I read an article today that started with this sentence, and it really spoke to me. I look forward to and dread the holidays at the same time. I love the spirit of giving and season of love. I dread reviewing the budget and making sure we spend the same amount on each person. I love thinking of items or activities that will make the recipient smile. I dread receiving items that I won’t use. I feel horrible when it goes straight into the Goodwill box. I ask myself, even with all my thoughtful planning, if I, too, got it wrong, and they are doing the exact same thing with my gift. Instead of all this worry, we could have both made monetary donations to Goodwill and recouped the hours thinking of, researching, purchasing, and wrapping the gift that would end up at Goodwill.

But here’s the problem: I like presents. I like making my Christmas List. I like thinking of the things I’d like to have, but aren’t a necessity because if they were a necessity, I’d have them. I’m trying to get to the root of the problem, and I think it’s just greed. I want more than the necessities. It’s human nature. It’s for this reason that I have a hard time buying into a Christmas without presents. I remember how awesome it was when all I asked for was the Willow Tree Nativity Scene. Every member of my family bought me a piece, and when Christmas was over I had the full set. It was amazing. I loved it, and each time I opened a new present I was surprised that I had gotten another piece. I had gotten what I’d asked for that Christmas. Most years I don’t get what is on my list. As I write this I’m starting to think that’s a good thing because it allows things to come into my life that I never expected - like Dave Ramsey - and helps me make a change for the better.

I spend so much time thinking of the perfect gift for someone, and I think that time could be better spent with the person. I think that asking ourselves, “What would make the holidays extra special this year?” instead of “What do you want for Christmas?” will give the season more significance. This is what I’m going for this year, which is why we are planning a trip to Great Wolf Lodge for Christmas this year. It’s the gift of time and of fun and of family. So surprisingly, I’m saying, “Yes, you can cross me off your Christmas list - no gift required - just join us for the fun if you’re able - and if not, you can still cross me off your list or rather erase my name from it.”

I’m slowly shifting my perspective to be observant and generous throughout the year. I don’t need to wait for Christmas to give someone a gift I picked up in February because I thought they’d like it. I don’t need to wait for Christmas to give a coupon book to do a favor. I don’t need to wait for Christmas to offer a helping hand. It should be a constant state of mind. So here’s to a Christmas without presents and a year full of giving.

It happened on a quiet Saturday afternoon in an ironic fashion (as these things always seem to do) in that we were just discussing how long the object had been around.

It began it’s life on November 1, 2008.  Audi gave it the breath of life a few hours before Josie’s party was to start that afternoon.  Just a standard pearlized white balloon bought at Walmart.  The cheapest set they had, after all, they were only balloons and were meant to be enjoyed and destroyed by the young guests that day only.  But no, not this balloon.  It took on a life of it’s own - determinded to leave it’s mark in our lives.

It hung around for a few weeks with some of it’s brothers and sisters.  But soon, it was alone.  However, the holidays were coming shortly.  Another chance to celebrate.  Thanksgiving came and so did Cory.  That night a friend joined us for some Euchre.  We were all sitting around the table:  Audi and I, AJ and Brittany, Cory, and Jared.  AJ casually looked up and said, “Hey, there’s a ballon up in the corner.”  It was written on, rubbed with static, and hidden in the alcove earlier that day.  (I saw it all go down because Cory asked me for a marker.)  AJ got up from his seat, grabbed it, and read it’s message out loud: “You smell.  Love, Cory”.  Of all the people to find that balloon, it was perfect that it was AJ.  We laughed hysterically.  Christmas came and went.  New Years came and went.  Valentines Day came and the “You smell” balloon was still wandering around the house.  Then, on that fateful afternoon of February 14th, 2009, the infamous pearlized white balloon went *pop*.  It said goodbye gracefully fulfilling it’s purpose by being enjoyed by a four year old.  It was fifteen weeks old and will be missed.

I was sitting in front of the computer finishing up two very tasty enchiladas and got to thinking how much I like this recipe.  It has everything I think a chicken enchilada should have - chicken, cheese, enchilada sauce, and a tortilla, and it’s a-w-e-s-o-m-e.  Then, I thought about other foods I like that are plain.  Take pancakes for instance.  Give me basic pancakes with maple syrup any day.  Audi makes fun of me - like I’m missing out for liking something so basic.  ”Why not throw some chocolate chips in there?”  Gross.  Sorry, honey.  I don’t care how many times you tell me.  Chocolate chip pancakes taste nothing like a cookie.  Get over it.  I put them in yours - be happy.  And it’s not like I never eat “fun pancakes”.  I can handle some strawberry pancakes every once in awhile - like twice a year.  They’re hardly considered a breakfast food.  They’re layer upon layer of plain pancake covered in a sweet gelationous goo and doused with whipped cream.  I guess it’s a matter of I want what I want and nothing else.  If I want pancakes, I want to taste pancakes.  If I want a donut (we’ll stick with breakfast since I’m on a roll), I want to taste a donut, not a fried biscuit topped with tons of icing and sprinkles and filled with jelly.  Don’t get creative with food.  Orange mashed potatoes and green ketchup is just not right, and I’m not eating it.  Audi’s holiday pumpkin roll?  Forget it.  I’m a no fluff kinda girl.  

I think it comes from my desire for order and purpose.  I like things that are easy to understand.  I think that comes from my desire to teach.  I want things to be easy for Jayden to do on his own; therefore, I like things to be that way for me.  With Jayden, we set up his room so he can play with what he wants, when he wants, and is able to put things away when he’s done.  Cars go in the cars tub, dinosaurs go in the animals tub, guitar goes in the music tub, which again goes hand in hand with my desire for order.  I also think being a teacher makes me want to learn all I can.  Or maybe it’s the other way around.  Because I love to learn all I can, I’m a good teacher.  I just have no patience for organizations, companies, schools or teachers that give me fluff.  It’s like wasted time in my opinion.  Yes, I will wear the macaroni necklace Josie brings home from kindergarten because that is a skill she should be working on.  Will I keep it forever?  Hell, no.  But I’ll wear it with a smile until she forgets about it.  Will I be perturbed when Jayden brings home the same thing when he’s in third grade?  You betcha.  Fluff.  All fluff.  If Jayden’s teacher wants to get rid of some macaroni, she can have them (insert Science Standard for Third Grade here).  Even when I was researching taekwondo, it took me four emails and a visit to learn the basic information I was looking for from an organization.  This place is looking for business and the brochure is nothing but fluff.  It didn’t tell me what taekwondo is, what form they teach, when classes are held, how much classes are, how many students are typically in each class, why it’s a good idea to enroll my child, how the organization is run, nothing!  How can I make a decision if I can’t get the information I need to make an informed one?  I digress…

So anyway, if I ever ask you something, remember, I want a direct answer.  When I want something, that’s what I want - no frills, no fluff.  Just keep it simple, sweetie!