I used to wrap anything I could- run upstairs and grab the white elephant electronic address book that I actually liked or give away the $20 that had been hiding for months, possibly since my May birthday, for such a time. I loved finding what I thought would be perfect, color coding the paper, counting and attempting to ensure each number was equal.
My family would go around opening one by one and towards the end, I didn’t want anyone to be skipped. I wanted us to be able to go around more than once- some gag gifts sure just to kill time, matching office supplies aren’t the coolest, but once I got cash I really went all out.
The only surprises were the ones labeled for me, but I was excited about the ones I had researched or found or carefully wrapped- like when Jeff’s first phone was opened and presented skillfully, lined with tissue paper, trying to not mask, but glorify the fact it was a clamshell.
Last year I wasn’t in the mood. No one got anything from me, and yet we still sat in our circle and as I alternated between guilt and relief, gifts were opened and the Christmas morning routine continued- just as I assume it had the year before, when I tried to maintain interest in the Office marathon while indulging in too many unformed gooey delicious things while listening to a friend skype home.
I can’t predict what will happen this year. I do love to give, but I doubt I’ll ever regain that child-like or perhaps childish excitement in doing so.
The ghosts and spiders are just now coming out. I can give it more thought later.