How to properly train your children

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My kids seem nervous the last days before Christmas morning. They pace in front of the tree…They pick up packages to check the name tags…They wince a wee tiny bit when they see me. And they probably should.

It has a lot to do with what happened five years ago.

But before I tell you exactly what went down you need to know a few things about me. Christmas–in my opinion–is the ultimate display of one’s love for another person. Me…well, I listen to the people I’m closest to. If say, my mom points out that she loves a particular author or artist I try and find something special or unique or remotely involving said adored author/artist/clown/football player/superhero…and present that to her on Christmas Day.

A. Because I love making people happy…

and

B. Because making people happy is a selfish act in which I am fulfilled with the notion that I am special and/or put upon the very pedestal for which I feel I deserve.

To add to the *perfect for you* gift, I find pleasure in wrapping and tagging above mentioned *perfect for you* gift.

And yes, this is exhausting and one reason I drink too much. BUT. I can’t seem to stop. It’s like I’m always having to one-up myself. No, it’s not *like* that. It IS that.

So.

Since I’ve been a mother I’ve tried to teach the kids to be thoughtful when buying a gift for someone. When you care about someone, he (or she) should never be an after thought. It’s never about how much the gift costs…whether or not it is the *in* thing of the minute…I mean for all it’s worth the gift could be homemade…even a card. It’s about the thought. Truly.

When I shop for my kids and for my family and friends I try to keep these things in mind. It’s the reason I’ve never given my grandmother a box of condoms.

So.

Five years ago.

I was pregnant with my son, and my three girls were much younger…11, 10, and 3.

They asked my mom to take them shopping for me. She, of course, obliged them.

She picked them up, took them to the mall, and then brought them back home. Christmas shopping for Mommy? Complete.

The morning of December 25th we sat around the tree and the kids excitedly opened all their many gifts. After half an hour or so my then ten year old said, “Mommy, why don’t you open your presents?”

I looked around and under the tree.

There was nothing left to open.

I said as much.

The girls looked at each other and then at me and then again at each other.

Where were the gifts for MOMMY?…they cried.

The eleven year old pointed at the ten year old–”You got them out of Nana’s car, right?”

The ten year old was horrified. “No! I thought YOU did.”

The three year old sat there in the middle of a pile of torn and ripped wrapping paper, eating it.

The older girls continued to argue and scream at each other, while I tried desperately not to burst into tears.

I had no gifts. From anyone. Not a single card, or foul smelling candle, or pair of granny panties–two sizes too big and severe in its floral design.

I, in my mind, had been an after thought.

I went to a very dark place, very quickly.

I imagined this. They had an obligation. It was called Get Something For Mommy And Do It As Quickly As Possible Because Spongebob Is Coming On. They went to the mall, bought the first thing they found at the first store closest to the EXIT sign (so knowing the mall as I do it must have been either a Dallas Cowboys team poster or a pair of reading glasses from the optical store–neither of which I needed), paid for it, jumped back in the car 4 and 1/2 minutes later, were back home. Having fulfilled their obligation they jumped out of the car, leaving my gift in the trunk…or on the driveway…or in the parking lot of the mall. They entered the house, found the nearest TV, and turned the channel to Nickelodeon. Look! We’re just in time for Spongebob!

If I’m not dead-on I’m close.

So.

While the children frantically checked every closet for my *gift* I grabbed my cell phone and went and hid in my closet and called my friend, Cathy. When she answered I broke down and started crying. I was sure no one loved me, and I was grateful to be able to tell someone as much.

Cathy, being the great friend she is, agreed that my family was indeed a bunch of A-holes and that I deserved much better. After fifteen minutes or so I was all cried out–fully reassured that I was justified in my martyrdom.

I came out of the closet and rejoined my still panicking children in the living room.

Still, no gift for Mommy.

A quick phone call to my mom and a check of her trunk revealed the shopping bags from the mall trip. They had somehow managed to find themselves buried under a set of jumper cables. My mom offered numerous apologies, but it wasn’t her fault. It was no one’s fault. It was an honest mistake. I mean I’m *sure* if I’d forgotten to wrap my family’s gifts and put them under the Christmas tree they would have been just as forgiving.

But that’s never happened. Nor will it. And you can rest assured I’ll never let them forget about how it happened to ME, five years ago.

I mean…why do you think they act the way they do now? All nervous and shit.

Dude. I’ve got these yahoos trained now.

And you know what else? My gifts get better every year.

Suckers.