It’s that time of year. Through decades of too many presents, maniacal decorating and entertaining, and sleepless nights of taking stocking inventories, the nag of collecting gifts for teachers and friends, and being constantly plagued by it’s still not enough – I’m striving to be Done. As a predominately adult family, we have simplified and rid ourselves of the excess and waste of filling the base of the tree with wrapped boxes of gadgets, sweaters, scarves and socks that we don’t need.
It wasn’t an easy transition for me. I love receiving presents. Despite the stress of the gift buying, I am also giddy with anticipation when giving gifts. The pragmatics won. I had one condition of acceptance of the new regime. One present each, and I would do stockings for everyone.
The stockings are curated over months of thoughtful gathering. The risk inherent in my strategy is finding the hidden treasures on the December day of reckoning. Everything is dumped onto the bed and sorted. Without fail, someone dominated my consumer patterns, and I have over-bought. Another has been off the radar. Their stocking sags and the toe folds in on itself with emptiness. This vision takes me out on a last-minute consumer binge. Chap stick, magazines, and tea are back ups.
Three days before we are to feast on our stockings, I find the courage to declare them adequate.
The one present rule provides a unique challenge. Gender neutral, appropriate for all, and no gift cards, taxes the less experienced shopper. Open gifts can be stollen, bartered, or otherwise moved around the group. When we are all tired, hungry and relatively happy with our item, we’re done. The process is minimalist and fun.
The days of anxious anticipation and preparation are forgotten as the house fills with big and little people, dogs, and boxes and gift bags. The closet bursts with extra coats and boots, the overflow in a heap in a corner. Our kitchen suddenly is too small. The countertops laden with fruit, cookie tins, bags of sweets and all forms of dark chocolate goodies. The few days we are together pass in a blur of eating, cleaning up, a bouncing baby, a loud ride around firetruck, and attempted naps. We clumsily balance the chaos with walks, an arts and crafts session, and a gingerbread house competition. The opening of stockings and gifts happen on our last day together.
And then they’re gone. The house is filled with a lonely silence. Our younger dog is distraught. Through her sad golden eyes, she is saying what I feel – I miss them already. She is perplexed at their leaving. I know we share them with others, their hearts, their time, and their energy.
I ponder this stage of my life. There isn’t a section in the handbook of aging that mentions the emotional rollercoaster that continues long after your children are adults. Or the heart of a grandparent filling and emptying, over and over. Or that I would smile as I step around the toys, lego blocks and ground in banana on the living room carpet. Or that our time together would be commemorated with more cute dog pictures than humans.
The tug of war is now between the yearn for order in the house, and some rest, and wishing they were still here. There was so much more to do and say. We needed more time. I needed more time.
Through the din of the washing machine as it churns the endless mounds of sheets and towels, and the search through the Tupperware inventory of leftovers in the fridge, I find grace and gratitude in reflecting on our time together. And comfort in planning the next visit.