Chapter 19

“Okay, look, those two are the only grandchildren on this side. You have seven other kids to worry about. Also, they’re five and three. I promise you, you don’t have to go all out here.”

This was the admonishment that Uncle John received while looking at the biggest dollhouse on the shelf for Ashlyn, after having just looked at the largest box of LEGOs to be found on the shelf for Eric.

I admitted, grudgingly, to myself that she was right. I did have my sisters’ kids to buy for as well.

And so it was decided: a medium-sized box of LEGOs for Eric and a Disney princess dress for Ashlyn ... to go with a couple of DVDs each child would be getting. As well, Uncle John would begin injecting some of his own influence into their lives. Each child was also getting a CD of children’s music by Tom Chapin. My mother was a huge fan of his older brother, the late singer-songwriter Harry Chapin, and his music was always playing in my house when I was growing up. Tom has been writing and producing children’s music since the early 1970s ... but he is also well-known among Harry’s fans for his non-kid friendly assessment of his brother’s skills as a lyricist with respect to the song “30,000 Pounds of Bananas.”

It was the second Saturday of December, and for a change, neither of us had brought work home for the weekend. Rather, our free time was being spent at the mall doing some of our Christmas shopping, with plans to put up a tree later that evening. I had a Charlie Brown-sized tree that decorated my room when I spent my fifth Christmas in the hospital. My mother let me abscond with it for my college dorm room, and somehow, I never remembered to return it to her.

Lisa’s tree was a little larger – five feet – so we agreed that we would just put up her tree and commingle our ornaments.

The one promise I had to make to Lisa was that there would be no ring-size boxes under her tree. While we were both pretty sure that things were heading in that direction, she made a strong case early on for waiting until we had been together at least a year before making that decision, and I agreed. Other than that, I was permitted to buy her “whatever.” The only problem with being given that level of latitude was that I had absolutely no idea what to get her.

Our purchases for the kids completed, we decided to head to the food court to grab a quick bite to eat. The food court was located one floor up from where Santa was greeting children, and I called the nearby elevator.

The elevator door opened, and we let a little girl and her mom step off before we stepped on. As she saw me, the little girl’s eyes widened, and as the elevator doors closed, I heard her say, “Mommy! That was an elf!”

I stole a quick glance at Lisa, who looked uncomfortable. “That was ... awkward,” she muttered.

I shrugged. “It happens every December. I don’t mind it with the little kids. I’m happy to keep the magic alive for them while they still believe.”

After a quick snack at the food court, we agreed to split up for an hour or so to do our shopping for each other.

Inspiration first struck as I wandered past a sporting-goods store, where I bought her the activity tracker I remembered her mentioning that she wanted. The next stop was a Christmas-themed store, where I bought an “Our First Christmas” ornament. The clerk was even able to engrave our names and the year on it.

From there, I stopped at the kiosk that appears every December in just about every mall in America selling every kind of calendar imaginable for the coming year. I bought her a large appointment calendar for her desk at work, along with a smaller “Bible-verse-a-day” calendar.

Just for fun, I stopped to peruse the ring display at a jewelry store. I didn’t see anything that really caught my fancy, but did see a small pendant on a chain. The pendant was in the shape of a heart and held a small diamond.

I asked the saleslady to take it out for me, and I looked at it with a critical eye. The chain seemed to be long enough, and the pendant was simple and tasteful.

I decided that it wasn’t breaking the spirit of the “no ring-size boxes” rule ... and it was otherwise perfect.

I hastened to the car to put my purchases in the trunk before meeting Lisa meet back at the food court ... only to find Lisa there doing the same thing. After a brief double-take, she demurely closed her eyes while I put my bags in the trunk, and we headed home.

The elevator stopped at the seventh floor first. “I’ll put this away and be right back down,” I told her.