I’m up late, with nothing to do but think. I can hear my grandpa cussing loudly from the other room, meaning there’s a football game on and the team he likes is losing. I hear Cold Case coming from behind me, accompanied by my dad’s snoring. The only sound being emitted from the room I’m in is the sound of my own typigng and my laptop’s low hum. (I should probably change that, I write better with soft music playing.) I’m in Michael’s old room, which has newly been made into Ali’s Funhouse, since my television and Wii got moved in here. It’s cozier than my own room, so Iadopted it. It’s still full of Michael’s things, however. Such as his nightstand, desk, dresser, whiteboard and assorted posters. It’s right in the middle of the house, with no windows and a door on both sides. This makes it warmer than the rest of the house, a setback I’ve learned to live with. Juiceboxes are being attacked by my lingering thirst. My hair actually looks presentable, but I have nobody to present it to.
Enough of the small talk.
Nobody deserves to be alone on Christmas. Not even my mother. But that’s exactly what happened this holiday season. Or at least I speculate. I’m guessing there isn’t too much holiday cheer in a battered women’s home. My ever-growing conscience and general love of people has forced me to want to change this. Here’s my plan of attack:
Due to the law and the fact that she’s in Kansas, I can’t exactly go see her. But, I CAN send her a present. We all love getting presents from long-lost daughters, right? I saw a Wizard of Oz section at Hallmark, and that’s where this idea all started. (My mother loves Wizard of Oz, for the uneducated.)
I figure it wil brighten her up, have a Scrooge (at the end of the book) moment. Either that, or it will send her into a drinking frenzy propelled by her love for her daughter.
I’m hoping for the former.