Beyond Excited...by Sheila Claydon

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Anyone who reads my books will know that children feature in a great many of them. Not as main characters but as a strong supporting cast, adding depth and normality to a sometimes taut situation. Mostly they add humour too. In Double Fault, however, the two year old twins are the story. Without them their parents wouldn't be struggling to come to terms with the past or to walk the tightrope that is their future. 

My 3 granddaughters, now aged between 8 and 21, have always provided inspiration as I have watched their antics, listened to them and played with them. And this brings me to the fact that I am beyond excited! 

My two eldest granddaughters live close by so the lockdowns of Covid19 didn't affect us too much, especially as one of them has a horse that has to be tended every day. This meant we could meet up outdoors and chat as we filled hay nets, mixed feed or hacked a short distance into the country to keep the horse's muscles supple. My youngest granddaughter lives in Hong Kong, however, so Covid has been a real problem, especially as previously we spent so much time with her both in the UK, Hong Kong and in Australia (where she was born) The only positive was that Covid quarantine, which was dreadful and prolonged in Hong Kong, meant her parents gave her a very early induction into managing Skype by herself, so we have been able to maintain a bi-weekly Internet relationship for nearly 3 years, reading stories online, drawing, playing games. Now, however, she is coming to the UK and the thought of actually seeing her and hugging her is wonderful.

She and her Dad will be with us for 3 months, including Christmas. Her whole UK family can hardly wait and nor can she. On Skype she beams from ear to ear as she counts down the days. Her Mum won't be joining us because of a job change and yet another country change, to Singapore this time, whereas our son works online so can transfer to the UK without too much of a problem! She is, however, a fab daughter-in-law, who thinks Astrid will benefit far more from being with her extended family than being caught up in the chaos of the move, and we agree. What a change it will make to our daily routine though.

No more leisurely starts to the day over coffee and the daily news because she has a full online school schedule from 9 a.m. No more increasingly flexible mealtimes as she apparently has the appetite of a horse! No more quiet evenings because her bedtime is later than it used to be. No more shared crosswords or reading a book as we eat our lunch because table manners must be honoured! 

There's the house too. My older granddaughters saved their toys for their small cousin's visits, so now my daughter's loft is empty and my spare bedroom is full. Lego of every shape and size, Cindy dolls, Barbie dolls, baby dolls, a walking/talking doll plus piles of clothes for all of them, boxes of games, jigsaws, a doll house, Smurfs, the list goes on and on, and I have to find storage room for all of it. Then there are the two shelves of children's books, the baskets of drawing paper, pens, paints, pencils, craft materials, glue, scissors. The hope is, of course, that with so much to do she will be very happily busy for most of the day. And when she isn't, well there is the horse to visit, tennis, baking, music, a walk to the beach, looking for squirrels in the pine woods....

And of course we need to introduce her to some local children too. There are twin girls who live nearby, and friends' grandchildren, and the junior section of the local tennis club. It will all be fine I tell myself as I wonder if my energy levels will hold up. They probably will and her Dad will take up the slack when he's not working...and when she leaves I might even have an idea for another book...one with a child in it!

In my Mapleby Memories trilogy Remembering Rose (Book 1) was inspired by a 6 month stint in Australia looking after Astrid. Loving Ellen (Book 2) is a follow on. 

Christmas Toy Shopping Disastrophy by Stuart R. West

Hola and happy holidays, everyone. 

Tensions are high, people on edge, fights and riots breaking out everywhere. Oh, and then there’s the political situation. But I was talking about Christmas shopping.

Talk about madness. Say what you will about Amazon (like politics, everyone has a highly volatile opinion of them), I’m thankful for Amazon at Christmas time. My wife and I pretty much get most of our shopping done without ever leaving the sofa.

But things weren’t always like that.

I’m thinking the infamous year of the “Water Baby.” 

I made the parental mistake of asking my then eight year old daughter what she’d like for Christmas. 

“A Water Baby.”

“A what?”

“A Water Baby. Melissa and Brianne have one.”

“Oh. Well, if Melissa and Brianne have one, they’ve gotta’ be something special.”

