Consequently, I want to reciprocate the feeling. And what can be more joyous than watching two little boys tearing through presents on Christmas morning throwing last year's discounted wrapping paper over their shoulders along with that carefully picked out present on Amazon. Cries of "Where's mine?" and "Are there anymore?" join the angel chorus of Pandora holiday favorites soaring out of a nearby speaker. They pause for the occasional photo holding their cherished gift for the five seconds necessary for a blurry picture on Instagram accompanied by another peace sign before tossing the gift onto the growing pile and shoving another chocolate orange slice in their mouths for energy.
Sometimes, they will play with the new toy after mom and dad carefully extract the thing from its security ties. (Seriously, did the Pentagon design those black twisty security holders on the back of toys?) Of course, mom and dad will get roped into playing Monopoly Empire or Just Dance 59. Then the boxes will be cleared, the wrap thrown out in a black sack large enough to be St. Nick's, and the gifts will be put away, some forgotten about until I threaten to sell them or throw them away.
As I work in my sons' closets, organizing toys and hanging up new clothes, I wonder if I'm spoiling them too much. There seems to be a fine line between wanting to make my kids happy and buy them their heart's desire and turning them into spoiled little brats who expect to get whatever they want. I love providing a happy childhood for my kids and revel in their smiles and ecstatic squeals when the husband and I discover the perfect game or toy that makes them dance around the family room like a sugar-powered Energizer Bunny. I remember my own happy childhood, and how my mom often went with out providing all those Barbie dolls and My Little Ponies that littered the underneath of our Christmas tree.
But I cringe when the wrapping paper carnage is over, and they scramble under the tree pulling up the tree skirt and asking if there are anymore presents. I bite my lip and point to the mountain of books and video games already amassed in a corner. The beginnings of a lecture on gratitude and greed write itself in my brain just waiting for my tightly compressed lips to open. Sometimes I let it out, sometimes I count to ten and wonder if it will make a dent. Sometimes I realize they can't help it. I've conditioned them to expect a lot. They are a product of my spoiling, just as I am a product of the world I live in. A world of plenty of everything including expectations to bury your kids in gifts.
I just don't want them to be, what's that nasty word that gets tossed around these days - Entitled. Yes, that's my biggest fear apart from spiders, the Big One (earthquake), and nuclear war. I don't want my sons to grow into narcissistic, spoiled, entitled little brats who believe the earth revolves around them, and they are entitled to everything they want. I need them to know there are limits - financially and ethically to our generosity.
Plus, I want them to see the beauty in giving as well as getting. That's why we participate in toy drives and Angel Tree. I feel a little like the moral at the end of a Christmas movie as I try to impart my grown-up wisdom that the reason for the season is about love and bringing joy to others. They nod to get me off my soapbox and look solemn and help me wrap the toys. But like the kids they are they will still ask as I'm purchasing the angel gift - "Is that for me? Or I want that".
Now, I have read on Facebook and others blogs that some families try to tamp down the spoiling with the three gifts rule: something they want, something to read, and something to wear. I've seen some other variations on this one, too. For about a second, my husband and I contemplated trying it out this year. Of course, that lasted as long as the three seconds it took to pull up Amazon Prime and start browsing Pokemon and art supplies. We get carried away picturing their bright little faces singing karaoke on a new machine or exclaiming best parents ever as they don their new Five Night's at Freddie's t-shirts and Pokemon socks.
I am sure I failed this year to bring any semblance of restraint to Christmas gifts. But it's something to think about for next year. After all, I feel I owe the world and myself the gift of two kind, thoughtful, non-entitled boys who grow up to be good men.
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