A Christmas Reflection

Merry Christmas, everyone. 

Overall, we had a great holiday. Lots of laughter and joy and excitement. 

And a few tantrums and tears here and there, too.

Naturally, I was the first one to melt down, though I managed to suppress most of it. 

Admittedly, I was pretty exhausted from late-night wrapping the night before and a holiday party the night before that, so I started my Christmas morning on a sleep deficit. 

And though we told the kids to sleep in, Nate or Sam—not sure who—set their alarm for 7:30. 

Let the thudding and shrieking and furious unwrapping commence, then.

Within minutes, scraps of wrapping paper filled the air, and after it floated down to settle on the ground, the kids began looking for more packages to unwrap. Like savages.

Except Lou, actually. 

He had gotten a Paw Patrol tower from Santa, about three feet high, and since it was so large, Santa’s elves didn’t bother to wrap it. It sat on the floor, surrounded by all its accessory toys. Lou was fully engaged in this three year-old’s heaven. He was so busy moving the brightly colored cars and pups down the ramps and back up the elevator, he didn’t even notice his plump stocking, nor all the other wrapped gifts behind it.

“Lou, open your other presents!”

The Others jolted away from his state of flow and cheered him on as he tore through the rest of the blue penguin wrapping paper, tossing the trash to one side and the toys to the other with reckless abandon. 

It was overwhelming for me. Not just because of the growing heaps of trash all over the floor, but also because of the accumulating toys around me. 

It’s a stark contrast to how Tighe and I met—in a volunteer program where the mantra was to live simply. Poverty was a virtrue, and materialism and wealth were scorned. 

Not a totally bad sentiment, though pretty extreme, and it’s a far cry from the shiny new merchandise invading our living room.

And yes, I realize that I’m largely responsible for it.

We started our parenthood with the best of intentions there. We aimed for all the gift-giving to be experiences instead of material objects. Not just from us and Santa, but from grandparents, aunts, uncles, and godparents.

“Instead of buying a new toy for our kid, gift them an experience that they can share with you.”

Bowling, iFly, mini golf, museums, zoo memberships, trips to the movies or Disney On Ice or a football game.

And for a while, that worked. 

But let’s face it, that’s tough to keep up with. Especially now that we live in a different time zone from most of our family. It’s a lot easier to have Amazon deliver a package than to book a cross-country trip or coordinate schedules. 

And just as difficult, as our kids have aged, they’ve been exposed to commercialism and the gizmos and gadgets that their friends have. They’ve evolved into American consumers, always hungry for the next thing. 

Nate wants an Apple Watch and a cell phone. And they all have a list of expensive wants. 

Which they often don’t get, but it is a lifelong battle, apparently. See: my early blogs of arguing with Nate and Sam at Target, wrestling ninja turtles from their grip, and dragging sobbing toddlers from stores and such. Ah, those were the days.

At one point, when she started to get bored with her deluge of new toys that afternoon, Tess looked at me and said, “Why didn’t you and Tighe give us any gifts?”

Ugh. Dagger to the heart. 

After all the hours browsing on Amazon, all the time spent in stores, all the wrapping, listing and measuring, trying to make sure each kids’ stash was equal to the others. Or at least that we spent an approximate equal amount of money on each kid.

But actually she was onto something. We had tried to make Christmas a little lighter this year. With Tighe’s new business, finances are still a little tight. But we usually do give a few gifts from us: usually the boring stuff, like socks and underwear, maybe a new toothbrush, or pajamas. The necessities.

Still, though. She could have given us a little credit. Part of me wanted to grab her by the shoulders and yell in her face: “There is no Santa! Tighe and I bought you all of this!”

Anyway, a little coffee and an apple cinnamon pastry helped me overcome my inner killjoy and I fulfilled my mom duty of facilitating merriment and serving fun snacks throughout the day. We had nowhere to be, after all, and looked forward to a really chill day. Plus the wind chill was still sub-zero, so who wants to leave the house anyway? 

For the rest of the day, Tighe and I took turns troubleshooting new toys, reading instructions, and supplying batteries in between spurts of our own work, while the TV alternated between the NBA and NFL Christmas Day games. 

