Giving thanks

It's 4 pm on Thanksgiving-eve. As I gird my loins to hit Kroger at a little after 5 pm today, I can feel the holiday stress overload creeping in. Is it me, or does every year get a little bit more insane? With Christmas shopping on Thanksgiving day, stores that open at 4 am, and people literally trampled in Black Friday sales stampedes, it's hard to escape the madness. For a brief moment this afternoon I'm feeling pretty chill, rising above the stress, and taking it one step at a time. Then I remember that yesterday, while driving in the car, my husband and I got into a fight, and not just a little one either, about rolls.

It's interesting how the holiday season experience ramps up as your children get older, too. Last year, William had just turned two, and while his infatuation with all things Chuggington was in full bloom, the thing that mattered most to him on Christmas morning was ripping paper, and what was underneath was markedly less important. This year, he's already specified that he wants a "Cars color-changer Ramone's color changer playset" and numerous other, very particular toys. I tremble in fear of letting him down and the possibility of his feeling, for the first time, the phenomenon we've all experienced, which can only be described as Christmas morning letdown.

Perhaps it's the relatively bleak Christmas mornings I had growing up in a poor family, perhaps its just every parent's nightmare to see that look of disappointment cross their child's face, but Phil and have pretty much resolved that our top priority is seeing that William has a wondrous time this year. If that means we have bare bones Christmas morning's ourselves, so that we can pour our resources into making sure that Santa delivers the goods for our favorite little boy, then so be it.

As you can imagine, William is already in full-on Christmas mode, which is not surprising, since he is, after all, three. So, every night at bedtime his usual request of "let's talk about my day" (an adorable recap of everything he did that day) has morphed into "let's talk about Christmas" the first question of which is always "what do YOU want for Christmas Momma?" At first when he'd ask, I would list a few small items that I thought might be fun to have, but as the necessity of austerity mode became clear, I switched my tack to saying things like "well, I'd just like a lot of hugs and kisses from you." or "I just want to have a nice relaxing Christmas morning with you and Daddy."

So, there we are, last night, getting ready for bed, and we reach the point (after stories, songs, the color game and snuggles) where he asks "what do YOU want for Christmas Momma?" My day had been particularly stressful and tiring, and bedtime when Phil is at rehearsal can be a challenge, so I copped out a bit and just said, through ever so slightly clenched teeth "I don't know, what do YOU want for Christmas?" As I braced myself for the usual list of color-changers, Thomas the train toys, and accompanying overpriced accessories, my brilliant little boy looked at me and said "I don't know, probably just some hugs and kisses from you and Daddy."

If I needed a reminder of what the holidays are all about, I guess I got it last night. Not only did William's response provide a welcome antidote to the crushing parental anxiety I'd been experiencing and a reminder of how we shape our kids by example, it was also a simple and potent call to keep my priorities straight around the holidays and to give, in huge, unlimited, heaping amounts, thanks for the greatest gift I could ever ask for, bar none.

I will not be shopping on Black Friday this year, but I will be shopping. And don't worry, I'll be doing my part to keep capitalism safe from the communists. But perhaps I'll spend just a little less time wearing down the aisles of Toys R Us, in favor of ample time for tickling, hugs and kisses, movie nights, and long snuggles at bedtime. After all, those are the presents that mommies and Daddies can give, much better than Santa ever could.