Ornaments

A family member recently asked on her Facebook page if people let their kids decorate the family Christmas tree, or if they did it themselves, because they wanted it to look "picture perfect."

The majority of her friends who responded said that they had the kids help. Some admitted to tweaking the placement after the kids were in bed, but only slightly. I remember doing that; I have a photo of my two year old hanging every ornament that she had on the same branch. We told her what a big helper she was, and moved them after she was asleep. I'm not going to have a discussion about ideal placement (and branch strength) with someone in diapers.

The discussion made me think of a conversation that I had with a friend, years ago. She wanted a perfect living room, so she put up a tree in another room, not visible to visitors, and, in her words, "made it a junk tree." I looked really confused, so she explained - "You know - hanging up all those crappy looking things the kids made." Oh. Well. Those are some of my favorite ornaments. My daughter was thrilled at 5 when I used the angel she made out of a paper plate for the top of our tree; at 15, she was mortified. I still loved it.

I admire trees with matching, themed, color coordinated ornaments. I really do. They're lovely. But I want my tree to hold memories.

Every year, we got the children a new ornament. When they got old enough, we let them choose their own. We end up with ornaments like this on our tree:

We get a little grief for it. "Oh, yeah," one visitor said. "Nothing says Christmas like Darth Vader." Hey, that Vader makes my son happy, and it makes me happy.

So does Darth Maul; he's from the year that my son dressed as Darth Maul at the Disneyland Halloween party.

You can tell a lot about my childrens' interests by the ornaments they chose.

These came in children's meals at a fast food place one year; all of my kids got the full set of 4 (there's also a Whoville house, and Max the dog with a tied on antler).

My son made this one at Scout camp.

We generally commemorate events of the year with ornaments. This is from the year that my youngest daughter danced in "The Nutcracker" on a local showroom stage.

These were actually on an onstage tree the year 4 of us were in "A Christmas Carol." That's a laminated ticket tied on when the ornament came home after the show, and went on our tree.

Years ago, we decided to start collecting ornaments when we travel. Most of these were bought on vacation; sometimes, we buy something after we've gotten home that reminds us of the trip. (There's no shortage of Eiffel Tower ornaments in stores!) The photo is from the Big Island of Hawaii, commemorating our hike in to the island's green sand beach. We've also printed wedding photos onto metal ornaments.

 

These are from Germany. My maternal grandmother's family emigrated from there; I bought these when I visited Germany for the first time. The visit helped explain some of my grandma's taste; there were red geraniums everywhere.

Sometimes, we go with things that aren't actually designed to be ornaments. The one from Hawaii is supposed to be a bookmark; the Minnie hat is an antennae ball. The swordfish was just what my son chose one year when he couldn't find an ornament that he liked. Hey, we can adapt.

Until this year, when our immediate family reached 9 with the addition of spouses, we tried to add a personalized family ornament every year. Sometimes, they're travel reminders, too. We got the orca the year we went to San Diego at Christmas.

Some of our ornaments are more traditional. I cherish my mother's delicate glass ornaments. I remember breaking many of them during my childhood.

All together, they make for a beautiful tree that makes me happy every time I see it.

"December to Remember"

It's that time of year again. Every day, there are commercials on TV telling me to buy my loved ones luxury automobiles or diamond jewelry for the holidays.

It's not going to happen.

Look, I'm not going to tell you how to spend your money. Do whatever you want - spend it, don't spend it, give gifts, don't give gifts. If you want to give me a car, I'll take it and be grateful. Just know that my idea of ideal gift giving and yours do not mesh.

I think that gifts should, ideally, be small. They're meant to say, "I thought about you!" The last time I made a "wish list" for my husband, it had brown eyeliner and bed sheets on it. We also have a deal - there will be chocolate in my Christmas stocking.

I will totally admit to occasionally giving expensive gifts, but that usually involves travel. (Once it was scuba classes.) Experiences are more valuable than things are.

Again, I'm not telling you what to do, but this is what works for me.

People have told me why they think that big ticket items are something that should wait for special occasions; I know those reasons. I just feel that, if you've taught yourself to expect a car with a big bow on it in your driveway, just because it's a holiday (or birthday or anniversary), you've 1. put the emphasis in the wrong place, and 2. set yourself up to be deeply disappointed if the gesture isn't huge. And how many huge gestures are even possible, much less likely, in an average year or an average life? "Going big" ceases to be big if it's commonplace.

