scribblechic

My husband sings a frustrated chorus of What would you like? every holiday and on each special occasion. There is no simple answer. Last year I wanted warm boots, a long down coat, and a soft robe to ward off the winter chill. They weren’t extravagant gifts, but they made me feel loved. Another time it might be something unique to the occasion; a gift I would look upon with memories, like the silver rattle I gave my husband to announce I was pregnant with our daughter. I rarely tie happiness to things. I may pause over a picture and dwell on a memory; rest my hand on my necklace recalling my husband’s proposal; extract old letters and savor words written in another moment. Small acts of love, little gestures are my greatest joy.

This week my mother sent a collection of gifts in the mail, cluttering our doorstep with happy surprises; ornaments and sweets, tiny tokens of the holiday season. When the boxes arrived today, I found myself as eager as my children to uncover the treasure nestled inside. My mother stretched each gift from an act of generosity into scattered causes of celebration. This, delayed anticipation and whimsical gifts of sentiment, is my Christmas wish this year. I want to fill our home with a sense of celebration and togetherness.

My daughter said to me today: If the Grinch is real and he takes all of our stuff on Christmas Eve, we will be okay. The most important thing is that we have each other. She sealed her words with a hug and kiss before wrapping another of her toys in her doll’s quilt and labeling it with scrap paper for Daddy  in a sea of tiny hearts on waves of hugs and kisses. My daughter’s awareness and my mother’s kindness cannot be purchased or wrapped with ribbon. Thinking ahead to Christmas day I know my greatest gifts rest in moments with my husband and children not in pretty packages beneath the tree.

What if Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store? What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more? – Dr. Seuss