I didn’t grow up with Christmas. Being Jewish, the only wrapping I knew was for leftovers. But when I got married, Christmas became a thing. A BIG thing. My ex-husband was Santa on steroids—our house was lit up like Vegas, we had a 12-foot real tree, and we stayed up all night wrapping piles of gifts for the kids (and each other). I admit, I loved it. Seeing their little faces light up in the morning? Pure magic. Even if it meant sorting through a sea of discarded wrapping paper to find my coffee.
But it wasn’t all Hallmark-movie-perfect. My ex had this habit of buying everything. And I mean everything. He’d pile up stuff we didn’t need, go into debt for it, and then be crushed if we weren’t thrilled with a mixer, a robot, or an ugly piece of jewelry. That part? Not so magical.
After the divorce, I kept the tradition going (minus the debt and emotional baggage). Stockings became my masterpiece—full of quirky, useful little things like bottle brushes, car scrapers, and yes, socks. Last year, I was so proud. I spent hours shopping, wrapping, and arranging these little treasures. Then, summer came, and my son moved home from college. When he went back, I found a box in his room. A box filled with every single stocking stuffer I had picked, wrapped, and lovingly tucked into his stocking. Still in their packaging.
This year? They sent me links. LINKS. Everything they want is for their cars. They literally made me their personal parts department and Amazon Prime shopper. Click. Buy. Done. No surprises. No excitement. I mean, why even wrap it? “Here’s your requested steering wheel and bushings, enjoy.”
But here’s the thing: I want to surprise them. I want to watch them open something unexpected, even if it’s just goofy socks or funny boxers. I want that Christmas morning magic we used to have. I want them to care—or at least pretend to care—about the weirdly useful stocking stuffers that take me hours to find. But this year? It feels like I’m wrapping practicality, not memories. And let’s face it: it’s just not the same.
So, tell me, fellow moms: Do I stick to their boring lists and save myself the effort? Or do I surprise them anyway and risk finding another box of unopened stuff shoved under their beds by spring?
Because honestly, I just want one thing under my tree this year: a little Christmas magic back. 🎄
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