If you'd be happy with some candy, some warm socks, a good meal and a good book, you can pretty much guarantee a happy holiday. Think about that - guaranteed happiness! Who doesn't want that?

If, however, you've trained yourself to expect a two carat solitaire, you'll be disappointed with a one carat solitaire.

Years ago, I worked with a lovely, delightful, bright lady, who came from a family with more money than mine had. I remember clearly one November, when she announced, "I've just paid off last Christmas!" I was horrified. I said something (undoubtedly indelicate, like, "Are you crazy?"), and she looked puzzled. "That's how it's done," she said.

"Not in my family!"

"In every family."

We tangled about this for a few minutes. She thought that I was just being ignorant of family finances, and I was assuring her, "I'm not talking theoretically." My mother handled the money in the family I grew up in; I handle the money in my family. I know how it's spent.

She's a lovely person, but she may have felt a bit attacked, because we ended with her saying something about how "most people" wanted their holiday to "be nice," and credit cards were how that was accomplished, so my holidays were undoubtedly not "nice."

I beg to differ. My holidays were lovely. They still are.

I'm gearing up for this year's Christmas celebration. We'll have dollar store candy and discount store clothes and a fantastic time. I love this time of year; it's my favorite! No luxury cars or diamonds are needed.

The Thirteen Radical Days of Christmas

My friend Tony was always the ringleader of our little circus of adolescence. When we were 15 or 16, he had an idea for creating our own holidays. He called them "The Thirteen Radical Days of Christmas" ("Twelve days has already been done"), and we'd celebrate them for the thirteen days leading up to our Christmas break from school.

We held a meeting of the drama guild officers, and planned the events, one for each day. Sometimes they were things we'd do at school, like everyone wearing a shirt from any show we'd done. "Some people's parents won't let them go out every night," Tony said. Some were things we'd do at night, especially on the weekends.

Tony designed and printed sweatshirts for all of us to wear. The logo had different items representing the letters in the word "radical." One was a hand holding a glass of red wine; yes, we were all too young to drink, but it was about the look for Tony. At that age, he didn't drink. I still have my shirt, although it hasn't fit me for years.

I think we did the Thirteen Radical Days for three years. I can't remember everything, but it was the highlight of the holiday for those years.

We did some traditional things, like caroling. I have great memories of one caroling night. Only a few of us showed up, and we tweaked our songs just slightly after each house. Pretty soon, we had a version of "Do You Hear What I Hear?" with full harmony. It was gorgeous. I remember that night every time I hear the song. Some of the houses gave us cocoa or candy. Some wanted to know if we were collecting donations for anything. "No," we said. "Just sharing some music. Merry Christmas!"

It was sheer good luck that a local theater held a Monty Python film festival during the first Thirteen Radical Days. We could not pass up that opportunity.

The rest of the theater undoubtedly wondered why the two rows of teens in the center of the auditorium cheered loudly any time someone onscreen said, "Go away." (You'd be surprised by how many times that phrase showed up, too.)

When we were working on our fall show that year, someone broke into the theater and vandalized our set. They spray painted the words "GO AWAY" on the refrigerator on our set, along with a weird, hooded figure. They also spray painted "GO AWAY" on the doors on the exterior of the school that led to the backstage area. (Who vandalizes a high school theater?)

We decided to embrace the phrase as our all purpose greeting. It became both "hello" and "goodbye," and sometimes, "I'm thinking of you," "I miss you," or other sentiment. I carried on my binder a picture of Oscar the Grouch hanging a sign on his trash can that said, "GO AWAY!" To this day, if you were to say "Go away" to one of us who was in the drama guild at that point, they'd likely smile and respond, "Go away!"

So there we were, cheering loudly any time John Cleese, Eric Idle or the other Pythons said, "Go away!" It was a good time.

Anyone our age or older remembers the first generic groceries, the ones in white labels with black lettering. They'd have no photos, no adjectives, just a single word: "Peaches." The peaches might be slices or chunks - it was basically whatever was left after the name brand labels had canned their stock. Some of the products looked downright humorous - take white beverage cans simply labeled "Beer."

