Christmas shopping used to be fun. When our sons were small, my husband and I took the afternoon off, went out to lunch, and shopped for toys, books, and art supplies. We had fun imagining how delighted the guys would be, and on a weekday, the stores weren’t crowded. By dinnertime we were done. We hid the loot before the guys got home, pleased with our covert operation. Now that our sons are adults, we still enjoy buying them gifts, but we can complete our shopping with a few online orders.
I’m not religious, but I dislike the way Christmas has become such an excessive retail event. Besides shopping, every service imaginable has jumped on the holiday bandwagon—you need to get your carpet cleaned, ponder exciting new holiday recipes, and manage your holiday stress with a spa treatment. I even heard an ad about having your furnace ducts cleaned for the holidays! Huh?
I recall that spending in the name of Christmas offended my father, too. He wanted to “Keep the Christ in Christmas.” Mom agreed with the religious sentiment, but she loved the gift-giving and special food associated with Christmas. As a girl, I wished Dad’s opinion hadn’t put a damper on our pleasure in the festivities. Like Mom, I enjoyed the party aspect of the holidays.
Now I’m more sympathetic to Dad’s views about gift giving. It isn’t about the money. I still like giving gifts to other people. But I’ve gotten increasingly uncomfortable with the idea of making a list of what I want. There’s so little I need. The process feels foolish and self-indulgent.
This year, my husband and I have made a pact to refocus our efforts. We’ll still give each other small gifts—it is fun to open something on Christmas morning. Whatever else we would have spent can be devoted to something else. For him, it may be donations to causes he cares about. For me, the focus will be emphasizing experiences more than things. I’m asking our sons to take the same approach with me. For example, since I like tea, I could have tea at a teashop with one of our sons, and maybe he’ll buy me half a pound of special tea.
I’m not prescribing this approach for anyone else—I vividly recall how Dad’s views affected me—but this simpler approach appeals to me. By refocusing our efforts, I hope to reclaim the joy of Christmas giving.