By Lorry Myers
My three children were young, still true believers in the North Pole. Their lists had long been made and Santa had quietly slimmed them down to fit the budget. All year I had put money into a Christmas Club account in an effort to make holiday shopping less stressful.
Santa was happy about that.
This year, we were traveling for the holidays, something we typically didn’t do. My sister and her husband were stationed on an Air Force base in Wichita so we were going to make the most of their closeness.
Since I refused to travel with three kids in a station wagon full of presents, my last task before we left was to withdraw my Christmas Club money and some travel cash which I immediately stuffed into an envelope and then, into the bottom of my purse.
The next morning, my husband left early, ready to get his half day of work done. When the children woke, they were wild with anticipation. To distract them, I took the three to the local hardware store to buy batteries for the toys I’d buy later. At the counter, I pulled out my wallet and then, puzzled, I peered inside my purse.
The envelope wasn’t there!
I was frantic as I dragged the kids to the car so I could dump everything on the seat and rifle through it.
The money was gone.
The impact of that hit me like a fist to my stomach. Somehow, I’d lost our travel money, our Santa money.
I’d lost our Christmas.
For the complete column, see this week’s edition of the Centralia Fireside Guard
