Gently reflecting back on your third Christmas, I see you’ve responded to all that is Christmas – or at least in the larger American sense.
Your dad and I have committed to a rule of three gifts under the tree per person: jammies, a book, and something else. We stuck to that tradition, and family members sent you gifts as well. All this would have been well and good, if Grandma and Papa hadn’t been as excited as they were.
Before they arrived, I remember thinking the presents filled out the tree nicely. Two shopping carts of wrapped gifts were added to the mix.
You awoke in the morning, happy to see me, yet still groggy. And I, in my excitement thrust you into the living room will Grandma and Papa also excited. I’m grateful for your easy to satisfy nature. I adore how happy you are with a single present. Seeing everything made you cheer, yet quickly, I understood you were not ready for the full onslaught you encountered.
Sitting in my lap, you were quickly overwhelmed as the packages kept coming. You liked each item, and responded with a timid, “thank you,” every time another gift was freed. Even still, it wasn’t long before you were overwhelmed by the sheer number of items and simply wanted to play with the Olaf stuffed animal from Grandma and Papa.
Once Dad and I were able to clear through the wreckage of the Christmas aftermath, and our home looked like we didn’t make our living sorting recyclable paper, you were calmer. Toys were sorted and filed into the standard areas you are used to seeing them, and clothes were put into drawers.
And today, the day after Christmas, I still firmly believe that Dad and I are going to stick with the three gift rule.