Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Crumb Meets Santa

Episode Date: December 23, 2024

Our story tonight is called Crumb meets Santa, and it’s a story about a trip into town on a December afternoon. It’s also about a chew toy in a red suit and hat, jingle bells on a collar, being surrounded by your family at the holidays whether furry or otherwise and letting the joy of another fill your heart. We give to a different charity each week and this week we are giving to the MS Society. Mine is a family touched by MS and I’m grateful for the work they do. Their mission is to cure MS while empowering people affected by MS to live their best lives. nationalmssociety.org  Order your own NMH weighted pillow now! shop.nothingmuchhappens.com    Subscribe for ad-free, bonus and extra long episodes now, as well as ad-free andearly episodes of Stories from the Village of Nothing Much! Search for NMH Premiumchannel on Apple podcast or follow the link belownothingmuchhappens.com/premium-subscription  Listen to our new show Stories from the Village of Nothing Much on your favoritepodcast app. nothingmuchhappens.com/stories-from-the-village  Join us tomorrow morning for a meditation at nothingmuchhappens.com/first-this  •Save over $100 on Kathryn’s hand-selected wind-down favorites with the Nothing Much Happens Wind-Down Box. A collection of products from our amazing partners:• Eversio Wellness: Chill Now• Vellabox: Lavender Silk Candle• Alice Mushrooms Nightcap• Nutrachamps Tart Cherry Gummies• A Brighter Year Mini Coloring Book• NuStrips Sleep Strips• Woolzies Lavender Roll-OnPurchase Our Book: https://bit.ly/Nothing-Much-HappensSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Everyone, in which nothing much happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nicolai. I write and read all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens with Audio Engineering by Bob Wittersheim. We give to a different charity each week, and this week we are giving to the MS Society. Mine is a family touched by MS, and I am grateful for the work that they do. Their mission is to cure MS while empowering those affected by it to live their best lives.

Find out more in our show notes. We have a mission, too, here at Nothing Much Happens, to help people feel safe and relaxed, cared for, and very, very sleepy. That mission has led us to create a daytime version of the show, perfect for dealing with anxiety and finding more enjoyment. A 10 minute guided meditation podcast

as well as partnering with companies who are making useful products. My favorite right now is our weighted pillow. I plop it in my lap as I write or watch TV. I take it to yoga and use it as a prop. The weight soothes my nervous system, and I instantly feel grounded and calm when I hold it. You can learn more in our notes or at Nothingmuchhappens.com. notes, or at NothingMuchHappens.com. Now let's do some cognitive reshuffling. The right amount of engagement will shift your brain into a place where it can easily

shut off and fall asleep. All you have to do is listen. I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through. That element of repetition allows you to let go even more. If you wake later in the night, don't hesitate to turn an episode right back on. Most people fall back to sleep within seconds. Our story tonight is called Crumb Meets Santa, and it's a story about a trip into town on a December afternoon. It's also about a chew toy in a red suit and hat, jingle bells on a collar, being surrounded by your family at the holidays, whether furry or otherwise, and letting the joy of another

fill your heart. Okay, bedtime for Bonzos. Switch off your light. Get as comfortable as you can. Your can, your favorite pillow, the blanket in the right spot, and the feel of your whole body relaxing. You have done enough for the day. Really, it was enough. So rest now. Deep breath in through the nose. And sigh out. One more time, breathe in. Then release it. Good.

Crumb meets Santa. A few weeks ago, when we'd been putting up the tree, we'd noticed our little brown dog, Crum, staring at one of the ornaments. It was a Santa Claus, wooden and painted red, the kind with the string at the bottom that you pull to make his arms and legs jump. His beard was made of white, woollyum, the moving limbs, the shiny paint. But something about Saint Nick just enthralled him. He sat, his little round rump on the tree skirt and stared. I pulled the string now and then and he barked, jumped up, turned a tight circle and sat

again. The next day, afraid that his new fondness for Santa would turn into a disastrous attempt to pull him from the branch, I stopped at the pet shop downtown to look for a soft, cringlish type toy. They had a whole selection of holiday-themed items, and I strolled around admiring them for a bit. There were stockings stuffed full of treats, squeaky elves and raddles, reindeer sweaters and Kwanzaa bandanas. There were bags of gingerbread dog cookies, bins full of small, stitched Christmas trees stuffed with catnip, and a rack of those dangle wands kitties liked to swat at, but the feathers had been replaced

with felted mistletoe and berries. I left with a bag full of things. I couldn't help it. And when I got home, I immediately called out that it was Christmas right now. I've always been the type that wants to give you your present the moment I've wrapped it. I set the bag of goodies on the kitchen counter and started unwinding my scarf from my neck. The house smelled of the fresh pine of the tree and coffee. As I shrugged out of my coat, the dogs came scampering into the kitchen.

