Thanksgiving rolls in each fall, with its abundance of food and gratitude for all that we have. We count our blessings, we pass the potatoes and then we draw names for the gift exchange. The paper is huge. We clip
Thanksgiving rolls in each fall, with its abundance of food and gratitude for all that we have. We count our blessings, we pass the potatoes and then we draw names for the gift exchange.
The paper is huge. We clip coupons and stand outside in our jammies, hoping to get the best deal on whatever hot thing someone says they need. Someone threatens to come back with a gun if people don’t let her hop to the front of the line.
Our heads fill with lists.
Lists of what to buy for sweeties, for moms, for dads, for nieces and nephews, for brothers and sisters, for daughters and sons. Lists of what’s on sale at which store. Lists of holiday hours, closing times and how much to spend at what.com before shipping is free. Lists for Santa, mailed with great hope to the North Pole.
And I cringe.
Yet, I love the way everyone gets happier this time of year. There’s a bit more sincerity in a “Merry Christmas” at the checkout counter than there is in the usual “Have a good night,” as we leave a store.
The same old Christmas carols on the radio bring me back to the days when my sisters and I sang them together while gathered around the piano. And the times we belted out “Angels We Have Heard On High” to annoy the youngest of our trio. We acted out the Christmas story, and greeted baby Jesus first thing Christmas morning.
I remember that.
I remember the year I bought my nonsmoking mother a red leather cigarette case for Christmas, thinking it would be a great way for her to store lipstick in her purse. I don’t know what she did with it, but I never saw her use it.
She was very kind in her bewilderment (thanks, mom).
This year is the first our son knows it’s Christmas. He’s singing Christmas carols — and doesn’t want us joining in. “Stop singing, Mama,” he says. “I’m singing just to Pigeon.”
OK, little guy.
But I’m humming under my breath.
Our first drive past the lights at the zoo, and he blurts out “That’s Santa! He’s coming to our house!” He asks if I like the trees with the stars on top, and the bubbles coming out of the train.
You bet I do.
There’s wonder in his observations and questions. He wants to share the joy he feels. He’s got no list in his brain, just amazement at the beauty all around him.
Looking back on Christmases past, I remember so few of the gifts I received. And it’s recalling the joy, the wonder, the love and the magic that warms my heart.
Now a parent myself, I remind myself of this. While the list grows and grows and grows, it’s the time together, the shared laughter and traditions, that matter in the end.
And they don’t have to cost a thing.
• Mommy Talk is an online parenting blog written by Racine, Wis. Journal Times reporters Marci Laehr Tenuta and Janine Anderson. Reporter Mike Moore writes Daddy Talk.
