What child is This? Chapter One

WHAT CHILD IS THIS?Chapter One

Thump. Whump....whump..whump. Slam. WhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhrrrrSigh. I am such a light sleeper.

Rolling over and a quick peek at the glow from the clock confirms that it is 4:00 am, Friday and my weekly delivery of milk has just been deposited on my front door step and the delivery truck is backing out the driveway.

My husband, oblivious as usual, snores gently away by my side. HE is most definitely NOT a light sleeper. No....this is the man who slept through a tornado barreling through our back yard one Spring night while I, 6 months pregnant, launched myself out of bed, holding my bulging belly with one hand, clasping my 16 month old with the other hand to my hip, racing down the stairs all the while screaming at him to get his butt to the basement before he ended up like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz.

But I digress, I love my milk man! Well not love, like in the sense of lusting after him or planning little afternoon trysts whilst my hubby toils away in the salt mines of the family business. Actually, I've never even met the man and I seriously doubt he would be my type because whenever I call him with my weekly order changes, he sounds like he's 69 plus and has smoked for at least 59 of them. No, I love my milk man because he delivers fresh, good, straight from the local dairy, creamy goodness to my doorstep every week, therefore sparing me the drudgery and toil of dragging myself and my two wild things to the store on a daily basis for a product that pales in comparison.

Between him and my local produce delivery girl I see the inside of a grocery store, maybe, about once a month. And as an added bonus...I just love tossing out in casual conversation " MY milkman brought me the most fantastic eggs this week and I can't decide whether to make my famous killer frittata or a from scratch chocolate angel food cake" which always ellicits murmurs of envy, either for the food or for the service.

And then I, feeling all beatific, condescend to share the name AND phone number of my source. See it's the little things that make me happy. Yep that's me, Saint Elisabeth of Dunwoody, sharing one of her novenas on the path that is domestic bliss ..and all the Dunwoody housewives said, "AMEN....preach it to me sistah!"

But the dark flip side of all this catering to my culinary needs is that I am awakened every Friday at 4AM and while I am a morning person, 4AM really stretches the definition of the term. I always lay there and debate with myself for a few minutes on the merits of retrieving the milk now or waiting until my normal wake up call of 6am.

I snuggle up to my husband's back, pull the pillow over my head and the down comforter up high around my face and try and get another two hours of sleep. Of course this never works. I am as predictable as the sun rising in the East and setting in the West. Once I wake up, it's game over and I might as well try and get something productive done, because as a telecommuting, working mother and wife, I'm all about productivity.

So slinging my comforter over my snoring motionless hunk of a husband (yes I think he's still hot after 18 years, even if he thinks he needs to lose 20 pounds and frets over his growing "thin" spot) I toe my way into my ragged LL Bean slippers, grab my equally well loved robe and head downstairs to fire up the coffee (girl has to have her priorities) before slipping outside to retrieve my dairy stash for the week.

I've gotten really good at fumbling quietly around the house at the hour of the morning. I'm thinking it should be an event in the Mommy Olympics. Lights would wake the rest of the family up and that is a BAD thing...at least in my prior experience. I can set up the coffee solely by touch. Don't ask why I don't do it the night before. My school age children attempt, and the operative word is attempt, to suck every available moment of my free time out of my life. And since I think they are pretty darn cute and I CAN NOT resist the plea for just "a little more snuggle time" or "one more story" every night, coffee set up before bedtime is the last thing on my mind. Besides I like the challenge of early morning, vision and coordination impaired coffee preparation...keeps me sharp.

Today though I have more light than normal cause it's December. And why would you ask do you have more light in December, the longest, darkest, coldest month of the year? Because I am Martha Stewart's younger, kinder and much gentler sister! Not! Well, I do tend to channel all things Martha and basically my two-story home in December looks like Christmas exploded, ever so artfully and beautifully, of course! Candle lights that come on at dusk and off at dawn in EVERY window, back and front. Trees downstairs in the dining room, living room and family room programmed to come on in the early morning. Trees in the boys rooms programmed to come on at 6:00am, a seasonal alarm clock if you will. Boughs from every window, advent calendars and wreaths, 3 different nativities....a convention of Santas clustered on the mantel and around the fireplace....you get the picture...I ADORE Christmas.

So anyway, all the ambient light from the candles and trees and nativity sets make the usual challenge of making the morning coffee, less so. After successfully measuring, pouring and pushing all the right buttons, I check the fridge to make sure there's enough room for my 4 gallons of 1%, butter, eggs and yogurt and season treat, eggnog (note to self hide from hunky hubby in back of fridge or he will drink at one sitting) Of course there never is and I mutter and curse slightly under my breath as I push, prod, pile and poke things around to clear the necessary space. Aha...mission accomplished...and I only managed to partially knock over one half empty carton of yogurt in the process, averting clean-up in the process. Score two for Mom..woohoo...alright so I'm the only one keeping score, but again, it's the little things.

Heading to the front door, I check my beautiful Italian crafted nativity at the entrance, the one that flew shotgun between two Delta pilots on a flight home many Christmas ago. My husband's witty comment to the pilots about Jesus as their co-pilot actually got a good laugh from the crew and passengers. Picking upthe camels and Magi, I move them slightly closer to the manger scene from their perch on the credenza because,of course, it's NOT Epiphany and the wise men should not be in the manger yet, nor the Christ child who is presently hanging out in the bread box, patiently and serenely waiting for his big appearance on Christmas morning.

Why the bread box you ask? Because I read a fantastic story years ago about how two boys decided to swipe the baby Jesus from their family's nativity and hide him in the bread box because they had heard on two consecutive Sunday's at church that Jesus was "the Bread of Life" and then it was "Not proper to put the Baby Jesus in the manger until Christmas day" So their 7 & 9 year old brains put the two together and rightly reasoned that the only logical place for him was the bread box. The minds of children.... dangerous, imaginative, wonderful things. I immediately co-opted the tradition.

Pulling the front door open, I always stop and look up because the sight of the stars in the trees is one of the best things about being up at 4AM and on winter mornings here in Atlanta, they shimmer and dance in the cool air, my own personal little Christmas light show.

Bending down to pick up the first gallon of milk, I hear a noise, a faint smacking sound and then a gurgle and a whiff of something sweet and powdery. Freezing in mid lift, I turn my head ever so slightly. I know that sound and I know that smell. I'm a mom.There on the other corner of my small porch is a “Moses” basket, one of those totally impractical but absolutely beautiful icons of newborns since biblical times.

And in the basket....a newborn child.Tucked in the folds of the blanket swaddling the baby is a fat envelope with beautiful penmanship and a cryptic message......"What Child is This?"