Christmas in 2008 was easy from a gift perspective. The kids were a month old and rarely slept at the same time so what did they care about gifts or Santa or whatnot? Christmas in 2009 was easy. The grandparents took care of the "big" gift and they didn't really know what was going on anyway. Christmas in 2010 was easy, but it was obviously a turning point. Again, the grandparents took care of the heavy lifting, but they "got it". They understood that a tree and colder weather and Santa and sweaters and family meant presents.
This year is a whole new ball of string. For starters, the kids aren't toddlers anymore. They're kids. They have their own thoughts and understanding about the world. And they talk about it. A whole bunch. They also socialize with other children. Some older, some younger. But these interactions melted into their brains the concept of Christmas. The gift concept, not the whole Jesus being born thing. We're remembering the reason for the season as blatant capitalism and marketing at this point.I leave most of the gift buying in our family to my wife. It's a shameful thing, I feel awful about my lack of participation in the process. I just don't get too involved in what we get the children at this point, except maybe to just inquire about what "we" got them.
I've never understood the parental gift surge of adrenaline that makes people crazy. I remember parents fighting over Cabbage Patch Kids when I was a child, and I thought they were all pretty stupid. Come to think of it....my sister had a Cabbage Patch Kid one Christmas. I wonder if dad ever threw a punch to get a doll.
This all changed last Sunday night. We were at a friend's parents house. They have a granddaughter younger than our kids. They had this horse-thing that the kids can ride on. Plus, it makes noises. AND it'll "eat" out of your hand. It also swishes its tail and makes little horse noises. Our kids loved this thing. It's name is Butterscotch. Well...at least that's it's commercial name. The particular horse at this party was named Buttermilk. The kids acted like it was a part of the family.
At this moment, I snapped. Something in my head went haywire. My brain decided at that point that my baby girl would have herself a Butterscotch/milk for Christmas. (Yes, the boy loved it too, but I see this as a gift for my baby girl. Don't mess with me. I'm all jacked up on gifting adrenaline).
When we got home, I hit the internet. Turns out that this particular toy isn't available anywhere. Toys R Us had it marked way down, but the website indicated that availability was limited. Undaunted, I drove to Toys R Us the next day during lunch to find Butterscotch! I was going to get that horse for my girl!
This brings me to my next detour on this story. Holy shit ladies, are you fucking serious? Toys R Us reminds me of a zoo. Not figuratively. It's literally a human zoo where people's worst primal actions are realized in a consumerish petri dish. From the fighting over parking spaces to the crowding out of customers in the aisles by other customers, it's just a nightmare! I was waiting for one of the alpha moms to fling poo at another alpha mom. I think somebody got bitten by another "adult". If you've never been to Toys R Us in December, just don't go. It sticks with you. Like the first time you learned what a Cleveland Steamer is. It's something you don't forget soon.
So there I was in Toys R Us, throwing elbows looking for this fucking horse that almost certainly wasn't there (short supply, remember). Finally, I found a very nice young man who helped me look this horse up. I kept calling it "Buttercup" instead of "Butterscotch", which harmed the searching process. It also hurt my man status. I mean come on folks, there's a reason men don't do most of the shopping. Here I am, 35 years old, gray hairs, professional beer belly asking another grown man about a goddamned robotic horse I'm calling "Buttercup". It's emasculating. Although the repetition of the word "Buttercup" reminded me of a happy time from my youth.
Eventually the search corrected itself. Turns out that not only were there no Butterscotches in this Toys R Us store, there was none in any Toys R Us store in Dallas. The computer system showed that there were four in Tyler.
Tyler.
From the stats I receive on this blog, I know that many of the people who read this aren't "from around here".
It's not close.
So I'm left with a Sophie's Choice of sorts. Either drive for over three hours to Tyler and back for something I'm not guaranteed will even be there, or don't get my baby girl her Butterscotch for Christmas.
You see where this is going, no?
