A Simple Christmas Reminder

This is the first Christmas since 1989 with no kids.  This is also the first Christmas my husband and I will celebrate alone.  Our oldest son was born a few weeks before the holiday the first year we were married.  With both boys in the Navy, and unable to be home, I didn't even bother to put up a tree or lights.  I picked up a couple Christmasy scented candles, a little holiday cheer in a bottle, and whipped up a Christmas Eve lasagna for the husband today.  Tomorrow, I will roast the turkey he requested since we didn't have plans to go anywhere or do anything. 

It's eerily quiet.  It seems like a million years ago when the kids anxiously awaited Santa's arrival.  Or I thought I'd lose my mind trying to scrape together enough money for gifts or get everything wrapped.  Each year, they'd put out milk and cookies for Santa and carrots for the reindeer (which I'd nibble on before tossing them on the sidewalk to look like the reindeer had grazed).  Glitter would get tracked back into the house after they'd sprinkle "reindeer food" outside to attract them and ensure that Santa wouldn't fly on over our house.  We'd spend half the night chasing kids back to bed while they peeked to see what was under the tree. 

I thought about this column today that I wrote many, many years ago about our first Christmas together. 

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Nothing like a little panic to start the Christmas season off right.  A box, its entire contents being all the Christmas ornaments, was missing.  I looked everywhere.  Either I was going senile, or they had been accidentally thrown away over the summer while I cleaned out useless junk.   

While looking, I thought of the ornaments that have survived cats, dogs, and tiny hands plucking them off the tree.  "Ball?" a toddler would inquire before chucking a glass ornament across the room before "noooooo!" could escape my lips.  Many are special simply because the kids made them.  Thinking they were as good as gone, it took all I had not to sit down and have a good cry.  Finally, in the back of a closet, I found them. 

Ornaments are easily replaced, but some could never be.  Every year as I hang the ornament that says “Our First Christmas” on the tree, I remember that Christmas Eve when we lived in Arizona.  It was my first time being away from home and my family during the holidays.  Homesickness set in, and the postpartum depression overwhelmed me.  I spent about as much time crying as I did changing diapers.  Being sleep deprived, the days blended together.   

Our oldest son was born on December 7.  While I couldn't have asked for a better early Christmas present, I was exhausted and on an emotional roller coaster ride.  There were no gifts to give, and that was fine with me.  On a military salary with a newborn, there wasn’t much money for anything but necessities.  Our Christmas tree, which my Grandma sent, stood no more than a foot high. 

As I was trying to convince myself that we were lucky to have what we did…a warm home, a healthy baby, and each other…the doorbell rang.  It was an overnight delivery.  I opened the package to find gifts for the baby, and two $100 gift certificates from my husband’s family.  Braving the crowds and traffic, we headed out to shop.  We went our separate ways, selecting gifts for each other, several packages of diapers, baby formula, and all the trimmings for a real Christmas dinner.       

Once the colicky baby was settled in his cradle, I drifted off to sleep.  Though I missed my family, I felt better knowing there was something to give my husband the next morning.  I slept soundly; it was Christmas morning before I realized my husband hadn’t come to bed.   

Frantically, I jumped from bed sure something was wrong with the baby since I hadn’t heard him cry.  The baby wasn’t in his room.  I rushed to the living room to find my tiny newborn sleeping soundly on his father’s chest.  What a relief that everything was all right.    

Running on a few hours of sleep each night left me with little energy to do much of anything, especially housework.  I did what had to be done, but the dishes were stacked to the side to wash bottles.  Laundry set unfolded in baskets.  Many things had been neglected.  

I couldn't believe my eyes when I went to the kitchen to start the coffee.  It was spotless, as was the rest of the house.  A note hanging from the cupboard read "Merry Christmas!!  I hope I got all the dishes put away where they belong.  I love you, Santa."  Between feedings, my husband had done the dishes, cleaned, and folded laundry.  I don’t know how I slept through all of this, or how he kept the tiny cries from waking me. 

I received one of the greatest gifts that Christmas.  There wasn’t anything he could have wrapped and put beside our tiny tree that could take the place of a full night’s sleep and a clean house on Christmas morning.  No monetary gift in the world could compare to what I was given.  I didn’t need anything else.  Waking to a clean house and seeing my newborn son sleeping with his daddy was all that I needed. 

Every year when I am feeling overwhelmed and frazzled instead of full of the holiday spirit, I think about our first Christmas, and how simple things were back then.  When the shopping isn’t done, the gifts aren’t wrapped, and my to-do list is full of a gazillion things, I try to remember that it is not the cost of the gift or how it is wrapped that matters during this season of giving.  I am reminded the greatest gifts have no price tag; they come from the heart. 

 

(I may miss that craziness just a tad bit this year, too.)