Tag: Gifts

This Is Just Between Us

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“Warning! Danger!” So said the Robot on the television series, Lost In Space. This post is for adults only. If you have trouble dealing with truth, sign off and go on about your day.

I am sharing a peek of my brother with you. Bruce is seven years older than I, so I missed out on this scene. Although mentally, I can see it played out.

Bruce was around six years old, when he came home from school in the pit of depression. Entering the house, he plopped himself down on the steps leading to the kitchen with his head in his hands. Despair written all over his little face.

Mom asked, “Bruce, what happened at school today to make you so sad?”

The little guy may have had trouble speaking, choking on his words. “Some kids at school today told me there is no Santa Claus.” His face reflected the loss of a dear friend.

Our mom was always honest; even if it meant she could no longer hide the truth. She confirmed that what Bruce heard and dreaded was true. For several moments he just sat on the steps letting this soak in.

“Then I suppose there is no Easter Bunny either?” Reality can bite.

Perhaps this made you smile, remembering your own moment of truth. Looking back at my own childhood, I recall playing along with my parents, and believed in the fantasy. One can not be too careful when dealing with incoming gifts.

It also makes me recall Dave and I taking our firstborn, Jamie, to see Santa. We patiently waited in line as our boy went over what gifts he would ask for. When his turn came we helped him up on Santa’s lap. After making his requests known, we walked away. Jamie spoke up, “That was not the real Santa.” He stated it in such a matter-of-the-fact manner that we were momentarily stunned.

“Jamie, how could you tell?”

“He never once said Ho Ho Ho.”

As adults its equally hard to comprehend someone loving us; despite our faults, and joyfully giving us gifts. Especially when we least deserve them. That is precisely what Jesus’ dad does; every year the Christmas season reminds us of that. Everywhere we turn we hear songs celebrating the birth of a Savior.

Why should that be so hard to wrap our minds around? If you are a parent, you know how to give your child the desires of his heart. They are mini-you, your own flesh and blood. Out of that love you may even not give them what they asked for, but what you know they need.

Just like God does, offering us the opportunity to live in perfection forever. No other gift can top that! Warning! Danger! Be sure you don’t confuse Santa with God though. One of them is a fantasy, the other a Life Saver.

Too Many Toys

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My husband had enough.

Begging was wasted breath. Rewards meant nothing. Bribery didn’t work, and neither did grounding. Grounding I learned, is never a good idea. It punishes the stay-at-home parent. AKA me.

Clearly our children’s concept of a clean room differed from ours. They threw things in the closet and stowed as much as possible under the bed. Leftovers were designated to line the walls. On the plus side, we never worried about a bed collapsing. Their ‘cleaning’ took all day. As buried treasures surfaced, they played.

I’m not sure if it was frustration or tired of hearing my ranting. But desperate times called for desperate measures in getting the kids to pick up their toys. Out came the leaf rake.

At the end of the day, so-called cleaning done, their dad raked what was left into the middle of the floor. It was deposited into a box. If the kids wanted them back it was going to cost them. Prices ranged from a penny to a nickel.

Who Is Learning A Lesson Here?

Eventually there were no more purchases. What’s with that? They didn’t care whether they got the rest back or not. The excess toys were unnecessary. By all appearances we all had something to learn.

Good Intentions Are Not Always Good

When Christmas or a birthday rolled around, we went overboard in gifts. The Grandparents hearts held more than their wallets, unable to give as much as they wanted. They lavished love for our children. It’s what money can’t buy, doesn’t need wrapping and takes up no space.

All we wanted to do was give our children good memories. Too many gifts multiplied by three children gave new meaning to a well-rounded Christmas tree. We have learned.

That’s the problem with parenting. By the time we learn how to do it right, the children are grown and the damage is done. We’ll do better with the grandchildren, we’ve got this.

Wait a minute, grandparent play by a different rule book, don’t they?

Tradition

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“’What is your favorite Christmas tradition?” 20191208_154746

It was an icebreaker question for my tablemates at Bible study.  First off, getting-to-know you questions are dumb. We are women, nurturers at heart, compatible beings, user-friendly and capable of carrying on a conversation.  With or without cause. We have words and know how to use them.

Secondly, I don’t have a favorite Christmas tradition.  My mom did. When you got any clothes for Christmas, you couldn’t wear them until after the New Year. Where she came up with this I don’t know.

After I got married, this went out the window.  With gusto.

As far as Christmas shopping is concerned,  my husband is not prone to buy clothes.  Many Christmases ago, as I shopped for others, I kept seeing things I’d like for myself.

When my husband returned home from work I told him, “You have some clothes on hold at the store.  Pick through them and surprise me for Christmas.”

He did.  I got them all-and amazingly they all were the right size.  Not all husbands can do that.

When I was a child, Aunt Jane had the tradition of hiding a really large gift for me behind the chair.  I caught on quickly. Christmas Eve always found me peeking at it.

Apparently I did have one tradition albeit unintentional.  It seems every Thanksgiving for too many years I clogged the garbage disposal with potato peels.

“Mom, again? You do this every year.”

“I do?”

“Yes, it happened last year too. Don’t you remember?”

“Um, no. That was last year.”

But I’ve learned.  Now I make instant potatoes. Problem solved.

Grandma Andrews had the tradition of baking fruitcakes for everyone in the family.  I grew up with them, but my little family didn’t share the love. It was mine, all mine.

Grandma died, but Aunt Jane carried on her tradition. It wasn’t until my aunt passed away that I had access to their recipe collection.   I was shocked that neither of them followed the recipe. Both these women were sticklers for doing things by the book. While I haven’t made a fruitcake yet, if I did, I’d modify it too. It’s what I do. Then wonder why it didn’t turn out good.

One would think I would learn from my mistakes, especially in the cooking department. But why change a perfectly good tradition?