My Kinda Christmas

We have a ritual in our house at Christmas time, one that I think every household has at some point or another. One that is spearheaded by every overly enthusiastic mother surrounded by equally enthused children. It’s called the “sale, stash, snoop, and surrender” tradition. It’s that time of the year, when mom (that would be me) goes out of her way to purchase things that will shock and sweeten the shit out of her kids (that would be them), things they were hoping for, but really never expecting to receive. After such a gracious purchase, mom would *stash* said item in the hopes that it would not be discovered, however, as per tradition, we just know that said kids will *snoop*, and force the surrender of said item because “we already know what it is”.

[I always do. I always let them have it. Just one thing, and just the first thing they find.]

This tradition, although an annual occurance, something I should prepare better for, saddens me every year. I use Christmas as the one time of the year that I can mercilessly spoil my children. And do it guilt free. And I go all out. It’s hard to explain, because it’s not really a monetary thing, it’s more of a — hell, I don’t know. I do it ’cause I love it. Anyways, back to the tradition.

I get so disappointed when I know the kids have been snooping. I feel like the surprise has just popped like a bubble.

Until Christmas morning.

And then I see…..those faces……and I think to myself, “good thing they snooped, ’cause if they were anymore surprised, they’d be having heart attacks.”

And it almost seems, like instinct, that they avoided finding the best gifts, as if the best part of the tradition is when mom bursts into tears because of their smiles.

It’s the greatest tradition ever.


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