Vinnie’s Mom Asks, “Why Me Lord?”

20

“Mom, Mom, Mom, tonight’s the night. Santa’s coming Tonight. You didn’t bake cookies for him. He’s going to be upset. Santa told me he likes chocolate chip cookies with lots of extra chips. Honest, Mom. Honest.”

“Vincent, it’s one in the morning. Go back to bed,” mutters Vinnie’s mom.

“Rupert won’t let me sleep. He’s too excited. Can I lie down in the living room under the Christmas tree so I can wait for Santa? Can I, Mom? Can I, Mom?”

“Vincent. The last time. Go back to bed. I do not want to hear another word out of you until 7 this morning. Do you understand? Answer me, Vincent.”

“But, Mom, you told me not to say another word. Am I in trouble because I just said a lot of words? Can I set my alarm for six, Mom? I promise I won’t make any noise. I promise, Mom.”

“Say yes,” grunts Vinnie’s dad.

“Yes,” says Vinnie’s mom.

Vinnie carries Rupert out of his parents’ bedroom. Dexter follows them. Vinnie looks at Dexter, “Dexter is it okay if I open one present Gramma sent me? Wag your tail if it is okay.”

Dexter, believing Vinnie was talking about food, obligingly wags his tail. The trio, Vinnie, Rupert and Dexter head toward the living room.

From the bedroom, Vinnie’s mom calls out, “If you’re going to try to open Gramma’s present, I’m texting Santa and he might not stop here.”

Vinnie hits the brakes. He says, “I was only going to get Dexter a snack. He looks like he’s losing too much weight, Mom.”

“Back to bed this instant, Vincent.”

“Darn, Mom. I hope Santa didn’t hear you. Can Rupert and I sing Christmas carols when I’m in bed?”

From the bedroom, “I need help, dear. Please do something?” says Vinnie’s mom to his dad.

From the hallway, “I can help, Mom. What do you want me to do?” asks Vinnie.

“Dear God, I want you to go to bed. Turn off the light, and go to sleep. Is that asking too much, Vincent?”

“Mom. Mom. Mom.”

“What, Vincent?”

“Do you want me to answer truthfully or tell you what I think you want me to tell you?” asks Vinnie.

“Tell me what you think I want to hear,” moans Vinnie’s mom.

“I’m supposed to go to bed, turn off the light, and go to sleep. Did I get it right, Mom?” asks Vinnie.

“Perfect, Vincent.”

When the digital clock on the radio on the kitchen counter turned from 6:59 a.m. to 7:00 a.m. an ear shattering scream came from the kitchen, “Merry Christmas. It’s Christmas Eve.” This was followed by Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer being played loud enough to be heard by the astronauts in the international space station. 

Vinnie’s Mom and Dad race out of the bedroom wrapping bathrobes about themselves. Vinnie’s Mom pulls the radio plug out of the wall. The Rudolph continues to blast. “Dear, I can’t turn the radio off,” says Vinnie’s mother handing the radio to Vinnie’s dad.

Vinnie says, “That’s because I put batteries in it in case there was a power outage.”

“Why me, Lord? Why, me?” asks Vinnie’s mom in a silent prayer.

Vinnie’s mom is making breakfast. Vinnie’s dad is sitting at the breakfast table reading the local paper online on his iPad. Vinnie is in the living room staring at three stockings hanging from the fireplace mantel. Rupert is sitting on the floor next to Vinnie. Dexter is lying on the floor next to Rupert. 

“Mom. Mom. Mom,” hollers Vinnie.

“You don’t have to holler Vinnie, I only in the next room,” calls his mom.

“It’s an emergency, Mom. It’s a real emergency,” says Vinnie with urgency in his voice.

Vinnie’s mom calls, “What is the emergency? I’m making scrambled eggs, I can’t step away right now. Do you need Dad to help you?”

“Dad will only pretend like he’s paying attention to me. You know, Mom. He does the same thing to you.”

“Ouch,” says Vinnie’s dad.

“The emergency will have to wait a few minutes, Vinnie. I only have two hands and I’m not getting any help out here in the kitchen,” says Vinnie’s mom.

“Huh?” says Vinnie’s dad.

“Don’t you ever tell me Vinnie takes after my side of the family, ever,” says Vinnie’s mom.

“Do you need some help?” says Vinnie’s dad.

“Yes. Vinnie has an emergency in the living room. He says it needs immediate attention. Can you put you iPad aside for two minutes?”

“It’s been a long day, dear and it’s only ten after seven in the morning,” says Vinnie’s dad.

“It only seems long right now. It’s going to be really, really long before Santa comes,” says Vinnie’s mom.

“Why don’t I take the family out for breakfast and get pancakes?” says Vinnie’s dad.

“After I made these scrambled eggs. Who will eat them?” asks Vinnie’s mom.

From the living room, “Dexter will, Mom. Nobody but you and Dexter like scrambled eggs,” calls Vinnie. 

“They’re healthy for you,” says Vinnie’s mom defensively.

Dexter is already standing by Vinnie’s mom. He has an intuitive feel for potential food sources.

Vinnie’s dad walks into the living room, “Alright, Vinnie. What is the big emergency?” says Vinnie’s dad.

“Look, Dad. Look,” says Vinnie.

“What am I supposed to look at, Vinnie?” asks Vinnie’s dad.

“Dad, you must be blind. Sometimes you wear glasses. Do you want me to get them for you?” asks Vinnie.

“No, I can see fine. I only wear glasses for real fine print,” says Vinnie’s dad.

“Dad. Dad. Look at the mantel. There are three stockings hanging there for Santa.”

“I see three stockings hanging off the mantel, Vinnie. I think Santa will fill them while we are sleeping,” says Vinnie’s dad.

“But, Dad. Where are the stockings for Dexter and Rupert? They’re people too,” says Vinnie.

“Dear, do you have two extra stockings, one for Rupert and one for Dexter? They’re real people, too,” says Vinnie’s Dad.

“Dear Lord. Are you giving me my heavenly crown while I walk on Earth?” mutters Vinnie’s mom.

Author: Ray Calabrese

I am an optimistic, can do, and never quit guy. The spirit of hope indelibly marks my DNA. My research at The Ohio State University helped people discover the best in themselves and change their personal lives, public organizations, and whole communities. I bring the same spirit and enthusiasm to my blog to help those who grieve who find themselves suddenly alone, navigate their grieving. Join my more than 24,300Twitter (@alwaysgoodstuff). I promise my tweets are always good stuff. Please feel free to email me at ray.brese@gmail.com.

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