by Kristin Frangoulis

Four days ‘til Christmas
I am heavy with child.
Could not waddle to my third-floor classroom at Belfast High School another time.
I lost November, propped up with pillows unable to breathe, pneumonia.
So much to do. Nursery not ready.
I can do it. Baby not due until January 16.
Three days left.
Four-year-old Georgie needs magic.
Presents to buy and wrap.
Freedom Church’s children’s play to direct, rehearse.
Georgie decides Baby Jesus would rather have a moose than a cow in the stable.
His costume to create.
Two days left.
I announce I am going shopping in Waterville.
George, “Kris, I think that is a bad idea. It’s starting to snow.”
I stubbornly try to cram my swollen feet and ankles into boots.
“They don’t fit. I’m a bloated sausage.”
Mom calls from Blue Hill depressed. She ‘s alone and the tree fell over twice.
“Mom, come to Freedom and be with us.”
“No, everyone is coming for Christmas dinner.”
No days left, Christmas Eve.
We bundle up, George, Georgie and me,
hold hands, trek up the hill to the church.
Past the frozen waterfall, silent in icicles.
The bells are ringing, snow is falling.
The church smells of the balsam boughs festooned with red ribbons.
I sing in a trio, “What Child Is This?”
Gather the children together for their play,
A tableau of the manger scene
One donkey, one lamb, one moose, a shepherd, one king ,Mary, Joseph and the baby.
The children sing, Away in a manger, no crib for a bed the little Lord Jesus lays down his sweet head…
On sweet head Georgie the moose bounds down the aisle and over a pew
To greet his pal, Pete.
Finally, lights dimmed, all have candles, sing Silent Night.
I tuck exhausted Georgie in bed,
“Mommy, do you think Santa will remember the Green Lion figure?”
I assure him he will.
George and I have planned a quiet adult dinner, just the two of us,
Scallops baked potato and fresh asparagus.
George pops the champagne.
“Kris, what’s the matter?”
“We are going to have a baby tonight. My water broke.”
“We can’t, it’s Christmas!”
“Please just call my mom. Tell her she has to come.”
The feast lay untouched.
We wait forever. I decide to have a sip of champagne.
“You can’t. I got so nervous I drank it.”
Mom comes.
We arrive at Belfast Hospital at 11:45.
Nurse checks me, “It will be a while.”
Checks again, “Never mind, the baby is coming. I’ll call Dr. Jolly.”
Panicking, “Somebody catch the baby, I don’t care who.”
Remembering Dr. Jolly told me I could have a baby in a parking lot or elevator.
My babies come quickly.
Dr. Jolly arrives in a red-velour jogging suit.
Not a second too soon.
Catches screaming baby Anastasia.
Cleaned up Anastasia is presented to us in a green satin stocking
Trimmed with white lace, red ribbon and jingle bells.
Our Christmas gift.

by Gary Haskell

You were young,
I was older.
I was shy,
You were bolder.
With that first kiss,
it was through,
from then on,
It was you.

It was you,
I wanted in my life.
It was you,
I wanted to be my wife.

Mistakes were made,
tears were cried.
Sometimes I thought,
our love had died.
Tried to leave,
but that I could not do.
Had to stay,
because it was you.
It was you,
I wanted in my life.
It was you,
I wanted for my wife.

Love was made,
Babies were born.
Years passed by,
and now they’re grown.
We made a gift,
of the love they knew.
It was a gift,
from me and you.

It was you,
I wanted in my life.
It was you,
I wanted for my wife.