These days, my kids hate that I’m their mom at Christmas. My rule (sadly, one of the only ones I stick to) is that I buy only things we need or stuff I think is going to make us more evolved, well-rounded people. The rule covers all holidays—even the gift-giving ones—birthdays, and generally every trip to any kind of retail outlet.
Lucky for Theo and Flo, my sharp-toothed vitriol for junk started just at the end of their belief in that jolly old fool Santa. Otherwise, nestled under the tree, Theo might have found his dad’s old baseball cards tied with twine, and Flo would have discovered my childhood doll,a coworker’s beautiful (albeit morbid) story about how her grandmother wrapped her most beloved personal items as Christmas gifts so her family wouldn’t have to wait for her will to be read.
