The Christmas Pony

There was one thing that was always on the top of my Christmas list for several years that I never got: a pony.

Granny put her foot down adamantly about that pony.

“Where you think we’re gonna put a pony? What are you going to do with a pony? Do you have any idea how much it costs to feed and take care of a horse?” she asked.

“Not a horse. Pony,” I reminded her.

“You know a pony is the puppy version of a horse, don’t you?”

“I don’t want a full-grown horse, I want to get it as a pony.”

I never got the pony, of course. And that is fine.

The pony was the ultimate bargaining chip, my bluff.

I could be quite convincing to everyone that I wanted a pony.

I overheard Granny and Pop discussing it, with my grandfather saying he had already put out feelers to find me one.

“She’ll want it inside, Bob. I ain’t gonna have a pony in this house. And you know she will. That crazy child will be a-saying she’s gotta cuddle it and sleep with it.”

My uncle was the one who should have been worried; it would have been him who had to feed it.

I would ask daily about the pony.

The kicker was me writing P-O-N-Y in great big letters across the top of my Christmas list every year.

“Why don’t you put some other things on there you’d like, too?” Mama suggested.

“All I want is a pony.  If I can’t have a pony, I don’t want anything.”

“Well, humor Santa and put some other stuff on there in case he can’t carry a pony on his sleigh.”

So, I did.

I put all the things I really wanted.

The Lite-Brite, all the Little House on the Prairie books, Jordache jeans, an Atari, and all the other gifts I wanted, way more than a pony.

I knew there was no way I would get a pony and while I love horses, they terrify me.

Mama was so grateful to see I had something more reasonable on my Christmas list that she got me everything.

Granny, however, caught on after a few years.

“Don’t you even start with this pony mess this year, littl’ un,” she said. “I know your game.”

“What game, Granny? Monopoly?”

She gave me a hard glare through her glasses. “Not Monopoly. Sudie’s pony game. You start around November wanting a pony and carry on and carry on. You know good and well we ain’t getting you a pony, but you also know we’ll feel bad enough about it to get you everything else.”

How did she figure this out? What kind of grandmotherly voodoo powers did she have?

I denied this fact and effectively launched the pony request once again, until the following year, Granny had me declare at the dinner table I had given up on the pony. Or else.

“You try this again and there won’t be nothing on your list under the tree. It will be footy pajamas and underwear.”

The thought of footy pajamas and underwear was enough to make me stop asking for the pony. No kid wants to go back to school after the break and tell their friends they got that for Christmas.

Given my shopping procrastination, I start asking Cole for his list around the beginning of November.

This year, the only thing he mentioned was a Playstation 4 Slim Golden Version.

“That’s all I want, Mama,” he said.

I thought one video console couldn’t be that bad.

Could it?
“Six hundred dollars!” I exclaimed when I saw the price. For one video game console? Was this console able to communicate with the Space Station?

I thought that was excessive but at the same time, felt bad. It was the only thing he wants.

“Is there anything else you would like?” I asked.
He thoughtfully pondered this for a moment. “Hmmm…no, not really. I think I have everything else I want. That’s it.”

I wasn’t exactly sure how I would pull that off. We try to not focus on the price or the gifts but on the meaning of the season.
Still, I stressed and agonized over this.
I looked around online for cheaper ones.

Nope.

“I can’t wait to play the Playstation 4,” Cole said every day. “Thank you so much for getting it for me.”

I cringed inside.

“Cole, what if they are sold out?”

“Oh, they are priced where they won’t be. Don’t worry about that, Mama.”

I groaned.

A few days later, Cole handed me a list.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Just in case they are sold out, Mama. Or you can’t find one or you think it’s too expensive. You know, there’s a lot of reasons why you may not be able to get one for me.”

Sweet, sweet son of a biscuit eater.

My child had beat me at my own game.

His pony was just in the form of a Playstation 4.

Advertisements

Last-minute Santa

Apparently, there are three different kinds of Christmas shoppers.

There’s a group who have their shopping done somewhere around Memorial Day, if not sooner.

Years ago, I tried this tactic. I ended up buying stuff and putting it in a ‘secret’ place that apparently was so secret I forgot where it was.

There’s the competitive shopper, the ones who live for the crowds and chaos of Black Friday and enjoy being caught up in the frenzy.

