my tot

I was on the phone with my sister-in-law the other day, the one who was born wealthy and married wealthy, who has never worked, the one who was talking to me on the phone as she directed her cleaning lady to "get into those corners over there."

That one.

She told me how busy she's been with Christmas shopping for her kids; how her 9 year old wants an iPhone, and how many Wii games she had to track down. There were iPods to be purchased, and special skateboards and shoes.

Then she got around to business. "What would the girls like for Christmas?"

I hedged. I thought. I told her I'd get back to her.

I asked Roxie, who had a short but respectable gift for a 5 year old. "I want a Barbie Styling Head, Bendaroos, and a goldfish," she said crisply, turning back to her coloring.

I cleared my throat, because I knew the tough question was coming. Miss M sat on the sofa, reading and twirling her hair. "Honey. Auntie C would like to know what you'd like for Christmas."

"Well. I don't want to seem greedy. I've asked Santa for a Friendship Bracelet kit. Mom. What I really want is that I'd like to bring in a gift to the Toys for Tots bin at school every day until Christmas."

She smiled sweetly and kept reading.

"M," I demurred, "that is wonderful, and you are so generous. Do you think you might be disappointed on Christmas morning?" I started to flick through my files for a big ticket item that I could surprise her with. Something. Something to tell my sister-in-law, who was, undoubtedly at that moment, telling her gardener how to assemble her tree.

She peeled her eyes away from her book. She thought.

"No," she said, and turned the page.

Let me assure you, if you might not have surmised: I am a Fezziwig.

Egg Nog pumps through my veins. I love Christmas, always have, from the time I started my ornament collection at ten. I bake and give, sing, and most importantly, give the girls the experiences that are indelibly Big City Christmas - ballets and plays and downtown events and parties, all in lovely velvets and headbands and little purses with Kleenex and Andes mints for intermissions. There are guests and parties through our house, and Grimpy stays for the month, assisting with homework and chores and art projects.

Our month is busy and very special.

I was on the phone with my friend Justine the other evening. "They don't want anything!" I whispered harshly into the phone, "their cousins all want Wiis and ponies and technology! My kid wants freakin' Toys for Tots!"

Justine laughed. "And your problem is -"

I stopped.

Justine kept on. " I have no worries about M being disappointed on Christmas morning if she has a few books and a Jamba Juice card. I think she's operating on a level that we just aren't mature enough to understand."

It's true. We are usually dressed up, seeing plays downtown, and Miss M shyly asks for quarters and dollars to give to the homeless. She's done that since she was three.

Miss M never asks for much; I used to think that it was for lack of interest or understanding what typical children want.

Now I understand that it isn't the autism at all.

It's her big heart.

You know. The one that they once told me couldn't recognize the feelings of others.

Yes, that big, sweet, funny heart that this mother is so proud of.

So.

There is a big Target bag in M's room filled with $5 Barbies and puzzles and Legos, and each morning, she dips in and takes a modest toy to school, proudly wearing her Toys for Tots pin on her backpack. In the car on their way to school, her father reports, she asks him where he supposes the toy goes, and who it is going to, and what his or her life must be like. "Do you think they get to go to The Nutcracker too, Daddy? Do you think I'd know them if I saw them? Do you think they'll wonder who the gift is from - or if they will think it's Santa?"

No. I don't think Miss M will be disappointed in her few books and small gifts Christmas morning.

I think she's got this thing covered.