I had no idea what a “Water Baby” was, yet pretended to. Because dads know everything, right? After researching, I discovered Water Babies were special dolls you fill with water to give them that “realistic” feeling. Well… First, gross. Second, why are eight year old girls wanting to feel a real baby?  Stupid Melissa and Brianne.

But the hunt was on! 

Instead of eating during my work lunch-breaks, I scoured the stores and malls of the Greater Kansas City metropolitan area. I called stores, pleaded my case for the stupid, highly elusive Water Baby doll. I enlisted my parents into high-stepping action. I offered to buy the doll at twice the price, to any takers, just please don’t let my daughter down this Christmas! Alas, Water Babies were sold out everywhere. 

I came close a few times. My mom found one at a Kmart. Excited, I asked her how much I owed her for the gift. 

My mom said, “Well, I didn’t get it because the doll was black.”

“Gah! Mom! My daughter won’t care! No one cares but you! Please, please, PLEASE go back and get it! Never mind. I’ll do it!”

Off I went! I bolted through my company’s door (“Not feeling good!”), sped and zipped in and out of highway lanes like Steve McQueen on a bender. I slammed open the Kmart doors, raced down the toy aisle. 

And found an empty shelf. 

A forlorn looking mother stood next to me, equally numb. 

“Water Baby?” I asked, shorthand for every parent who’d been fighting the battle.

She nodded, dead to the world.

I dropped to my knees, raised my hands and screamed to the uncaring toy manufacturers, the greedy corporate marketing strategists, and mostly to that insidious duo of little girls, Melissa and Brianne, “Damn you, Melissa and Brianne! Curse you foul demonic Water Babies, you ugly looking, jiggly, creepy hunks of stupid plastic!”

Then a stock-boy strolled out. His name tag identified him as “Chet.” To this day, I identify Chet as the boy who saved Christmas. In all his slacker, acne-ridden glory.

“Hey,” he says, oh so nonchalantly, just teasing us, “you looking for Water Babies?”

“Yeah. Please, dear God, tell me you have some!” I nearly took Chet by his blue lapels and shook him down.

“Nah. Not here. But our store in Gladstone's got a couple.”

“Thanks, Chet! Love you!”

Out through the store I hurtled. A dead tie with the other grieving parent. I considered shoving her into the sock aisle to gain an advantage. (Hey, all’s fair during Christmas toy shopping.) But I didn’t need to. Once I slammed open the doors, I broke into a full-on, manic sprint through the parking lot. Another breathless race through the streets of KC. I screeched to a halt in the Gladstone Kmart parking lot.

The store loomed in front of me, large and foreboding. Conqueror and creator of Christmas happiness: Kmart.

This was it. My last chance to bring Christmas joy to my daughter.

I shoved past people--certain they’d understand--and scuttled down the toy aisle.

Celestial trumpets! Glory hallelujah! 

There in all their grotesquely manufactured glory, sat two of the ugliest lumps of plastic Mankind had ever created. I snatched one doll up (hoped my competitor would get the other), locked it under my arm, thrust a hand out like a running back and slammed my way to the check-out aisle. 

A true Christmas miracle.

Of course the dumb Water Baby’s novelty wore off after a couple of hours. Soon enough, my daughter discarded the grotesque mannequin to the bin of unwanted toys.

Still, it was all worth it to see my daughter light up like a Christmas tree upon opening that gift. (No way did I let Santa grab the glory for that one, either. My heroic efforts as a dad demanded to be rewarded).

That Christmas morning, I finally relaxed. Job well done. After all, I had 364 more days until I had to worry about it again. (Next year was even worse: Furbies.)

I gripe about the Toy Wars. But, to tell you the truth, I kinda’ miss it. My daughter’s long grown up, at the stage where money’s her favorite gift. As are my nieces, nephews, all the children in our family. It’s boring. There’s no challenge or joy in tossing around cash. 

Maybe I’ll go back to giving everyone toys no matter their age. 

Happy holidays, merry Christmas, happy Hanukkah, cool Kwanza, super Solstice, beautiful Boxing Day, and to those parents still in the trenches and fighting the good fight: good luck.

Click the cover for a preview.