There was crumb, small, brown, kind of crunchy-looking, like he'd just been shaken out of the toaster, but so happy to see me. And then there was Bertie, a regal greyhound, long-legged and smooth-coated, calmer and quieter than his brother. Behind him came their dad, who swapped me a kiss for my coat. Last to arrive, loping disinterestedly in from the living room, was our ginger kitty marmalade. I loved this moment and felt so lucky to experience it daily, to return home and be greeted lovingly by my whole family. I didn't take it for granted. I squatted down to Pet Crum as he zoomed around my ankles. Bertie leaned his long body against me, and Marmee slinked past, letting her fluffy tail slide along my back. These were like our secret handshakes, the shorthand we shared with each other that

said, I missed you. I'm glad you're back. Bertie's dad was pouring me a cup of coffee, stirring in the cinnamon creamer he knew I liked, and smiling over at us. As he dropped the spoon in the sink and passed me my cup, he said, Did I hear you say it is Christmas? Because he squinted at the calendar stuck on the front of the fridge and lifted an eyebrow. Oh, that's a misprint, I said, looking at the calendar myself, and blowing across the top of my cup, as it turns out that it's Christmas right now. At least, um, animal Christmas. I see," he said. Is this sort of like birthday month? I nodded as I sipped. Very similar.

We chuckled, and I began to pull items from the bag and hand them out. There was a new sweater for Birdie, whose lean body was nearly always cold. His dad pulled it over his head and helped feed his It was a handsome red plaid, very grandpa energy, which he had in spades, and he immediately trotted off to break it in with a nap. Next, I took the Santa Claus squeaky toy from the sack. It had a big head with a squeaker in it and a ropey bit that attached a bauble to his hat. I squeaked it a few times and Crumb danced around me. I tossed it down the hall and he went racing after it.

While I waited for him to bring it back, to repeat the process, I watched Marmalade stare at the dangle toy in her dad's hands. Her big green eyes were wide as she stared. It was like a dance between them. and I took my coffee and backed up a bit to watch. He flicked the wand, and she shuffled, not quite ready to jump for it, but unable to keep her excitement under wraps. They waited each other out. He let the mistletoe hang in the air. Then he twitched it again, and she reached for it. Her paw spread out but whiffed through the air, and she lifted onto her hind legs to reach again.

This time she caught it up and clapped both paws around it. He tugged a bit, but she held fast. I knew from experience that she could actually be dragged along the floor at this point. She seemed to enjoy it, in fact, and wouldn't let go. But instead, he did, and she bolted under the sofa with her new prize. Now, a couple weeks later, Marmalade had grown bored with her mistletoe wand. Birdie's sweater had a hole near the collar where Crum had chewed it while Bird was asleep, but the Santa toy? That was still a favorite. Crum carried it everywhere, out for walks, into his bed at night. It lay beside him while he munched dinner

from his bowl, and that had given us an idea. Each year, for the week or so before the holiday, at the community center in the town square, Santa and his elves visited with the locals. I'd called and checked to see that four-legged littles were as welcome as the two-legged variety, and been told that many furry friends came to see Santa. So today, we were taking Crum to meet his hero. I'd even tried to brush his wild fur, which he allowed for about two minutes. He had jingle bells on his collar, and we tried to convince him to leave his Santa toy at home, but he'd insisted. We considered bringing Birdie along, but he was happy in his bed, and we thought it would be special for Crumb to do something without his siblings. Marmalade had meowed at us from her perch by the window as we trooped out to the car in our coats.

Town was busy, and it had taken us a few minutes to find a parking spot. But when Crum jumped down from the seat with his toy in his mouth. To see kids and dogs and twinkle light filled shop windows, he'd been so excited. We wove through the bustle and stepped into the community center, which was decorated with hundreds of drawings the local school kids had made, as well as a backdrop from the village theater of a fireplace and windows full of snowflakes. The warmth of the indoors after our brief walk made my nose tingle, and I found myself trying to make a memory of this moment, to emboss the details of right now onto my mind and heart. Hand in hand with my love. Silly, happy crumb at the end of the leash. The smell of snow in the air. And at the end of the line, Santa in his chair. After a few minutes, it was our turn, and as we led Crumb up to the jolly man

in red, he came to a sudden halt. His mouth opened wide, and his toy fell out. His mouth opened wide, and his toy fell out. I could see the mental gymnastics his little brain was striving for. How was this possible? Then he rushed into action, leaping onto Santa's lap and licking his face while yipping happily. The pictures from this moment would go into our album of holiday memories. We would tell the story every year of Krum meeting Santa. But right now, I let myself just be fully here while it happened. To witness his joy and let it overflow into my own heart.

Crum meets Santa. A few weeks ago, when we'd been putting up the tree, we'd noticed our little brown dog, Crum, staring at one of the ornaments. It was a Santa Claus, wooden and painted red, be kind with the string at the bottom that you pull to make his arms and legs jump. His beard was made of white, woolly cotton, and his boots were shiny and black.

I don't know which of those elements attracted Crumb, the moving limbs, the shiny paint. But something about Saint Nick had just enthralled him. He sat, his little round rump on the tree skirt and stared. I pulled the string now and then and he barked, jumped up, turned a tight circle and sat again. and sat again. The next day, afraid that his new fondness for Santa would turn into a disastrous him from the branch. I stopped at the pet shop downtown to look for a soft, pringle-ish type toy. They had a whole section of holiday-themed items, and I strolled around, admiring them for a bit. There were stockings and dreidels, reindeer sweaters, and Kwanzaa bandanas. There were bags of gingerbread dog cookies, bins full of small stitched Christmas trees stuffed with catnip and a rack of those dangle wands kitties like to swat at. But the feathers had been replaced with felted mistletoe and berries.

