It starts in October. It’s in stereo — my mother in one ear and my mother-in-law in the other. Later, the aunts and uncles chime in, too, but with less urgency.
“I need a list of gift ideas from the kids. And from you.”
With that request, the fragile bud of my holiday spirit fights for its tiny little life. I will not let it be stomped and destroyed, yet it’s already threatened by my stress and frustration.
When my children were younger, I was the “Maker of the Lists.” I wrote down everything the kids asked for and then some, so that each grandmother would have plenty of choices for gifts. My husband and I were left with the socks and pajamas, which made me resentful. I imagine it’s how Christian parents feel — Santa gets the credit for the best gifts, while Mom and Dad give the second-string presents.
My teenagers have been making their own lists for years, but I couldn’t just give them to both grandmothers. Instead, I divided them down the middle and waited for the leftovers, so I could then make my own purchases.
Once they hit adolescence, the kids started to feel the same stress. They don’t really want very much, and they feel like they have to come up with items anyway. I understand that it’s difficult to create a list on demand, and I don’t want to encourage needless gift-giving for children who don’t want for much.
My mother-in-law spends the same amount on each of her seven grandchildren. Some kids get all gifts, and some get a gift or two and money. My mother loves buying and giving gifts, and she laments over the dwindling pile of wrapped surprises next to the menorah every year.
I’ve told my mother that the kids don’t expect lots of presents, but old habits die hard. As an interfaith family, we celebrated Christmas and Chanukah when my sister and I were kids, and the shift to just small gifts for Chanukah is a tough one to make. But I’m much less resentful than I used to be; I’m perfectly content to be left with the socks and pajamas. It’s also easier for me to shop without a list. I know what my kids like, and I can find small presents that they will appreciate and use. It’s tougher for grandparents, aunts and uncles to go off the grid.
Last year, my family spent Thanksgiving weekend at the beach, as is our tradition every other year. I refuse to venture out to the stores at home on “Black Friday,” but heading out for “Moonlight Madness” outlet shopping is part of the tradition. The girls head out at 8:30 on Thanksgiving night, after a quick nap to aid in after-dinner digestion.
There is magic in “Moonlight Madness.” Shoppers and salespeople are pleasant and polite; it’s too soon for the ugliness and impatience that can mar this retail season. My daughter helped my mom and sister knock a few gifts for her off their lists, but when we headed to bed at 2 a.m., we had only conquered two of the three outlet centers. We hit the last center on Friday, when shoppers were decidedly less pleasant and polite.
But I witnessed a “Black Friday” miracle that made my heart swell with holiday spirit — my father went shopping with us, and he did it willingly and cheerfully.
As we wrapped up our shopping, my daughter saw an Under Armour sweatshirt that she liked, and I offered to buy it for her as a Chanukah gift. She accepted but when noticing that the price was $40, she told me it could count as a gift for two nights. Did my teenage daughter just say that a $40 sweatshirt was expensive enough to warrant being a gift for two nights? I mentally patted myself on the back. I’ve been fighting the commercialism of the winter holidays since I became a mother, and clearly the message was seeping through to my daughter.
I suppose it truly is the time of year for miracles.
A Baltimore native, Dana Hemelt and her husband live in Howard County. They have two teenagers. She blogs at kissmylist.com and tweets @kissmylist.
Top photo courtesy Joshua Bousel, Flickr Creative Commons
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