front of Claire and Jessica, they jumped and lay still, Waiting for Ava and Austin to decorate then eat their fill . Kaden loved the icing, Jayden the gummy bears and sparkles for fun, Cecelia even put M&M’s on some. Aristotle and Abriya filled their cookies with glee, Creating beautiful works of art for all to see. No one saw Santa hanging beside the back door, Enjoying the party while tapping his foot on the floor. He drove the bus bringing the gingerbread joy, Laughing as he watched all the little girls and boys. His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! He laughed as Max put a red hot for a nose, And chuckled as Ava put sprinkles on her girl’s toes. One gingerbread chuckled as a Tanner tickled his belly, Another squirmed as a Emma squirted on some jelly! Head to toe, covered with pretty white frosting, A ginger girl thought this was better than any costume. One little gingerbread dude hung in a corner shaking, He really had no idea what they were making. What if they made him look like Justin Bieber or a GIRL, he’s not wearing a tutu for a twirl! He sprang to his feet, trying to run from the room, But Santa caught him at the door before he zoomed. Don’t worry young man, this is a party of fun, "Mrs. Lynch 2nd grade class will make you look better than none! So the little gingerbread man went and had some fun, He got a blue frosting coat and a gummie bear when done. Pulling away in his strange bus, they heard Santa say, Happy Winter Break Old Richmond have a fun day!