Everyone was in their various states of flow throughout the house, playing video games, painting nails, assembling jigsaw puzzles, coloring, trying on new clothes, and more.

By dinner time we were all tired again. Tighe had sous-vide a prime beef tenderloin, I had a new potato recipe, and, per the usual with tired, cranky kids, the kids were only interested in pushing buttons. You know, those invisible yet highly volatile buttons.

Milk was spilled. The beef tenderloin was highly, and negatively, critiqued. And the potatoes were rebuffed harder than Simon Cowell dismissing some no-talent assclown. Which is nonsense because they were pretty amazing potatoes actually.  And don’t even get me started on the roasted broccoli and carrots. If there’s one vegetable these guys hate more than potatoes, it’s broccoli.

Except Lou, of course. He’ll eat pretty much anything and he loves broccoli. 

But the straw that broke the camel’s back was the slurry of insults that went back and forth between Tess and Sam. To be honest, I don’t know what precipitated it. Sam was salty about the “mushiness” of the beef tenderloin and very vocal about it.

And that’s about when Tighe or I—who can remember who snapped first?—lost it. We took turns lecturing about gratitude and kindness. About showing appreciation, respect, and consideration for other people. You know, pretty much the same sermon we’ve been giving for almost eleven years now. Sooner or later, it’ll stick.

Tess, who was just exhausted from the excitement of the day and being out late on Christmas Eve, started dumping on Sam, too.

“Yeah, Sam, you could be grateful!” she said.

This coming from a girl who refuses our homemade meal almost every night, in favor of cheese and a banana. This from a girl who wondered aloud why we didn’t get her any gifts this year. 

“Tess, stay out of this,” I snapped at her. 

Within seconds, she was teary.

“My parents are so mean,” she whimpered, sinking down into her chair.

Yes, so mean for making sure you got everything you wanted on your Christmas list. We should be locked up.

But Sam, eager to deflect any more accusations, kept going after her, muttering another barb under his breath in her direction. Something about how she never cleans up her own messes nor does anything for herself. Which isn’t true, but every older sibling thinks that about their younger sibling.

Lou, standing on his chair, ketchup smeared across his face, a giant brioche dinner roll in each hand, crumbs spraying from his mouth, joined in. Just because. 

“Sam! Be quiet! Eat your steak!”

No one paid him any attention, so when the focus shifted back to Tess, Lou immediately switched teams.

“Yeah, Tess! You so dumb!”

And then the poor girl spilled her milk. The entire contents of her cup flooded the table, spilling onto her chair and to the floor.

I buried my face in my hands and said, “Well, Tess, this is your chance to prove to Sam that you can clean up your messes.”

“Yeah, Sam and Tess!” Lou piled on from the safety of his chair next to Tighe.

“Lou, be quiet!” Tighe clapped back.

After a few moments, Sam got noticeably uncomfortable, and I could tell that he was embarrassed, ashamed even, like he knew he was in the wrong. Like, truly knew. Sincerely understood how and why his actions, both to Tess and to Tighe and me, were hurtful. Or at least insensitive. He perked up a bit and tried to initiate a cheerier conversation.

Which was a little bit of consolation. 

But the real consolation came at bedtime that night, and not just because we were moments away from a little bit of peace and quiet. Though that always helps.

I kissed Lou on top of his head and said, “good night, Lou. You’re my special guy.”

“And you’re my special guy,” he replied. “Mom, did you have a good Christmas?”

“Yeah, Lou, I did.”

“Was it your specialist Christmas ever?”

“Hmm,” I replied, genuinely thinking about my answer. I can’t remember a bad Christmas and I’ve never thought to rank them before.

“Yeah, Lou, I think that was the best Christmas.”

“Did you get any presents?”

“Yeah, I got a new sweatshirt and a sweater.”

“To keep you warm?”

“Yes, to keep me warm when it’s cold outside.”

“Aww,” he said, caressing my cheek. “That’s so nice for you.”

And the next day, the 26th, was a much better day. Aside from the moment Tess bumped her ear into the corner of the table. And when Nate toppled off a second floor space heater. And when Lou exploded three hot chocolate bombs all over the kitchen floor. The same amount of together time, but we slept later

But no dinnertime milk spills! It was a good day.