My very dear brother:
I was so glad when you gave us a list of Christmas gifts we could get your children. They were terrific categories, and we wrote down everything you suggested. Things like “Dinosaurs” and “Hannah Montana.”
And lo, I have shopped, and lo, gifts have been purchased.
But for your littlest one, she of the clever eyes and quick hands, she of the silent footsteps who absolutely made me laugh until I cried when I found she’d made soup out of the cat food and the cat’s water dish, for her you only said, “She loves things that are loud and destructive.”
Ruefully, you added, “Get her a jackhammer.”
And again, my Patient Husband and I laughed.
Yesterday, when I was shopping, I found this:
There in Target I stood, toy in hand, pressing the button to make the jackhammer do its thing (jacking?) and I put it in the cart. Then I took it out again. I looked at my previous choice for your littlest one. I pressed the button again. I put it back in the cart. I took it out again.
Eventually I decided it would really be more a gift for you than for your littlest one. So I’m sorry, dear brother, but I didn’t get your littlest one the gift you had specified for her.
Instead, I got her something even louder.
Please give my love to your beautiful wife. She deserved a far better sister-in-law than she got.
PS: I also resisted the urge to buy her the toy chain saw.