Free Christmas Through a Child's Eyes by Helen Szymanski Page B

my vision with reality, I was fully able to enjoy the season. And pinecones, bells, and candy canes continued to surface until Easter.
    Boy to the world!

Getting Christmas
    BY SHAUNA SMITH DUTY

    A fter circling the parking lot like a hungry buzzard, I finally spotted an empty space. I eased my car into a parking spot across from the toy store and looked at my daughter, Alysen, who sat bright eyed and anxious in the passenger seat.
    â€œWell, let's do this thing,” I said begrudgingly.
    I didn't want to be out and about the day after Christmas looking for a rain check, even it was for a doll Alysen had waited for all year. This was my mother's doing. She had bestowed the honor of owning a coveted Doll of All Dolls onto her only granddaughter, and at the same time subjected me to one of the pitfalls of motherhood: guilt. When I suggested she order the doll online, I received a lecture about spending quality time with my daughter, which included a few potent words regarding the evils of Internet shopping as well. Rather than listen to me, she had accepted a rain check redeemable on the worst shopping day of the year — the day after Christmas — and from the busiest toy store in town!
    How would my weathering the December 26 shopping madness at the crack of dawn make me a good mother? Did Alysen's dreams really consist of an eighteen-inch plastic doll with unblinking eyes and outfits that cost $40 a pop? I hoped not.
    I locked the car and grabbed my daughter's mitten-covered hand. It wasn't as small as it used to be. Her fingers wrapped around my hand instead of nestling in my palm. Looking down at her, I realized she had grown. The top of her head now reached my shoulder. Soon, shopping for dolls would end and we'd be shopping for training bras and miniskirts. Maybe Mother was right about the quality-time thing.
    I pushed open the front door and stared at the throngs of people swarming the aisles like ants on spilled Kool-Aid. My head began to ache.
    â€œThere's Customer Service, Mom,” Alysen said, pointing toward a line of shoppers. I groaned aloud and caught the timid smile that crossed her lips. “Thanks for bringing me?”
    Reminding myself Alysen was only ten, I nodded and suppressed another groan. “You're welcome, Baby. Let's get in line.”
    After a few moments, Alysen pointed to a huge box. “What's that?” she asked.
    â€œLooks like the toy drive.” I glanced at my watch again.
    â€œFor the kids without families?”I nodded impatiently. “It's a donation box to collect toys for orphans.”
    â€œYou think Santa visited everybody? Even the orphans?”She pulled both of her lips between her teeth to conceal her smile.
    â€œI'm pretty sure he did,” I replied, trying to ignore the smirk on her face. I knew she wanted me to think she still believed in Santa — I actually liked the farce. As far as I was concerned, the longer she wanted me to view her as a baby, the better.
    â€œCan I go read the sign on the box?”
    We were both getting bored, and the line was stagnant. “Sure,” I replied.
    Suddenly, another cash register opened and, by some miracle, I was summoned to the front of the line. “Come on, Honey,” I called to my daughter as I handed our rain check to the cashier. Within seconds, the cashier was shouting an item number over the crackling intercom. A few minutes later, a man showed up and handed the clerk a box. The cashier bagged it and lifted it over the counter.
    I presented the bag to my daughter, who looked like I was offering her the Hope Diamond. All of her dreams in a cardboard box. How simple. After scribbling my signature on the receipt, I reached to grab my daughter's hand, but she was already at the doors. I smiled. A crowd hater just like her ma.
    At the door, she slipped her hand in mine. “Mom, you deserve Starbucks.”
    I grinned. All of my dreams in a paper cup? How simple. “So do you,