My Christmas Wish List
posted by: Guest Blogger
(Editor’s Note: Join us in welcoming guest blogger Jenn Starbuck who is slowly being converted from the world of print journalism to blogging.)
I’m cranky and it’s just barely Christmas season.
Well, I guess in today’s world the festivities begin the day after Halloween, with the stringed lights, nativity scenes and tree lots going up almost as soon as I put out my jack-o-lanterns.
Yes, I was that one mother you saw on Halloween morning, with kids in tow, searching from one store to the next for pumpkins. After three retailers, I ended up at a local nursery eyeballing a half-dozen shriveled, pint-sized gourds. We took four of them home and carved our wimpy family just in time for trick-or-treating.
After that slacker-mom experience, I vowed to get my Christmas gift-buying done by Thanksgiving. But there goes the crankiness again.
I’ve got girlfriends who have been ready for weeks now, so what’s wrong with me? I’ll tell you. The commercials on TV. There’s one in particular that really gets my Scrooge going: the Sears “Wish Book” ads. It’s all about making that special someone’s wildest wishes come true for Christmas.
With much-deserved respect to the foundation that gives a little joy to sick kids, Christmas is not a Make-A-Wish holiday. I’m really not interested in granting once-in-a-lifetime requests to the people on my Christmas shopping list, especially since they’ll be on the list next year.
Now, I don’t hate the world. I love my family, and I want them to have memorable holidays. I don’t want to give everyone a kick in the butt and a slap in the face, my husband’s usual response when asked for his Christmas list. In fact, I usually decorate our house the day after Thanksgiving, I’m a freak about listening to holiday music all month long, and I spend several days baking treats for family and friends. It’s just this whole rabid consumerism that has become America is ruining my holiday. And I want it back.
So, for now on, I’m giving people what they need for Christmas, not what they want.
To my 3 and a half old baby girl, I’m giving a year’s worth of time outs. My angel is what I like to call single-minded, strong in convictions – how do you say? — spirited. So I know it won’t be long before she’ll try to back-talk me, or wrestle her brother to the ground because he didn’t swoop in on cue for the kiss while playing Sleeping Beauty and Prince Charming.
To my 2 and a half year old boy, I’m giving continence. We’ve been practicing for a month now, and he understands the concept of going in the potty, and in fact he wants to sit on the potty, but he just can’t commit yet. I’m giving him the gift of making poo or pee in a designated receptacle. And at this point, I don’t care if that is toilet, tree or grassy knoll, just somewhere I don’t have to clean up.
To my deathly frugal husband, I’m giving dozens of packages of socks, briefs and T-shirts to replace the threadbare and stained rags he just won’t part with.
And as for me, really, don’t worry about it. I’m just the one who cooks, cleans, dresses, wipes, and otherwise cares for the physical and emotional well-being of my family. But if you must, make it a scarecrow and pumpkin-carving set, so I can get a jump on next year.
Jennifer Starbuck is a guest blogger who lives in Centennial. When she’s not in hand-to-hand combat with her laundry pile or refereeing her 3-year-old daughter and 2-year-old son, you can find her either knitting, reading, or playing outdoors, or some combination thereof.