“I offered both sisters the chance to join us—that’s where the error in my judgment was,” I explain, kicking bags out of the way like I’m clearing a crime scene. “Macy’s initial response was hilarious. ‘Christmas shopping? I’ve had my gifts wrapped since October, thank you very much.’ Because apparently, being prepared is now a competitive sport.”
Emmie bubbles with a laugh. “Let me guess,” Emmie says, wrestling our babies into their playpen like she’s defusing adorable little bombs, and Sherlock rouses from his sleepy state to sniff them both. “The nanosecond Buffy mentioned needing gifts...”
“Macy’s tune changed faster than a diva realizing there’s mistletoe and she forgot her lipstick. Suddenly, she had her purse and coat like she’d been planning to join us since the dawn of commerce itself.”
Emmie snorts. “And that’s when the bloodbath began. Don’t hate me, but I thought it was sort of beautiful.”
“Oh, it was beautiful in the most terrifying way possible. Every time Buffy picked up something nice, Macy swooped in like a retail vulture. “Oh, that’s lovely, but have you seen thiscashmere version that looks like it was woven by elves on a couture payroll?’ And when Buffy admired a reasonably priced gift set, Macy would materialize with something twice as expensive and announce, ‘I shop here regularly—let me show you where they keep the really good stuff.’ Poor Buffy thought it was sisterly bonding time. I didn’t have the heart to tell her she’d walked into a financial war zone.”
Hoomans have the strangest bonding rituals.Sherlock gives a soft woof, still pressing his nose to the netting of the playpen.Especially when Aunt Macy’s involved—it’s like watching a holiday-themed nature documentary starring one very stylish peacock.
“She actually tried to outspend Buffy at the checkout as if there was a medal for Most Money Blown on Christmas Stuff,” I continue, spreading our purchases across the floor like evidence of our own financial crimes. “The cashier looked terrified. I think she thought she was witnessing a mental breakdown. And she might have been.”
“Speaking of financial crimes.” Emmie eyes our shopping explosion with the horror of a mother calculating college tuition costs. “You don’t think we’re going overboard with all this stuff, do you?”
“No way. Besides, educational toys are investments in her intellectual future?—”
We’re just getting the babies settled in their playpen—where Ella and Elliot seem perfectly content to drool on toys that cost less than the educational marvels we purchased today—when Jasper and Leo arrive like the cavalry, armed with enough Chinese takeout to feed a small army.
“Perfect timing,” I say as Jasper kicks the door closed behind him, his arms full of bags that smell like heaven. “We were just about to collapse from post-shopping exhaustion.”
As if my cottage knows it’s showtime, the fireplace roars to life the moment Jasper crosses the threshold, filling the room with the kind of warm, crackling ambiance that makeseverything feel like a Christmas card come to life. Cinnamon and Gatsby bound in behind the men, clearly delighted to be part of the evening’s festivities.
Finally, someone with actual priorities,Sherlock barks with glee, his tail wagging a million miles a minute because he knows he’s about to have a bite from everything.
Finally, someone with decent takeout timing,Fish mewls approvingly as well.I was beginning to think we’d have to survive on whatever those babies dropped from their bottles.
Okay, it’s true. She gets a bite out of just about everything, too.
“General Tso’s chicken, beef and broccoli, shrimp lo mein, vegetable spring rolls, pork fried rice, sweet and sour pork, and crab rangoon,” Leo announces like he’s unveiling the menu at a royal Christmas feast. And honestly, this is close enough. “Because apparently, we’re feeding two women who’ve survived retail warfare.”
“Or two women who’ve been shopping for supplies to turn their babies into miniature Einsteins,” Emmie dives into lo mein because she has definitely earned every bite of carbohydrates through combat shopping.
Jasper surveys our gift explosion with an expression that says he’s trying to calculate whether our mortgage can handle this level of educational enthusiasm. “Please tell me most of this intellectual boot camp isn’t for Ella.”
“Educational toys are investments in her cognitive development,” I defend, though even I have to admit our pile of baby genius supplies could stock a small university.
“Looks like Leo and I are on the naughty list this year,” Jasper says with a grin, opening a container of sweet and sour pork that makes my stomach growl with anticipation.
“You might get a gift or two,” I say, shooting him a sly smile. “That is, if you’re nice.”
Mmm. Chicken. I accept this offering.Place it gently on the floor, and no one gets hurt,Sherlock muses.It’s been a very long day cooped up with Fish.
Fish hisses his way, and both babies stop gurgling with glee long enough to look at her.
“Be nice,” I say as I pull a few of the goodies I just purchased closer to me.
“You boys need to check this out,” Emmie says. “We got advanced puzzles that would challenge a NASA scientist, alphabet blocks carved from sustainable bamboo, counting games designed by child psychologists, flashcards that probably cost more than my first car, classical music scientifically proven to enhance infant brain development, and learning apps that require a PhD to operate,” she lists with the enthusiasm as if she’s discovered the secret formula for creating the next Nobel Prize winner. “Plus, shape sorters that could probably solve world hunger and a baby piano that plays in seventeen different musical keys.”
Leo pauses mid-bite of spring roll. “They’re babies. They literally have so much time before they have to bother with school.”
Both Emmie and I turn to stare at him with the kind of horrified expressions usually reserved for people who’ve just suggested that Christmas should be canceled.
“It’ll be too late by then!” Emmie cries out as if she’s defending the fundamental laws of the universe. “Everyone knows the foundation years are crucial! Early childhood development starts the second they exit the womb! We’re probably already behind schedule!” She nods my way. “Way behind.”
“You should have seen what baby Matilda was doing today.” I settle cross-legged with my General Tso’s like I’m about to deliver a lecture on infant superiority. “Critiquing Victorian architecture and offering photography composition advice. Meanwhile, our babies are still discovering they have hands and occasionally remembering to breathe.”
Your babies are perfectly normal and happy,Cinnamon points out sensibly.Maybe the problem isn’t their development, but your completely unrealistic expectations and mild hysteria.