All of the non-refrigerated items were kept in their own aisle, a sea of white labels and black printing. One day, our Thirteen Radical Days activity was buying our lunch from the generic aisle of our local Albertson's. We carpooled down and swarmed the aisle, then took our lunch back to school to eat. I tried to get some kind of nutritional value; I think I got fruit cocktail and crackers. Quite a few of us just went for cookies and soda. This is also one of my clearest Radical Days memories.

The last day of the Thirteen was always our drama guild Christmas party. Most of the time, it was held at Tony's house; his brother Guy and sister Angela were also drama guild members. Guy would play Santa and hand out the gifts we brought for each other; he loved the part. He was the youngest, skinniest Santa I'd ever seen, and he did a great job. Guy also recited the story of Alfie from the John Denver and the Muppets Christmas special every year. One year, he also put on a puppet show. Their mom made a chili cheese dip that I loved so much that she gave me the recipe. I took it to potluck parties for years, and still think of her every time I make it.

That first year, I gave my mother a proposal. Money had always been tight, but I was now the only child left at home, so there was some wiggle room in the budget. I asked if I could have part of the money she'd budgeted to spend on me for Christmas so that I could spend it on my friends.

I have repeatedly been the kid that was chosen last for classroom games, the kid who only got Valentines because my classmates were required to give one to everyone. In junior high, I was once invited to a classmate's birthday party, but not the two hours that everyone else spent at the roller skating rink - just the half an hour spent at her house opening gifts and having cake. I wanted to buy a gift for every person in the drama guild, because I was not about to let someone else be that kid, the kid who feels unwanted and not liked.

My mother - let it be noted again that she was amazing - agreed. I had a very strict per gift budget. That meant, in part, that I could not buy special gifts for my best friends. That was OK.

Having a very strict spending limit meant that I had to really think about each gift; I couldn't impulse buy. One friend got a paperback biography of the Beatles. One proud Italian got a glass ball ornament that said "Buon Natale." The newly licensed driver got a keychain.

Buying a gift for one kid was problematic. I was good with outcasts, awkward kids, stoners, the not very bright; theater departments are full of outcasts. I was an outcast myself. I got along well with all of them, and genuinely liked them - except for Bruce. Bruce gave me the willies.

I didn't actively dislike him, but he made me very uneasy. I still don't know why. None of us were very fond of Bruce, and he wasn't terribly talented, but we gave him a tech job on every show, and he came on drama guild trips and to our parties. I knew that I needed to give him a gift, but I didn't want it to send the wrong message; I didn't want him deciding that I had a crush on him or anything.

I thought and thought and puzzled. Then I found the perfect gift at one of our favorite stores.

In the basement shopping mall at the MGM Grand hotel/casino, one of our favorite haunts, was a Hollywood memorabilia store. They had huge books of 8x10 publicity stills of just about every artist from every decade and every genre. It was back in the era when black and white photos were inexpensive and color cost much more, so most of the photos were black and white and only $2.50, unframed. They had racks of postcards, too, many of them in color, and those were only 25 cents.

Bruce collected Marilyn Monroe memorabilia, and I found a beautiful postcard with a photo of Marilyn. I didn't wrap it or even put it in a card; I just put it in a plain white envelope and wrote, "To: Bruce, From: Sharon."

I was so glad that I insisted on gifts for everyone. Some of us got piles of gifts, but some of us got only one - the gift from me. The girl who got the keychain was one of those, and she thanked me profusely. Bruce got one other gift - an unsigned gag gift of edible underwear. His sincere thanks for the Marilyn postcard remains vivid decades later. I was so glad that I had made the effort. I made sure that I purchased for everyone again the next year.

I remember some of the gifts that I received. I still own some, like the Garfield ornaments that still hang on my tree every year. I remember those gifts that I gave more clearly, though. That in itself is a life lesson.

Every year at Christmas time, I think about The Thirteen Radical Days of Christmas, and about my Reed Drama Guild family - and I smile.

Go away!

Am I Blue

When I was a kid, I had fairly clear ideas about the color different rooms should be. No room should ever be green. Kitchens should be yellow – it just seemed sunshiny and breakfasty and cheerful. Bathrooms should be pink. Pink seemed like soap bubbles, shampoo and powder puffs.

(It's worth noting that I've never had a yellow room, or a pink one. Or green, for that matter.)

Blue has always been my default setting, my "go to" color for just about anything. It still took me a long time to notice that, given a choice, I'd decorate any room, and any occasion, in blue and white.

