In fall of 1990, we moved to a fixer-upper in Indian Springs of the Monterey-Salinas area. Our list of projects was daunting–70s flocked wallpaper to remove, insulation to install, fences to mend, burnt-orange shag rug to pull, hardwood floors to lay down, and children to attend–of course–not in that particular order. We were still unpacking boxes when it came time to trim the Christmas tree and hang lights. Our children, ages five and two, were firm believers of Santa, so we tried our best to keep the magic going.
Sometime after Thanksgiving (not like now in September) and back when Sears and Target catalogs arrived in mailboxes everywhere, our littles were entertained for at least ten minutes, by pouring over the magazines and circling and numbering their wishes for Santa. Top of Meghan’s list was any play structure–any or all. The higher the ladder, the longer the swings, the more dare-devily the construction, the wackier the slides, the longer the monkey-bars, so much the better. That was all she wanted. She made this clear every visit to Santa and every day for days marching right up to Christmas. There was nothing else on her list.
The week before Christmas, Dale and I collapsed after completing semester grades for our high school classes. With no time to waste, we tackled family matters–top of the list was making Meghan’s play structure. However, a minor glitch happened when a northwest storm blew in dropping temperatures to well below freezing, as low as 23 degrees, and we now dealt with something more pressing, which was keeping pipes from bursting. Dale climbed into the crawl space and spent the first half of vacation insulating the ground-floor, as well as exterior pipes, to mitigate any potential problems. After all, we lived in California, not Maine or Alaska, and construction was just not the same. Our home was not built for temperatures like that.
Around December 23, Dale and I realized that Santa would be unable to fulfill Meghan’s only wish. So, I went to Costco. I braved long lines and dodged carts and fought other customers for what I figured would be the best alternative to a play structure. I bought a gorgeous Barbie, decked in a sparkly red ball gown, complete with high heels (what else) and bows of gold and silver in her glorious, wavy blonde hair. Breathtaking, really. Miss America almost. I wrapped Barbie in Christmas wrap, the special wrap designated from Santa, and wrote, under his guidance, that the play structure would come soon and Barbie could be Meghan’s playmate until then.
Christmas morning arrived with the expected high level of excitement. Our girls woke at some ungodly hour before dawn, and obeyed the established rule of opening their stockings before breakfast, saving the biggest and best presents for last. Everything in its own time. Stockings, next waffles, followed by, most importantly, parents’ coffee. Santa’s gifts arrived with anticipation!
Meghan, who could read few words, listened quietly as I read Santa’s note:
Dear Meghan,
You will get your swing set and ladder soon, I promise. I could not fit it all in my sled on this trip. In the meantime, Barbie needs a playmate.
Merry Christmas.
Love,
Santa.
Nothing is more devastating to a parent than to watch your child’s dreams dashed. Meghan didn’t say much. Her tears spoke volumes.
Actually, I do remember she said, “Why would Santa give me this?” in between sniffles.
Allie, on the other hand, took one look at Barbie and it was a match made in heaven.
“She’s so pretty” is what she gasped.
Meghan passed off Barbie and Allie could not believe the best dream she never dreamed was complete. That same afternoon, Dale and Meghan visited 84 Lumber, which happened to be open on Christmas Day. They brought home cement, wood, frames, and of course, a slide. The play structure was completed within a week.
Now, thirty-some years later, Dale’s carpentry skills are still at work. This week, Dale and Meghan set the posts, the beginnings of a play structure for our grandkids–Emmy and Theo. Emmy learned how to use the drill. Theo toddled around holding a screwdriver, sticking it into new drilled holes. Neither grandchild understands what the construction is going to be, but perhaps in this pandemic year, it will be something wonderful indeed.
Love is Complicated 