And there’s the few like myself.

People, who even though Christmas has been the same day for hundreds of years, are somehow caught off guard by the event and finds themselves frantically shopping on Christmas Eve.

The whole hustle and bustle has somehow made me lose my Christmas spirit the last few years.

You’d think having a child would make me more excited about this holiday, but it hasn’t.

When my son was younger, I tried. I did.

Beginning the week after Thanksgiving, I would start getting a few of the gifts Cole had on his list.

This was when he was much smaller and his list would consist of him handing me the Toys ‘R Us catalog and saying he wanted everything except Barbies or Monster High stuff.

Trying to hide his gifts became an increasing challenge each year.

He had quickly figured out I used my office as a primary hiding place and would snoop through everything, looking in and under everything he could.

He found quite a few, too, dragging them from their hiding spots with squeals of glee.

“We’ve got to get a better hiding spot,” Lamar whispered.

So, we started putting them in the trunk of the car and covering them with something.

That worked for a while but was not foolproof by any means.

Homeschooling presented even more of a challenge with hiding the presents.

It’s one thing when you are trying to hide your Amazon purchases from your husband; have you ever tried hiding boxes from a highly inquisitive child when UPS delivers?

“What’s in the box? What did you order? Open it! I’m opening it now!”

There’s been times I have messed up and waited too late to order, too, and the things he wanted got sold out.

And I don’t know if y’all knew this or not but printing off a picture of the item and putting it in a box with a handwritten note from Santa, stating the elves got behind but as soon as it was back in stock, one would be on its way does not cut it with any child, regardless of age.

After that happening two years in a row, I learned my lesson.

Kind of.

“Mama, have you ordered my gifts yet?”

“Not yet.”

Silence as he gives a level stare. “Don’t you think you should maybe look into it? Remember Christmas 2011? And 2012?”

I remember, I tell him.

And then there was the Christmas of 2014. That was the morning I woke in the ungodly early hours to venture to the store, with a list of items I was hoping they would still have in stock.

Of course, most of the items were gone but somehow, I managed to get a few of the main things on the list.
“Why do I do this to myself every year?” I thought to myself as I was shoved through the crowd towards the line.

“It’s a magical time of the year, isn’t it?” a voice said behind me.

I wanted to bah humbug. Looking at the crowd, it didn’t feel magical. It felt like we were all a bunch of ill-prepared people rushing around when should be home having coffee in our flannel pj’s.

“You must have a son,” the voice commented behind me. “He likes Legos and building things, eh? Very good with his hands. I bet he’s smart, too. I bet he’s been a good boy this year, hasn’t he?”

“He has,” I agreed.

“He’s a good boy every year. He will be excited about that Lego set.”

I turned around to see who this presumptuous man was.

Not much taller than myself, maybe around 5’4, and wearing a soft, red sweater, with a little red beret set jauntily on his head, the man looked like an old-fashioned Santa Claus from a Normal Rockwell painting. His smile reached his eyes as he looked amused at my expression of shock and bewilderment.

“Has anyone ever told you that you look like Santa?” I asked.

He winked. “I get it all the time.”
“That’s got to be a hoot coming in here on Christmas Day. I bet you are freaking some of the kids out,” I nodded towards some kids a few registers over, oblivious to the man who looked like the jolly old elf.

The man chuckled. “Those kids don’t even notice me. They are past the age of Santa. Besides,” he smiled, “they know sometimes I get behind and have to do some last-minute shopping myself.”

What? Did he?….Was he for real?

“Take my card if you ever need help making someone believe again,” he said as he pressed his business card into my hand. “Your son. Or yourself, perhaps.”

“Merry Christmas,” he called after me as I grabbed my bags and headed towards the doors.

An hour later, Cole woke to presents scattered around the tree.
“Santa?”

“Santa,” I said.
He eyed the packages. “This looks like your wrapping though,” he said.

“Yeah, well, I had to meet him at the store to get them. How else do you think I got this Lego set? It was sold out everywhere else.”

Cole nodded. “Santa was at the store?”

“Yes. See?” I pulled his card out from my pocket.

“Whoa,” Cole said. “So cool! You met Santa!”

Off he ran to play with his toys. I picked up the card and turned it over.

Just one word was on the shiny card: Believe.

And for that moment suspended in time, I did.