Some Assembly Required

alternate title: Two O'Clock AM on Christmas Morning

My first great idea was to get the substitute Little Mermaid Kitchen. My second great idea was to have it all assembled for her by Christmas morning. That idea was brilliant.

When it was sometime in the afternoon on December 24, that is.

By the time it was 2:10 AM on December 25, it was just plain moronic.

When I got Binta to bed at around 9:30, after firing off all of the "Santa will pass you by if you're not asleep" threats, I had only to wait until about 9:45 to hear her deep, regular breathing drifting out into the hallway. My cue to get crackin' on the kitchen.

The box, deceptively large, contained approximately 1,000,000 pieces inside it. That is, of course, an angry exaggeration. What it contained were ten "sheets" of plastic pieces, all connected with the plastic "webbing" that must be twisted to detach the 7 - 10 plastic parts per sheet. There were about 10 larger pieces that I added to my stack of materials. That gave me just over 100 pieces of plastic, all labeled with clever names, such as piece AA or PR.

By 10:40, I was ready to start constructing the play kitchen. I scanned the family room, now entirely covered in plastic parts. I had the first realization that my brilliant idea was going to be costly. Well, this was actually my second realization. To be honest, I knew I was in trouble the minute I opened the box.

The directions, of course, were challenging to work with. In an attempt to reach all parents, both English-speaking and non-English speaking, the toy company had printed the directions with minimal words, using drawings and sketches only. In effect, getting through to none of the parents at all. I kept reminding myself: "I have a masters degree. I can do this."

I kept working at a serious pace, ignoring the raw, tender spots on my palms from using the screw driver too many times. I took a break only to consume Santa's cookies and milk. I kept focused on my objective, jumping at every little sound that could be Binta, rising from her sleep and catching me red-handed. But she didn't.

As the project neared completition, I was directed to place two AA batteries into the range. Immediately after doing so, I bumped the button, triggering loud sizzling and boiling noises to erupt. Attempts to silence the toy by re-pressing the button were not satisfied. The noise continued and cycled through again, for each desperate, panicked push. Even swearing at it didn't help. In the still, quiet evening, the noises ricocheted off the walls of the family room like the roar of a jet airliner. I glanced down the hallway, certain that I would see Binta walking towards me. I would have preferred having her walk in on me having sex than being caught with the disassembled kitchen sprawled out in front of me, wearing a milk moustache and having cookies on my breath.

She didn't wake. I continued on, finally finishing at around 1:30. The problem now facing me was to complete the wrapping, which I accomplished in record time.

At 2:05, I began the clean up process - disposing of all the plastic "twigs" from the webbing, unused scraps of wrapping paper, and the store bags and receipts. I stepped out into the backyard to dump the large cardboard box, and when I turned around, I saw Binta rounding the corner.

She was completely groggy, and hadn't seen a thing, although I had already prepared my lie: "Santa already stopped by, and he was just so busy with all of the other toys he had to deliver, that he asked me to finish putting your kitchen together for him." I carried her to the bed, and she instantly fell asleep again.

I collapsed in my bed, trying calm my racing heartbeat from too many shots of adrenaline in the past 4 hours. I discouragingly counted on my fingers the five more Christmases I'd be put through this tribulation.


Just a few hours later, she was opening her present. She was thrilled with the kitchen. She tried out all the sound effects (which strangely sounded so much softer during the day), opened all of the cupboards, and prepared "snacks" for us to eat between opening other presents. She reflected on what a great job Santa's elves had done, building her kitchen.

I thought back to those five Christmases I was dreading last night, and already regretted that there wouldn't be a hundred more to enjoy.