December 1989 – 2 years old

Olivia crouched in front of the tree, her bright blue eyes wide in wonder, her mouth forming a little 'o.' She turned her tousled head to look at her parents, who, garbed in their robes, were seated behind her on the floor, smiles lighting their face.

"Santa must have thought someone was a very, very good girl this year," Laura noted, casting a sidelong glance at her husband, as Olivia duckwalked to the other side of the tree, to examine the festively wrapped packages there.

"I promise you, Laura, I kept our agreement," he vowed in protest. "This… depravity…" he waved a hand at the dozens of presents beneath the tree for their daughter, "Is by the hand of our family and friends, not my own."

It was the truth. He'd purchased only a few, carefully selected presents for their daughter in keeping with Laura's stance the baby would not be spoiled. Instead, presents for Olivia had arrived from Murphy and Sherri, Marcos and Elena, Zeth and Calista, Christos and Helena, Melina, Brandon, Zach, and Abigail – who was staying East this Christmas. And there would be more, undoubtedly, arriving that evening when they hosted a Christmas dinner for his father and Catherine, the Pipers, Hawkes, Mildred, Veronica and Maxie.

"Relax, Mr. Steele, you're not on the hook for this one," she assured, patting his leg. "Unless, of course, there's something beneath that tree completely unsuitable for a two-year-old." He swallowed hard, and knew a bit of panic as a tiny platinum bracelet with a bear charm lying in wait for their daughter came to mind. He could only pray she'd mistake the platinum for sterling silver, the bear's blue eyes for pieces of glass, rather than the sapphires they were. Perhaps, if they got the present unwrapping underway, she'd be too distracted by the rest of the treasure trove to notice. He moved to sit next to the tree, withdrawing one of the presents earmarked as from Santa.

"Come here, mo stór," he encouraged. Olivia stopped poking with curiosity at the packages and happily complied, plopping gracelessly down into her father's lap then looking up at him with adoring eyes. His heart flip-flopped in his chest, in a way only his child and her mother could make it do. "Let's see what we have here, hmmmmm?" he suggested, tearing open a corner, to give her a place to begin.

With all the concentration a two-year-old can muster, she carefully peeled back the wrapping paper, much in the manner her mother might do.

"I may have wished for a daughter just like her mother," he began, ruefully, in what would become an ongoing mantra over the years, "But I wish I had thought to qualify 'except in the manner with which she opens a present'." She laughed merrily behind him, drawing his pleased smile to fall upon her.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," Livvie breathed in awe. "A dolly. Look, Da! A dolly!" Not awaiting an answer from him, she stood up and ran to her mother. "A dolly, Mommy, she announced, as she plopped down on the floor next to Laura.

"So I see."

"Open, Mommy, open. Pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeee." Livvie had learned in past weeks, that particular word, said in a particular way, was guaranteed to win whatever it was she wanted, unless it was against one of her parent's rules. It wouldn't get her a soda, which both parents were against, but it would get her a fruit popsicle; It wouldn't get her out of nap, but it would allow her to nap with her parents in the hammock. Not that she could have put that understanding into words yet. She only knew, more often than not, that 'please' worked, so it couldn't hurt to try it every time.

This time it worked, and Laura removed the doll from the confines of the box, then removed twist ties and tabs to free the doll from its cardboard coffin. By the time she was done, Livvie was dancing excitedly next to her and holding out her arms, cradling the doll as soon Laura presented it to her.

"Prettyyyyyyyyyyyyyy," the little girl drew out the word in appreciation.

"She is, isn't she?" Laura asked, brushing back her daughter's hair from her eyes, fondly. "And look, Livvie, she has big blue eyes, just like yours," she tapped the doll on the nose, "And black hair like your own." The toddler smiled at her mother, then stroked the jeweled tiara affixed to the top of the doll's head with a reverent hand.

"Prettyyyyyyyyyyyyy," she repeated her prior assessment. Laura feigned a forlorn sigh, that drew a questioning look from her husband.

"And I forgot to qualify that she not get that from you."

Remington's laughter filled the room.

That evening, as Remington held a sleepy Olivia in one arm and Laura stroked her back, they saw their guests out, apologizing several times that the gift they'd brought the baby remained unwrapped and under the tree.

"Aw, it's okay, kids," Mildred reassured. "She's two. You never know what to expect at that age. Why I remember when Bernard was little…"

Not knowing what to expect? Flabbergasted seemed the better description when, three days later, Olivia still had only eyes for that doll, expressing no interest in the presents, whatsoever. So, sitting down in front of the tree on the third night with a trash bag near at hand, Laura began to systematically unwrap the gifts, while Remington and Livvie prepared dinner in the kitchen.

"Livvie, come see the doll carriage Auntie Mildred brought you!" Laura called out, only for Livvie to remain, disinterested, in the kitchen.

"Olivia, Laurie Beth gave you crayons and coloring books. Do you want to color with me?"

"No," a tiny voice piped up in the kitchen. With a sigh, Laura continued unwrapping and stacking.

"Baby, Grandad and Grans gave you a cradle for your doll," she tried again. "Maybe she'd like a nap?"

"No," that same little voice answered. "Me and her are cookin'." With a roll of her eyes, she reached for the next gift.

"Livvie, come see the pretty bracelet Santa brought you," Laura called out again. "And tell your Da he and I will have to have a little talk if this is platinum and sapphires as I suspect it is."

Remington's groan of dismay reached her ears at the same time their daughter did her side.

"Prettyyyyyyyyyyy," Livvie announced, her finger reaching out to touch the sapphire eyes.

What else could Laura do but laugh, as she hooked the bracelet around her daughter's wrist. Livvie was her father's daughter, after all. Neither required many material possessions, but neither could resist shiny objects.