Santa’s Blunder

December 2017

Earlier this month, my daughter and I managed to squeeze in a mother-daughter chat—something that can be quite tricky given her busy schedule of raising seven children. Despite the chaos of daily life, we have always tried to connect at least once a week, with extra calls sprinkled in between, along with messages and photos exchanged over Facebook to help bridge the miles. Though she moved back to Colorado, about 200 miles still separate us, making these conversations all the more precious.

During our call, Leslie shared a story about my grandson Jaxon’s visit with Santa. The three-year-old had approached the jolly old elf with wide-eyed anticipation, only for his excitement to dissolve into disappointment.

“What’s wrong, buddy?” Leslie had asked him after they left Santa’s workshop.

Jaxon’s little shoulders slumped, and he sighed dramatically. “Santa said he’s bringing me candy for Christmas.”

Leslie furrowed her brow. “But you love candy!”

Jaxon shook his head. “If I want candy, you can get it for me. I really just wanted a Santa Spiderman hat.”

That was the real tragedy. His old Santa hat—his beloved favorite—had lost the furry pom-pom, and he had his heart set on a replacement. And in his three-year-old mind, Santa had completely missed the mark.

As I listened to to the tale of my grandson’s disappointment, I couldn’t help but chuckle, remembering a similar moment from Leslie’s own childhood—a moment that my mother never let Santa live down.

1984 – The Year Santa Came Up Short

It was the height of the Cabbage Patch craze. Stores were swarmed, parents were frantic, and securing one of those beloved dolls was akin to winning the lottery. And, of course, my three-year-old had her heart set on one.

That December, I took Leslie to visit Santa at a local store in Cañon City, Colorado. She was the picture of Christmas sweetness in a red velvet dress with delicate white lace trim, white tights, and shiny black Mary Janes. Her blonde curls framed her face, and I could barely contain my excitement as I watched her approach Santa’s chair.

When it was finally her turn, Leslie marched right up to Santa with all the confidence in the world. The jolly old man hoisted her onto his lap, his twinkling eyes meeting hers as he asked, “And what would you like for Christmas, little one?”

Without hesitation, Leslie flashed a dazzling smile and declared, “I want a Cabbage Patch Doll!”

And that’s where things went downhill.

Santa’s voice faltered. He cleared his throat and stammered, “Well… um… the elves at the North Pole have been really busy this year, and… uh… we’re not sure if there will be enough dolls for every little girl and boy.”

Leslie’s smile vanished.

Her little body stiffened.

Then, with a dramatic sigh that only a three-year-old could muster, she slid off Santa’s lap, placed her hands on her hips, and announced, “Well, never mind. I already told my Grammie what I wanted for Christmas.”

And with that, she spun on her heel and stomped away, leaving Santa speechless and the entire line of waiting parents chuckling in her wake.

Santa leaned toward me and whispered, “I sure hope her grandma has one.”

I could only nod, though deep down, I was skeptical. Cabbage Patch Dolls were impossible to find, and the thought of my mother managing to snag one seemed like a long shot.

But as fate would have it, that afternoon, Leslie and I made a stop at Grammie’s house.

With all the enthusiasm of a pint-sized storyteller, Leslie recounted her visit with Santa, complete with her disappointment over his lack of doll-related certainty. My mother listened intently, her eyes twinkling with amusement as Leslie huffed about Santa’s shortcomings.

As soon as Leslie ran off to play with her uncles, my mom motioned for me to follow her into her bedroom. Closing the door behind us, she walked over to her closet, pulled out a large shopping bag, and—with the biggest grin—revealed a Cabbage Patch Doll with blonde hair, identical to the one Leslie had dreamed of.

Grammie had done it. She had beaten Santa. And, oh, was she pleased with herself.

Come Christmas, Leslie unwrapped that doll with sheer delight, oblivious to the months-long hunt that had taken place behind the scenes. The following year, when I asked if she wanted to visit Santa again, she politely shook her head.

“No thanks,” she said matter-of-factly. “I already told my Grammie what I wanted.”

And just like that, my mother cemented her status as the reigning Christmas champion.

From that year forward, she never let anyone—including Santa—forget that she had outdone the man in red himself.

And as for Sarah…

The legendary Cabbage Patch Doll, named Sarah, has survived decades of moves, childhood adventures, and years of being loved. Today, she resides “somewhere” in Leslie’s home, a relic of the Christmas when Santa fell short, but Grammie saved the day.