When I was a newlywed, the hot colors in home fashions were slate blue and mauve. This was a switch from the formerly hot colors of mustard yellow, avocado green and chocolate brown and, in my opinion, a big improvement. I loved the gray-blue and dusty rose colors that everything seemed to come in. Still, I tried not to overdo it, knowing that what's hot now is embarrassingly outdated tomorrow.

Geese were also hot. My first kitchen featured ceramic geese wearing big, floppy blue bows. I loved them. (They made my best friend want to vomit, but hey, it was my kitchen.) I had wrought iron hooks shaped like geese in my living room, and I hung heart shaped candles from them. They went with my painting of teddy bears in big hats and old fashioned dresses. Yeah, yeah, I know, it's causing tooth decay just to read about it. I like cute and charming. Deal with it.

My dishes were ivory stoneware with white and blue designs featuring, yup, the geese with bows.  My flatware had blue handles.

One Christmas (when we were several years past the newlywed stage) the woman in charge of our church's annual Christmas dinner decided to mix up the usual planning. "This year," she said in our women's meeting, "I thought it would be nice if we got to eat off of real dishes, with real napkins and tablecloths and everything, instead of paper plates and plastic forks." She passed around a signup sheet, so each woman who wanted to could sign up for one or more tables. We'd bring the linens, dishes, silverware, centerpieces and anything else we wanted. "I think it'll be fun to see everyone's decorations, and get a sense of what it would be like to have Christmas dinner at your homes."

I raised my hand. "Is there a color scheme, or any theme beyond Christmas?"

"No, no. Just set the table however you would do it at your house. Don't go out and buy anything new! Use what you already have."

I was pretty excited about this idea. I signed up to do one six foot table, with settings for eight.

 I wanted to see how everyone else would do their tables. Maybe someone would go with one of those silver tinsel trees as a centerpiece. Maybe someone would have a feather tree. Someone was sure to go with all out glitz, gold and silver everywhere.

When I showed up at the church to do my table, only two other women were there. I had somewhere else I had to be, so I hurried to set my table.

I lay down my white lace tablecloth, the one that had been on the cake table at our wedding. It was what we used for all special occasions. Then I put blue placemats, my blue and white dishes, blue handled flatware and blue napkins. For a centerpiece, I used my blue and white stoneware pitcher set in its matching dish. I had an arrangement of bluegreen artificial spruce, with frosted pinecones and tiny blue and silver packages, that I put in the pitcher. Instead of a runner, I had blue and silver bead garlands and globe ornaments that I ran down the center of the table. It looked exactly like it would have at my house if I was going all out for company. I loved it. I couldn't wait to see what everyone else did with their tables.

Every other table in the whole room was done in ruby red and deep, pine forest green. Every other table, including the ones set up for the potluck buffet.

Wow.

We all know people who simply must stand out, at all costs. They are the kids who'd rather be in trouble than feel ignored. They equate "ordinary" with "worthless," and will do anything to be seen as unique. I am reminded of Louisa in "The Fantasticks" pleading with the Almighty: "Please God, please – don't let me be normal."

Then we know people for whom conformity is everything. They never, ever want to stick out as doing something differently than their peers. They are sure that being the same as those around you insulates them from ridicule, judgment or mistakes. They must have up to the minute fashionable clothing and possessions.

Then there's me. I am sure that I am commonplace and my actions predictable. Then I emerge into the real world, where my Christmas table is an icy, pale blue island in the midst of matching jewel tones and Santas. I had not sought to either conform or rebel; I simply expected there to be more variety.

In the magazines I read, there's quite a bit of holiday variety. One magazine described a woman's color palette of lemon yellow and lime green as "a twist on the traditional green and gold." I saw a spread in which a woman did her home in pink and pale yellow for Christmas, even buying poinsettias in those colors instead of the traditional red. Any color combination can be adapted to the holidays, right? Besides, what's more wintery than snow and ice?

Frankly, blue and white is the perfect combination for any season. Think spring; forget me nots, robins' nests filled with pale blue eggs, fluffy white baby bunnies – tell me you couldn't decorate for the perfect Easter brunch that way. Summer is a no brainer – sand, sky, water, seashells, sailboats. Fall is perfect for denim, navy blue flannel, wool sweaters, plaid blankets and plaid shirts. Winter looks positively Dickensian in deep blue velvet and lace.

