CHRISTMAS JUNKIE

Here's an essay I wrote a few years ago...and it is NOT autobiographical!

I love Christmas! I love the Christmas carols on the radio, in the mall and blaring from speakers on the street corners. I love the cheerful "Merry Christmas" from a perfect stranger. I love the brightly colored lights, the blinking rope lights, the gaudy lighted santas, and the nativity scenes that remind me every day of the real meaning of Christmas. Most of all, though, I love the anticipation of Christmas morning.

I begin preparing for Christmas the day after Thanksgiving. Making "santa lists" and dragging the decorations down from the attic. Of course, my list will change weekly or even daily, as I change my mind about what will be the perfect present for each person on the list. Now, I have 20 people on my list, and each gift will take at least one full day since I always think the next store will have that perfect gift for my daughter, my son, my husband or my brother. So you can see why I have to begin shopping the Monday after Thanksgiving. (Not the day after because the stores are too crowded.) And every gift I buy, as soon as I pick it up, I can tell if it's the right one or not. All the time I'm wrapping it, I imagine how happy it's gong to make her or him. I can see the surprised look and glowing smile and hear "Oh, Mom! It's perfect and just what I wanted! How did you know!" And they won't realize they're holding more than a bought present... They're holding my love in their hands.

This year my Christmas was proceeding just as planned. The house was decorated, the tree was trimmed, and I was making good progress on my list, when my daughter showed up one morning.

Now this child of my heart, who I carried in my body for nine long months and brought into this world throughh great pain, knows me well. At least I thought she did. Yet, when she walked in, stomping the snow off her boots, she looked around, laughed and said, "Wow, Mom, you've out-done yourself this year. Looks like Christmas has puked on your house!" Puked??

I had barely recovered from that artless remark, deciding that maybe it wasn't meant to be derogatory, when, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and a plate of homemade peanut butter fudge, she said, "Mom, I have a great idea. Since I don't know what to buy you for Christmas, let's go to the mall and you can pick out what you want. I'll even pay for lunch."

Pick out my own present? What was this child thinking about? Nobody picks out their own present. Most of the fun of Christmas morning is anticipation...wondering whick present is yours. Maybe it's that gayly wrapped green one with the speckled bow...or the big red package in the corner that wouldn't fit under the tree. ( And, NO, I never looked ahead of time.) Okay, so I'm sixty-eight years old, so what? Everybody's a child on Christmas morning!

Well I did go shopping with Tammy. How could I refuse? We visited every store at the mall. And every thing I liked, she scrutinized with great care and then decided was not quite "me" and maybe we could find something better at Macy's...or Steinmart....or Target.

Sitting in the car several hours and 20 stores later, rubbing my swollen, aching feet, Tammy said, "See Mom? That's why I don't know what to get you for Christmas. You're really hard to buy for. Why don't you just give me a list of things you'd like."

Things I'd like? I had just shown her fifty things and she didn't think any of them were just right!"

"Look, Sweetie," I said with great patience, "you know I'll like whatever you give me." And before she could offer any argument, with an inward smug smile, and an outward tired sigh, I suggested, "Why don't you just surprise me!"