Gifts that Keep on Giving

Giving.  It's what Christmas is all about.  Or is it?  Depends who you ask.  Ask me and I'll agree.  Ask my monkies and they'll try to agree with a hidden speck of hesitation.  Ya see, when you're a child at Christmastime, making your list and checking it twice is more about how many gadgets and games you saw between Saturday morning cartoons and then plotting how you can can cram, in microscopic penmanship, all of those treasures onto an 8x10 sheet of paper, hoping and wishing that your wildest dreams will come true and Santy Claus will bring each and every item on your list.  Because yes, your Christmas will be ruined without a Zu Zu Pet or a Pillow Pet or even a crayon maker.  Little do these little people know that their mother can make crayons just by melting down their old crayons.  Tah-Dah!  Magic!  But those years of dreaming of ridiculous prizes are over too quickly so I quite enjoy watching the kiddos boiling over with dreams and anticipation.  I've been there.  Done that.  And I can understand where they're coming from.  After all, I never did get a remote controlled car or a baby sister even though I asked for both of them for years. 

To encourage us to learn to give, as children, our parents let us draw names between siblings.  It was a secret and we were not to tell who we had or what we bought.  Some of us were better at keeping the secrets than others (cough, cough.....Meg).  I loved drawing names.  I loved buying for my siblings.  There were, of course, certain family members that were easier to buy for than others.  The hardest family member to buy for, in my opinion, was my older sister, Meg.  She had expensive taste and an eye for fashion.  I'll never forget the year that my brother Teej got her name.  He was at a loss as to what to get her so I offered my advice and assistance.  (that's the kind of sister I was)  Meg had mentioned that she wanted a purse.  So Teej and I went to Shopko hunting for a purse and trying to keep to his $10 budget.  And there it was.  Navy blue.  Gold accents.  The purse of all purses.  Meg would love it.  Shopping done.  And before long it was Christmas Eve and the moment of truth as Meg unwrapped her gift.  Still to this day I don't remember her immediate reaction.  If I had to guess it would be all smiles and dimples because she was so sweet and too kind to say anything mean.  But before we knew it that navy blue grandmotherly fashion flaw was thrown in the back of her closet where it forever stayed.  Never used.  Meg confided in me afterward that the purse was hideous.  I agreed.  She told me how nerdy it was.  I laughed and played along.  Silly boys, don't know nothin' 'bout purses!  Sheesh!  Sorry, Teej.  I totally threw ya under the bus. 

We've all had years of bad gift giving.  I, for one, have had more than my share.  One year I falsely assumed my father for a lumber jack and gave him a red and green plaid flannel shirt that he never wore, and for good reason.  One year I mistakenly labeled myself  a seamstress and needless to say that was an ugly gift year.  The silky pillowcases my BIL got, compliments of Yours Truly, got shorter and shorter with each mistake I made until they are now undoubtedly too short for his pillows.  Unpicking the seams just got monotonous so obsessive cutting seemed the logical solution. 

In the spirit of giving it's the thought that counts.  Right?  Good luck this Christmas season.  And much luck to myself.  May you avoid tacky flannels and gold accented purses at all costs.  And may you be grateful for the precious treasures that you are so sweetly given even if they go straight to the back of your closet.  After all, even those bad gifts given bring us years of laughter and stories to tell.  Happy shopping!