I left with a bag full of things. I couldn't help it. And when I got home, I immediately called out that it was Christmas right now. I've always been the type that wants to give you your present the moment I've wrapped it. I set the bag of goodies on the kitchen counter and started unwinding The house smelled of the fresh pine of the tree and coffee. As I shrugged out of my coat, the dogs came scampering into the kitchen. There was Crumb, small,

brown, kind of crunchy looking, like he'd just been shaken out of the toaster, but so happy to see me. And there was Bertie, a regal greyhound, long-legged and smooth-coated, calmer and quieter than his brother. Behind him came their dad, who swapped me a kiss for my coat. Last to arrive, loping disinterestedly in from the living room was our ginger kitty, Marmalade. I loved this moment and felt so lucky to experience it daily, to return home and be greeted lovingly by my whole family. I didn't take it for granted. I squatted down to pet Crum as he zoomed around my ankles.

Birdie leaned his long body against me, and Marmee slinked past, letting her fluffy tail slide along my back. These were like our secret handshakes, the shorthand we shared with each other that said, I missed you. I'm glad you're back." Bertie's dad was pouring me a cup of coffee, stirring in the cinnamon creamer he knew I liked, and smiling over at us. As he dropped the spoon in the sink and passed me my cup, he said, Did I hear you say it is Christmas? Because he squinted at the calendar stuck on the front of the fridge and lifted an eyebrow. Oh, that's a misprint, I said, looking at the calendar myself, and blowing across the top of my cup.

Yes, it turns out that it's Christmas right now. At least, um, animal Christmas. I see," he said. Is this sort of like birthday month? I nodded as I sipped. Very similar. We chuckled and I began to pull items from the bag and hand them out. There was a new sweater for Birdie whose lean body was nearly always cold. His dad pulled it over his head and helped feed his paws through the arms. It was a handsome red plaid, very grandpa energy, which he had in spades, and he immediately trotted off to break it in with a nap. Next I took the Santa Claus squeaky toy from the sack. It had a big head with a squeaker in it and a ropey bit that attached a bauble to his hat. I squeaked it a few times and Crum danced around me. I tossed it down the hall, and he went racing after it. While I waited for him to bring it back, to repeat the process, I watched Marmalade stare at the dangle toy in her dad's hands. Her big green eyes were

wide as she stared. It was like a dance between them. And I took my coffee and backed up a bit to watch. He flicked the wand and she shuffled, not quite ready to jump for it, but unable to keep her excitement under wraps. They waited each other out. He let the mistletoe hang in the air. Then he twitched it again, and she reached for it. Her paw spread out, but whiffed through the air, and she lifted onto her hind legs to reach again. This time she caught it up and clapped both paws around it. He tugged a bit, but she held fast. I knew from experience that she could actually be dragged along the wood floor at this point.

She seemed to enjoy it, in fact, and wouldn't let go. But instead, he did. And she bolted under the sofa with her new prize. Now, a couple weeks later, Marmalade had grown bored with her mistletoe wand. Birdie's sweater had a hole near the collar where Crum had chewed it while Bird was asleep. But the Santa toy, that was still a favorite. Crum carried it everywhere, out for walks, into his bed at night. It lay beside him while he munched dinner from his bowl. And that had given us an idea. Every year for the week or so before the holiday

at the community center in the town square, Santa and his elves visited with the locals. I called and checked to see that four-legged littles were as welcome as the two-legged variety. I'd been told that many furry friends came to see Santa. So today, we were taking Crum to meet his hero. I'd even tried to convince him to leave his Santa toy at home, but he'd insisted. We considered bringing Birdie along, but he was happy in his bed, and we thought it would be special for Crum to do something without his siblings. Marmalade had meowed at us from her perch by the window as we trooped out to the car in our coats. Town was busy, and it had taken us a few minutes to find a parking spot. But when Crum jumped down from the seat with his toy in his mouth to see kids and dogs and twinkle light filled shop windows

had been so excited. We wove through the bustle and stepped into the community center, which was decorated with hundreds of drawings the local school kids had made, of a fireplace and windows full of snowflakes. The warmth of the indoors after our brief walk made my nose tingle, and I found myself trying to make a memory of this, happy crumb at the end of the leash. The smell of snow in the air. And at the end of the line, Santa in his chair. After a few minutes, it was our turn. And as we led Crumb up to the jolly man in red. He came to a sudden halt. His mouth opened wide and his toy fell out.

I could see the mental gymnastics his little brain was striving for. How was this possible? Then he rushed into action, leaping onto Santa's lap and licking his face while yipping happily. The pictures from this moment would go into our album of holiday memories. We would tell the story every year of Crum meeting Santa. But right now, I let myself just be To witness his joy and let it overflow into my own heart. Sweet dreams.