The Bluffton Sun - published 12/13/2024
Two in the front were having a contest as to who could “baa” the loudest. Mary and “Jophus” were arguing about holding the baby Jesus. Angels were trying to fly with wings that looked as if they had contracted the bird flu. One wiseman pushed another to the ground because he was supposed to carry the “Frankenstein”.
To this day, it remains the best reenactment of the birth of Christ I have ever witnessed.
And, apparently every person who had ever laid eyes upon the group of 19 students from Walnut Creek Presbyterian Transitional Kindergarten was also in attendance on that memorable day.
“My third cousin’s neighbor’s friend from Boston wants to sit in that microscopic chair next to you. I’m sure you can understand. He traveled through the night to get here in time for the birth.”
I knew we were WAY over the OSHA regulations for maximum occupancy for the performance. My 2-year-old and I were squished into a petri dish of cooties and ugly Christmas sweaters. The kid next to me wiped his nose on my coat sleeve, as one of the shepherds broke character to steal a cookie off the snack table. A loudly snoring grandfather was leaning against the phonics station. A baby was crying more than the Divine Infant who had just been born in the cubby area, for the love of all that was holy. Finally, the noisy menagerie mooed their goodbyes and the Winter Celebration officially kicked off.
The scene that unfolded is best described as “it was like a group of carnies were given an all-access pass to Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory”. A flurry of missing teeth and mismatched clothing swarmed the banquet table. Any manners were abandoned in the fight for a cup of the pudding with Oreos and gummy worms. A burgeoning hair-stylist, who had clearly practiced on the left side of her hair, was dipping a sparkly nail into the frosting of every cupcake on the tray. Dads were trying to block kids from escaping, as a child without pants crawled through my legs to get to a bowl of Chex Mix tossed with M&M’s and E. coli. It was a sugar-infused bacchanalia and I had a front row view of it all.
I lost sight of my toddler in the prison riot happening in the area with baby dolls and kitchen appliance toys. I wasn’t worried about her though - she had likely started it. I had yet to see my starlet but I knew she was somewhere in the maelstrom; I heard her singing Kesha songs that may have placed me on the watchlist of the Department of Child Protective Services. There was no opportunity to talk to the parents I knew from the after school checkout line, because the entire scene was like watching a mob hit involving Molotov cocktails and a side of Legos.
Then someone knocked over the crock pot full of Swedish meatballs and the boondoggle came to a halt. Moms parted the crowd like the Red Sea to clean up the disaster. Someone who clearly watched too much Oprah handed out fudge as a distraction. “You get one, and you get one,” as if the addicts needed another excuse to overindulge.
The teachers carpe’d the momentum, embracing their inner Marie Kondos. Apparently NOTHING our children had done in the semester gave them any pleasure, as they began to rid the room of any shred of their existence. Every scribble laid to paper for the entire fall semester was handed back one…by…each…painstaking…one. When students had so many items in their hands they were about to topple into the lost and found, they were given paper bags with which to sherpa the offending items out. That was their “you don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here”. Time to say goodbye to the Little Town of Walnut Creek until January.
I grabbed one hand of each of my girls and we fell in line with the masses toward the parking lot. It was like running with the bulls through the narrow corridors of the school. Very slow and ancient bulls. Running in concrete boots. Through miles of molasses.
Head down, I weaponized my shoulders like a battering ram to ensure I didn’t get separated from my two littles. Kesha belted out a few songs for her encore, serenading the legions of lemmings above the cacophony of people looking for their kids, their parents, their car keys, and their last nerve. Which I seem to have lost as well. I was pretty sure we were going to toast in the New Year next to the attendance office at the rate we were going.
Kesha had moved on to cover songs, her personal library exhausted, when we finally burst through the exit. The sun blinded us as we dodged the cars of the people whose gluten-free brownies were now churning in little stomachs. I loaded my toddler into her car seat and handed her the bag she had been carrying. Next, I buckled my diva and her to-go bag of learning into a booster seat. We were ready to kiss kindergarten good-bye for now. It was then I heard my toddler giggling.
“I a baby”.
“Yes, I know you have lots of babies.”
“No, Mommy. I a BABY.”
I looked over my shoulder to see why she was laughing. And there he was, in all his glory: Baby Jesus. Lord forgive us. My daughter had kidnapped Baby Jesus. Smuggled him right out of the school with the glue and macaroni artwork.
Sighing, I looked at the only door leading back into the classroom. People, drunk on sugar and Christmas cheer, were still staggering out. In my rearview mirror I watched baby Jesus being rocked by my juvenile delinquent.
And that was the year that Baby Jesus had a sleepover for his birthday.
Disclaimer*
*No Baby Jesuses were harmed in the making of this story. In fact, Baby Jesus went to the “gwocery” store, got a ride on the shih-tsu, helped open “pwesents,” and had more clothing changes than Taylor Swift. “Best. Birthday. Ever.” according to his 5 star Yelp Review. He made it back to the TK in one piece when classes resumed. The TK teachers and I had a good laugh about it. And one toddler was back on the naughty list for being “so, so angwy” we had to return her favorite baby.
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Tracy Winslow is the owner of the Low Country’s BEST yarn store - Low Country Shrimp and Knits. Tracy is not known to aid and abet criminals, nor does she approve of stealing in any fashion. She just goes for the laugh with the antics and anecdotes she writes for her humor column, Chaos on Fire. She hopes you take this, and all of her stories, with a light hearted viewpoint. And wishes you the Happiest of Felony-Free Holidays.