A friend recently moved into a new house, and wanted to keep the fresh paint the sellers had used. Both children's bedrooms were blue with white trim. She'd gone with sailboats in her son's room, but was having a hard time thinking of anything for her daughter's room. "It's just hard to make it look feminine," she said. She'd gone with a Peter Rabbit theme, tying the paint into the blue of Peter's jacket. For a preschooler, as her daughter is now, that sounds adorable. My youngest daughter had a Beatrix Potter theme in her first bedroom.  I immediately started thinking, though, of a theme for an older child. It would be easy to stay with the same nautical theme as in her brother's room. Artwork featuring 19^th or early 20^th century women and children at the seashore in floaty white dresses and hats, or charming sailor suits, with the homes in the background featuring intricate white painted gingerbread trim, would be charming. Anything pearl, abalone or mother-of-pearl would be perfect, as would seashells. Or, she could use a garden theme, furniture and accessories featuring the look of a white picket fence or trellis, accessorizing with lots of silk morning glories, hydrangeas and delphiniums, and maybe a mural with a cottage or a castle.

I didn't tell her that. I worried that I'd sound like a bit of a buttinsky. I hate it when people get overly involved in others' choices.

Besides, we've all seen that my taste is not reflective of everyone else's taste.

No one said anything about the Christmas table, either positive or negative. I didn't get any patronizing compliments, nor was I subjected to the lecture about how, "I didn't think we'd have to spell it all out for you. It should have been obvious." (I've gotten that lecture a few times.) As far as I know, it didn't bother anyone. Still, I can't quite get over the fact that everyone else seemed to be on the same page. Is there a code?

Just so you know, if you ever ask me to do any decorating for you, you'd better like blue. Or issue very specific instructions.

Christmas Spirit

It happened again, predictably. I found myself thinking, on December 24, "Wait! It can't be over! It can't be Christmas yet!" I said something to my family, and got back, "It's not over yet. You still have tomorrow." They didn't understand; I didn't want another day, I wanted another month.

The Christmas season is too short for me. It's not about having time to shop – I aim to be done by Thanksgiving. Some years (hello, 2011) I don't make my deadline, but I try.

It's about the decorations, the carols, every single store and restaurant decked out in finery. I don't care if it's cheap plastic; I love it.

I climbed into the car on December 26, and was depressed that the radio station that plays carols all month between Thanksgiving and Christmas had stopped. I need it to last at least until New Year's Day! This year, they started a week early, and I writhed with joy. I'm not prepared to go cold turkey!

This is despite the fact that they massively overplay "Santa Baby," a whiny song that I deeply dislike, and the fact that I didn't hear my favorite, "Silent Night," all month long.

I've been told before that my love of Christmas must stem from unremittingly happy Christmas memories from my childhood. I have always loved Christmas, but I respectfully disagree with that sentiment. My childhood was hardly picture perfect, holidays included. My father was difficult, unhappy and possessed an explosive temper. Our family of six was supported by pension checks and a 20 hour a week secretarial job – money was tight during the rest of the year, but it practically squeaked in protest at the holidays.

I never understood the idea that the "traditional" concept of, "If you're good, and you tell him what you want, Santa will deliver fabulous gifts to every child on the planet" was supposedly the embodiment of holiday magic and joy. I did what any kid, especially a kid in a financially strapped family would do – I hoped Santa would bring the stuff that my parents could not afford. After all, he obviously had no money issues, not with the ability to deliver millions of wrapped gifts all over the world. He never quite came through, leaving me puzzled and hurt. The only two choices I could see were that Santa was prejudiced against people with little money, just like everyone else, or Santa thought I hadn't been good enough. Being good was very important to me, and I tried very hard, so to have a beloved figure decide that I wasn't was painful. Of course, so was deciding that he was an income bigot.

It was especially infuriating when some snot of a kid at school, the kind who swore and cheated and hit other kids and took their stuff was lavished with gifts from Santa. My mother tried to explain to me that the kid's parents had bought all that stuff, and just said it was from Santa, but this didn't help. I still didn't get what I wanted, and now some other kid's parents were lying to him, and other adults were OK with this because it spared his feelings! Maybe he needed to know that he was so naughty that Santa skipped him and his parents had to buy stuff and lie to him!