So there I was, heading east down I-20. I tried calling the Tyler Toys R Us to confirm they had Butterscotch, but the phone network in Tyler is apparently run by squirrels, tobacco juice, homophobia, twine and tin cans. I couldn't get through to a live person to explain my plight. Nevermind the conversation that would entail. "Yeah, I need to know about a horse. Named Butterscotch." How on God's green Earth do you have that conversation with another human being and not explode from the shame? Why couldn't the horse be named "Bullet" or "Flying Death" or something awesome?
On the way I called the wife. She expressed reservation. But I was undaunted. "This is what Christmas legends are made of!" I exclaimed in my proudest Clark Griswold moment. The computer said they had FOUR of them!
I rolled into the Tyler Toys R Us as the sun was setting. I went inside and began scouring the place for Butterscotch. No luck. Eventually I asked another grown man where I could find Butterscotch. This was becoming too routine. He directed me to the rocking horse area. I wanted to kill him. I don't need a fucking rocking horse, I need Butterscotch! At this point what I really needed was 18 year old Scotch.
I detached from this salesperson and got hooked up with a younger guy. Maybe 19 or 20 years old, with one of those ear piercings that is more like a hole in your ear to hang other jewelry. Yes, I know how old this makes me sound. I think his name was Donald. I only mention that because if the manager of the Tyler Texas Toys R Us happens to read this story and he recognizes this young man with the short black hair and the hole-in-his-ear for an earring with a name sounding sorta like Donald, you should keep him around. He's a good guy.
I explained my plight to "Donald" and he was dumbfounded. I think he was either impressed that I drove from Dallas to Tyler for a horse, or he thought I had lost my shit. In any event, he helped me look for Butterscotch. Then he showed me how to search the upstock above the inventory. I looked in the upstock on one half of the store, he looked on the other half of the store. I'd see him from time to time gazing up at the boxes. It made it look like he was daydreaming, but I knew he was searching for my baby girl's butterscotch. It really meant a lot to me, especially considering how busy the store was. I also think he was scared to come back to me and tell me they didn't have it, seeing how I told him I couldn't go back to Dallas without it.
This search lasted about half a hour. It turned up nothing. Donald agreed to go into the warehouse and look. According to him, the warehouse is nothing more than a random collection of shipping boxes. There's no organization to it at all. He stayed back there for another 20 minutes or so. I was losing my hope. Eventually, he emerged and broke the bad news. There was no Butterscotch. He walked me through the Babies R Us side to look to see if it might have been misplaced in the upstock there, but it wasn't to be. He could not have been more helpful.
But in the end, I lost. It was not to be. We were not going to have Butterscotch for Christmas.
I filled the truck up with gas and headed back to Dallas. I got home after the kids were asleep. I explained to the wife the events of the evening and settled in to feel the shame of bad parenting. The wife suggested that I look on Craigslist for Butterscotch. I already looked on eBay, saw a few (but the shipping was crazy and not guaranteed for xmas), but I neglected to check Craigslist. I was not hopeful.
Well miracle of Christmas miracles, it turns out that a nice lady in East Dallas was selling Butterscotch. I immediately e-mailed her and made arrangements to pick it up. Her price wasn't cheap, but it was reasonable and at this point I would have sold a kidney to get this stupid fucking horse.
I e-mailed her and explained my ridiculous situation. She said that she had two other potential buyers and to let her know if I changed my mind. I replied as calmly as possible that I just got back from driving to fucking Tyler for this horse and that I wasn't going to change my mind.
I met with her this afternoon. Lovely lady. She sold it because she didn't feel it was "fair" for her to have it when it was just for her granddaughter, who only occasionaly visits. She felt it belonged in a home where it'd get used every day. You don't meet people like this every day.
Did I mention she lives less than 100 miles from where I do. I should know by now that Craigslist is a savior.
So now I have a horse in the back of my truck. A robotic horse that "eats" plastic carrots. And I have my first truly proud parental "gift moment" for my kids this Christmas.
Look at this girl. Do you really think I was going to leave her without her horse for Christmas?
