When it was just Cory and I, there wasn’t much money. I had come up with the odd tradition of snapping a picture of her presents laid out by Santa in the night for her to find in the morning. Always, there was a doll. Those first few years, maybe not much more. Some plastic toys from the dollar store. Playdough. Always books…I knew the secret, you see. You can go anywhere and do anything in a book. And she got plenty from my family to subsidize what I couldn't afford to give her.
So when Tim and I got married, and there was a double income, the piles under the tree grew. Excessively so. It seemed I thought I had some making up to do. I wanted to be sure she had everything she could possibly want. So silly of me, really. What I should have realized back then is that she already did. She had a dad, and a little brother on the way. She was living the Miracle on 34th street remake dream, all except the fancy house, anyways.
Nineteen Christmases seem like a lot, but they passed in the wink of an eye. When she was two or three, I got her a Barbie horse that walked. That thing scared the crap out of her. I remember her startled expression as the horse clomped across the linoleum of the house on Broadway. On reflex, she put her arms up to be picked up and made a beeline for the safe haven of my knees. By the time I had rescued her from it, she was convinced it was chasing her and wanted no more to do with it. Priceless.
Next came the procession of Barbies and Barbie homes and luxury vehicles- dream houses, Grandparents’ cottage, the tour bus, the airplane, and everything in between. Then the year Jake was three and she was twelve, Santa left a yellow Hummer riding vehicle next to the tree, fully charged. Tim and I woke warm in our bed to hear Jake excitedly shriek, “Cory, Santa pimped my ride!” When we stopped laughing, the grinding of the two gears –forward and reverse- began, along with hoots and hollering. When we ventured a look in the living room, there they were snuggled into the Hummer in the ir p.j.s riding for all they were worth back and forth across the length of our modestly sized living room. That was a great year.
One year, I hit up Hot Topic and bought every My Chemical Romance t-shirt they had, rolled them up, and stuffed them into a My Chemical Romance messenger bag that she carried the rest of her life.
There was the year of the art easel. She was simply delighted, dancing from foot to foot until the thing could be properly put together. She said, “Now, I feel like a real artist.” Silly girl. She was an artist since she could lift a crayon, marker, or paintbrush.
Last Christmas was the year of the pearl necklace. Cory loved everything Audrey Hepburn inspired, and longed for a simple and elegant strand of pearls to wear with whatever she’d thrown on that day. She had the best girly- meets cool- meets comfortable vibe going. So the entire Christmas shopping season, she reminded me it was the one thing she really, really wanted, even if she got nothing else. Alone at the Macy’s counter, I upgraded from the strand I had originally set out to purchase. I wanted something every bit as lovely as she was. When the saleslady commented that they were beautiful enough to be worn at her wedding, I surrendered my credit card without a whimper.
For the next couple weeks, whenever we ambled through Macy’s, Cory would try to sneak over to the jewelry counter to sneak peeks at their selection. I would laugh and say, “Ah, ah, ah, oh no, you don’t , young lady, come away from there.” and pull her jokingly by one sleeve as she giggled. Christmas Eve night, I was overcome with an impish, evil impulse, and buried the small box at the very bottom of her stocking.
Christmas morning- unknowingly, the last I’d ever spend with her- she sat cross-legged in her monkey footie pajamas across from her brother, going over her haul. She screamed in delight over the Pepe the King Prawn stuffed animal I’d ordered over the internet, and snuck into the house. Cory was the best receiver of gifts. She did not hold back in showing her excitement. Those were the moments that made the shopping, wrapping, and tedious putting together of toys at 2 a.m. when you are really wanted was to lay your head on the pillow worth every single moment. She smiled, she ooed, and she aahed appropriately. When I asked her if Santa had brought her everything she wanted, she diplomatically responded, yes, she loved everything. When she finally dug into her stocking and discovered the box, her hands were shaking so badly, she had to have help to open it. She looked at those pearls and then looked at me, eyes brimming, and mouthed, “Thank you, Mom” so her brother wouldn’t hear, and then declared what great taste Santa had in fine jewelry for the rest of the day.
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