Another Christmas memory

Okay, it seems this daily posting thing is not working for me. It only contributes to frustration and writer's block. For that reason, I will post as much as possible, but, obviously, it won't be everyday.

I was thinking about the holidays of past years and a wonderful memory popped up. It involves my youngest son. First a little background on him. He is now twenty, working full time in a restaurant and going to school for culinary arts. He is seven years younger than his brother, he grew up without his father being around. He is definitely all boy, he has always excelled at sports, he loves the outdoors (hunting, fishing, camping, etc.), he is a very hard worker, he has a lot of empathy and an extremely soft heart, he has always attracted the ladies.

To expound on some of these things, he has had more squad runs and emergency room visits than any mother should have to endure. He has had broken bones, concussions and once was even impaled on a piece of metal (that is its own story - too long for this post). I have had more than one phone call at work, informing me that he was en route to the hospital in an ambulance. He has held different jobs and has worked pretty steadily since he was 15 years old. He loves animals (even more than me) and has brought home more strays than I can count. We have raised baby birds, bunnies, possums and adopted many dogs and cats due to his efforts. He has always befriended and stood up for the underdog, even when he didn't always agree with what they stood for, but he always fought for their rights. He does not pursue the girls or always pay attention to them, but they are always buzzing around him, hoping. Of course, currently, he has a long time girlfriend of about two years, who will probably become my daughter-in-law. He is not a perfect child, far from it. He's had (and overcome) more than his share of problems and I'm proud of him for that and for who he has become. This really isn't a mother's praise post, so I will get on with the memory.

When he was 12, he often brought home treasures that he scavenged out of other people's garbage. One of those things was a large, light-up, plastic Santa. At Christmastime that year, I placed the Santa in the front garden for a decoration. I always did tons of decorating inside for Christmas, but sadly neglected the outside. About a week before Christmas I came home from work, only to have him meet me in the front yard. He was all excited and told me that he had decorated outside for me. I looked around and saw nothing. He told me to look up. There on the roof, duct-taped to the chimney, was the plastic Santa, complete with an orange extension cord trailing down to the outlet. It was one of those moments, as a mother, that I didn't know whether to smile or yell. I had visions of him climbing a ladder, Santa in tow, with no one to make sure he didn't fall. Pushing the lump in my throat back down to my stomach, I hugged him and told him it looked great. Then I told him to never get on a ladder again when I wasn't home.