I love Christmastime. I love the baking, the lights, the incessant drone of Bing Crosby’s baritone. Read Christmas gift guides, the wrapping paper, the tinsel. The whimsy, the magic, the child-like wonder. It’s all just utterly delightful.
Well, most of it is a treat, but there is one part of Christmas this mother can’t stand in the least.
For on Christmas, I know, all those big Bandas boys, Will wake bright and early. They’ll rush for their toys! And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the Noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!
So you’ll have to forgive me when you kindly ask what my children might like for Christmas, if I respond in a quasi-grinch-like manner with,
Please Don’t Give My Kids Any (More) Lightsabers
Or any other weapons for that matter. I am all for epic backyard battles, but during the winter months there is one key variable is missing from that equation ‘o fun: the BACKYARD part. In my experience, nary is a Christmas ornament that has escaped the wrath of a brand new, plastic weapon on Christmas morning.
So if you’d like to give my children a weapon to celebrate the birth of Jesus, I’d kindly request that you delay it’s delivery until July.
Please Don’t Give My Kids Remote Controlled Doo-Hickeys
Remote controlled cars/helicopters/robots are freaking awesome and I would love to spend an afternoon whizzing them around our neighborhood. However, the fine motor skills of my two little boys are not at a point where these gifts would allow for any sort of independent play and furthermore, all remote controlled objects eventually end up making their way into my husbands hands – and then I’ve lost him to a Fisher Price drone for all of Christmas morning.
Please Don’t Give My Kids ‘Their First’ Anything
It is always exciting to dole out a child’s first something. Their first bike, first baseball glove, but unless you run it by the Grinch – I mean, their mother – please steer clear of showing up with my sons’ first pocketknives and/or Slime Slingers.
Now I know what you’re all thinking, a Mom cannot stop those gifts from coming!
THEY’RE COMING! One way or another, so just stop that grumbling!
And on Christmas that controlling Mom, with her grinch-feet ice-cold in the snow, will stand puzzling and puzzling: “How could it be so?”
“They still gave them light sabers! They still gave them drones!” “They still gave them remote controlled thingys that go!”
And she’ll puzzle three hours, till her puzzler gets sore. Then the Mom will think of something she hasn’t before!
“Maybe Christmas,” she’ll think, “sometimes comes from a store.” “Maybe Christmas…perhaps…means letting go a bit more!”
And what will happen then? Well…in Nashville they’ll say, That the Mom’s small heart grew three sizes that day!
And the minute her heart doesn’t feel quite so tight, she’ll sit on the couch in the bright morning light, and enjoy her boys playing with those toys!
And won’t even think of the food for the feast!
And she, SHE HERSELF! The Mom, won’t be stressed in the least.