Self-Made Nutcase

A week ago, I was in good shape for Christmas.

- Tree? Check.  Been up and decorated (along with the rest of the house) since the day after Thanksgiving.

- Shopping? Check.  I'd purchased everything I needed but for two items easily obtained from a local store.

- Paper and bags and tissue and ribbon and bows? Check.

- Cards? Check, although they still need to be written.

Figuring on just one more shopping trip, two evenings to wrap and one or two evenings for writing cards, I felt pretty comfortable about getting everything done with another two and a half weeks to go.

So I added baking to the schedule.  I don't do it every year, but when I do, it's a big deal.  We're not talking tollhouse cookies or snickerdoodles or plain sugar cookies here.  I usually make about 8 different kinds of fairly complicated cookies, anywhere from two to four dozen each.  And truffles.  Four or five varieties, twenty of each.  This year's selections - it took me an hour sorting through recipes to decide - will total 560 cookies and 100 truffles (the 46,750 calories don't count).  Making the shopping list took another hour.  Shopping for the ingredients will take two hours, minimum, and a whole lotta dollars.  Baking will occupy two full days on the weekend before Christmas.  And by the time I'm done making all this stuff, I want no part of eating it.  I give them all away. 

So if it takes a lot of time, and costs money, and I don't eat the stuff, why do it? Because it adds a lot to the holiday for me and I truly love the process.  Measuring and mixing, shaping, assembling, decorating.  My creations usually taste great, look great.  I get a lot of satisfaction (and compliments) out of the whole thing, which is why I felt it was worth chewing up a good chunk of that limited pre-Christmas free time.  And I still felt mostly comfortable with getting everything done with some time to spare.

Then I really blew it.  I got a case of the Annual Holiday Guilt Trip.  We have one of those "Giving Tree" things at work.  It's really just a table, and sometime late in November a half dozen inch-thick stacks of paper appeared on it.  Each sheet lists a kid's name, age, what the kid wants, what the kid needs, what size the kid wears, what the family needs and some little speck of personal information about the kid like "He's a very loving child," or "She loves to read."  You know how it goes. It's for a kid in a family that can't afford much (or anything) for Christmas.  You, on the other hand, are lucky because at least you have a job in a place like this where they put out stacks of paper that tell you what less-fortunate folk are wishing for.  So you read through the sheets to find a kid or family whose needs and wants are something you'd like to provide.  You take the sheet, go buy the stuff, and this helps you get rid of the Annual Holiday Guilt Trip for this holiday season. 

For the first couple of weeks the stacks were there, I passed them without a glance. I didn't want to adopt a kid this year, didn't want to add to my gift list or list of stores I needed to go to.  Didn't want to add to my stress level.  Plus, I figured in an office this big, the stacks would be gone quickly and that would be very nice and I was satisfied to be associated with a company doing a charitable thing like this.  If the stacks disappeared, it meant my help wasn't needed, and that would get rid of the Annual Holiday Guilt Trip also.  Well, as long as I did the right thing whenever I passed the Salvation Army bell-ringers.

And the stacks did grow smaller each week.  But with a week left before the gifts had to be in, there was still a considerable pile on the table.  That's about the time I couldn't deal with the Annual Holiday Guilt Trip any more.  I rethought my original decision, which now seemed quite selfish.  I figured I had a bit of room in the schedule, and in the budget, and except for some inconvenience, there was no reason not to do it.

So Friday morning, I started looking through the stack of remaining sheets.  And I quickly discovered why the remaining ones hadn't been adopted:  they wanted big-time stuff.

"Gameboy Advance"

"PlayStation2"

"iPOD"

"Car" (I'm serious - the kid's age was noted as 17)

"Queen size sheets and comforter, blue with pink flowers"

"Money"

And there was a four-year-old who "needed" a DVD player.

Call me a cynic, but most of these didn't pull on my heartstrings.  I started to feel the Annual Holiday Guilt Trip leaving me.  But not completely.  So I looked again.

I adopted a two-year-old who needs a car seat and some clothing and books.  And later in the day, because that damned stack was still pretty big, I adopted a 5-year-old who wants educational toys, and whose family needs queen-sized sheets regardless of the color.

My holiday schedule is no longer so comfortable.  Less time, more shopping, more wrapping to do.  A bit more stress.  No doubt more frustration in the stores each day closer to Christmas.  But I can deal with it.

It would have been easier, though, if I'd found a kid who was asking for cookies.

Comments

[Jim - PRS]

Yeah, but ya done real good, Lynne.

P.S. Truffles...mmmmmmmmm

[scorpy]

I have to agree with Jim, Lynne. All those kids "needing" all those frivolous items make me ill. Sure, I know, at that age, it feels like a need, but damn, I wish someone would've adopted my brothers and I when I was between the ages of 7 & 10. Or I wish I could share my tale with the kid that "needs" an iPod. Of course, being kids in today's society, they'd see my tale as similar to the one about walking 2 miles to school, uphill both ways, with barefeet in the snow.

Greedy little bastards.

Sorry. No Holiday Guilt Trips here. I refuse.

[Bekah]

There's no need for you to have guilt when an iPod, or a Gameboy isn't a NEED. Shoes and clothes and books? More of a "need." Sheets and comforters to keep you warm at night? I'd file that under "need" as well. What the hell is wrong with people thinking that a Playstation 2 is a NEED? Even worse - what the hell is the matter with the people who gave these forms to your office? That's pretty shitty. I think they should've weeded out the actual needs and left out the wants and desires.