Charity drives were deeply puzzling to me. Why were people collecting toys? If those kids were good, Santa would bring them lots of toys! If they weren't good, and Santa didn't think they deserved anything, why should I? My mom again tried to distract me by pointing out that the kids in question had parents who couldn't buy them things, but that seemed to be completely beside the point.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to notice that every "Santa" you met looked and sounded different, and never remembered you or anything about you, even if you just saw him yesterday. I also hated the explanation that Santas in malls and stores were "Santa's helpers," there so small children could get the thrill of meeting him, while the real Santa was hard at work on gifts. Why was it OK to lie to small children? "So they'll enjoy it" made NO sense to me.

Yes, I was That Kid – the one with bad hygiene and ill-fitting clothes, having philosophical discussions with the adults even though I was only in kindergarten. Imagine how endearing all the other kids found me to be. Or not.

When I was 8 years old, I figured the whole Santa thing out, and suddenly the world made more sense.  Everything now fell into place, except for one thing – why in heaven's name were all the adults lying to the kids? They claimed it was so the kids would enjoy the holiday, but it did exactly the opposite! Why couldn't they see that? They could have saved me years of agonizing if they'd just been straight with me!

And how about the idea that it was OK to lie to other people, especially your own kids? Whoa, what a can of worms THAT idea opened. Did we even want to go there?

We kept the fact that I was now clued in from my dad for at least three more years, because he was one of those people who was depressed by the idea of kids no longer believing in Santa. I was the youngest, so he took it very hard. He spent my teenage years telling me how all the magic was now gone from the season. It was all I could do not to roll my eyes.

I've also been told that I must love Christmas because I can now redo everything that disappointed me as a kid, and create the perfect holiday.

Well, yes and no. My holiday never looks perfect. It sometimes takes me 3 days just to get the tree up and decorated, and we have an artificial tree. I can't remember the last time I even unpacked all the boxes of decorations. I'd love to be one of those people whose entire house is decked out to the nines, with even the bathrooms done up, but it's never going to happen. I can't find the time. Or the room – in order to deck out every shelf and tabletop, I'd have to pack up the stuff that's there now, and then where would it go? Or I could layer stuff in front of all my books, but then I couldn't get to the books, and that's just an undesirable outcome.

And there's always the time factor; I don't know why, but I always seem to be busy. Holiday baking at my house means boxed mixes and Rice Krispie Treats. They're yummy, we get to experience the whole ritual of baking for neighbors and friends, but who has time to do cut out cookies with piped icing and dragees? Not me. My oldest daughter always felt so let down when she'd say, "Let's make cookies" and I did chocolate chip or peanut butter cookies. One year, when she was only 4, I was so sick the week before Christmas that I did no baking at all, and she marched up to my bedside and announced, very peeved, "We didn't make cookies! We're SUPPOSED to make cookies!"

Poor kid.

My husband frequently has to work on both Christmas Day and Christmas Eve as well. That's usually meant that he'd get home at 3:30 on Christmas Eve, and we'd have 2 ½ hours to eat dinner, drive around to see the Christmas lights and anything else we wanted to do before he had to be in bed at 6.

It also meant that, on Christmas Day, he had to be to work at 3 a.m., so we'd have to wait until he got home (from his 12 hour shift) at 3:30 p.m. to open gifts. Then we'd scarf Christmas dinner before, yep, he had to be to bed at 6. I've had people ask why we didn't get up at midnight, not realizing that that would mean 6 hours of sleep for Dad, or why we didn't open gifts on Christmas Eve, not realizing that the same time constraints applied. Long story short, folks – twelve hour shifts mean very little available time. You do what you can with what you have.

And yes, it was important to wait for Dad. It's always important to be together, in my opinion. Plus, my husband has spent his life feeling left out and overlooked, and I'm not about to say, "We're celebrating without you."

Telling kids that you have to wait most of the day for Dad can be a hard sell. They always did it – they didn't rip into gifts unsupervised – but there was much wailing and whining. I explained over and over that we'd also wait if one of them couldn't be home, or if I couldn't be home, but I was never sure they internalized that until my youngest was one and hospitalized the week before Christmas. Our twelve year old, the one who was always very vocal about how unfair it was that we had to wait for Dad on Christmas Day said, "If Hallie's not home on Christmas, we just won't have Christmas until she's home again." Luckily, she was released on the 23^rd, but it was nice to know that the celebration would have waited for her.

On the one hand, I feel that we go all out in our celebrating, but that usually does not mean extravagant, expensive gifts. I've always been shocked when I hear that other kids have $300 and $400 items on their wish lists. I nearly choked the year my nephews got $2500 go karts for Christmas. We probably didn't spend $2500 on all our holiday shopping combined. Occasionally, we've gotten pointed comments from relatives about the perceived "cheapness" of our gifts. Then, feelings are hurt on both sides. I can't believe that the sentiment, "I'm thinking about you, and care about you" is perceived to come with a price tag attached, and they can't believe that we got them something small when we "can afford better." That's unpleasant, but I'm not going to be emotionally blackmailed into spending money. The only time I've ever even gotten my own children something expensive is when I'm sending them on a trip (I will spend far more on experiences than on stuff).

I did do something about the Santa dilemma, though. No way was I putting my kids through the kind of angst I went through.

They always got 1 gift from Santa, delivered by the Big Guy in person. He comes to our extended family party ever year. The gift was usually in the $10 range. As far as Santa himself, I told them that anybody who wants to give without receiving anything (even credit) in return can be Santa. Put on the suit, and you commit your time, talent and person to the idea of giving and making people happy. A big part of our holiday has always been buying gifts for charity drives, "for Santa to take to kids whose parents can't afford gifts." Anybody can be Santa. He is very real.

He does not live at the North Pole. All those stories and movies are about how nice it would be if someone could be Santa all the time, not just at Christmas.

They're an actor's kids; the concept of putting on the costume and being someone else wasn't hard to grasp. They had no problem with this concept until other kids, and even adults, would contradict them. They'd say something like, "Santa isn't coming to our house," and others would assume that they thought they wouldn't get any gifts, or that they hadn't been "good enough" to get the gifts they wanted. "OF COURSE Santa will come to your house! I'm sure he'll bring you lots and lots of toys!" people would tell them, and they'd be confused. Even when I was standing right there, trying to get a word in edgewise and tell some well meaning adult that my kids already got their gift from Santa, last week, and plenty more gifts from us and their relatives were already under the tree, they'd keep talking about how, "I'm sure you've been good, so just wait! Santa's sure to come to your house!" Occasionally, when my kids went back to school in the early weeks of December and said, "Guess what I got from Santa!" other people would tell them that Santa hadn't come yet, even though they'd sat on his lap and gotten the gift straight from his sack.

I don't think it was any more confusing than the mixed signals every kid gets, and I'm sure it was less confusing than my childhood, but I still wonder why other people will butt in instead of, say, asking for clarification. As an adult, I've seen some kids who say heartbreaking things – "Santa's sick this year, so he won't be able to come," and, "We live too far out in the country for Santa to find us." I would never dream of telling them that they're wrong, even though I find that kind of fiction to be far worse than the "if you're good" fiction. I think everyone needs to rethink all the messages we're sending.

So, the idea that my holidays are perfect now also fails to be convincing.

Part of my love of Christmas is, I know, the fact that, as a Christian, Christmas holds far more meaning for me than the decorations, gifts, songs and candy. Either you share that belief or not, and I'm not going to debate it. You either view the birth of Jesus as miraculous fact or silly fiction, and that's up to you.

I do love, though, how the celebration of Christmas is embraced by Christians, atheists, agnostics, doubters, pagans and the religiously incurious and apathetic. All those people are among my loved ones and acquaintances, and they are just as excited about tree trimming, wrapping gifts, drinking cocoa, attending parties and singing favorite Christmas songs as I am. As much as is possible, we all agree for a month every year. That's part of the magic, too.

It doesn't really matter why I love Christmas; I just do. Everything about it – the smells, sights, sounds, the shopping, all of it, just makes me happy.

So, every year, there will never be enough time to watch all the movies (hello, George Bailey, Ebenezer Scrooge, the Grinch, Charlie Brown!), hear all the music, see all the sights, attend all the events and just soak it all up. I would love to bring back the old European tradition of celebrating the twelve days of Christmas from December 25^th through Twelfth Night, January 6, but even then, I'd feel  bereft when it was over. It never lasts long enough.

All I can do is try, like Ebenezer, to keep Christmas in my heart all the year long.