Stuffed
Written By Susanna Sonnenberg
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A family cuts back on the holiday gift gorge and finds there's no present like time.
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Christmas makes me crazy. More stuff, more spending, and no time.
Since my sons were born, they have been racking up loot. Ezekiel, 12, once was obsessed with penguins and had a book of penguin poems, a colony of 20 stuffed birds, and a chair in the shape of a penguin. Otis, who just turned 8, loves Playmobil, and his collection has grown with every birthday, and every Christmas, and just because.
I'll admit the boys aren't gimme-gimme kids. Rarely have they whined for a video game a friend has or thrown a tantrum in a store. Still, in their lifetimes, they've accrued novelty bath mats, toy saxophones, magnets, stickers, key rings, mobiles. They're lucky. We all are. And then at Christmastime, like everyone else, like me, they expect more.
In theory, my husband Andrew and I were hoping to raise our sons with nonmaterialistic values, yet we couldn't help overdosing them with stuff. We were hooked on the narcotic hit of their momentary delight as they opened the next new thing. We longed to provide them with everything in the wide world. No wonder I felt crazy.
Finally, three Christmases ago, I just couldn't do the same old thing anymore. I'd been reading Bill McKibben's Hundred Dollar Holiday: The Case for a More Joyful Christmas, and I started to think about the ways money bossed us around. Christmas wants us to spend. It lets us spend, the way pregnancy lets us eat. Andrew and I decided we'd try a no-spend holiday: We'd give the kids presents but would buy nothing. The plan to separate gifts from money felt raw and weird and dangerous. Friends predicted it would fail; one said simply, "How could you?"
We weren't sure. We sat the kids down and said, "Boys, this Christmas we're not going to spend money." (We would need to repeat this a lot — to ourselves and to them.) "We're going to find other ways of giving."
They looked concerned, and Otis said, "Are we still going to get presents?" When I said they would, they shrugged and went out to kick a soccer ball, leaving the new philosophy to us.
I confess their November birthdays had left them sated, so maybe they didn't feel the sting too sharply. But I also know we're lucky to have kids who are as open to new ideas as they are to new stuff. They're happy with any opportunity to ask a zillion questions; we just have to be ready with answers.
Andrew and I came up with gift ideas: certificates for bowling, camping, making sushi. I illustrated a story for Otis; my husband made a DVD of Ezekiel's baby movies. These things took time, but we had more time now.
Without the shopping, I felt almost guilty, as if I were getting away with something. But I was so much freer, not only to be creative but also to be fully present with my kids (who did ask about twice a day, "Are you sure we're getting presents?"). On winter break, we lounged on the couch and read books. We went sledding. During the hours I spent making Otis's book, colored pencils in hand, I thought about who Otis was, instead of what he wanted.
On Christmas morning, though, I panicked. For one thing, I wasn't getting a present. Andrew and I had agreed we wouldn't give each other gifts, but now I felt ripped off.
The boys, however, did beautifully. They noted how many presents they had — one, two, three — and carefully opened them. We'd made Otis a ticket to be the Boss of Mama for a Day, and he was thrilled. Ezekiel was insanely pleased by the camel chopsticks, a present I'd overlooked the previous Christmas and stashed in the basement. Instead of being overwhelmed, they paid attention to what was before them. I relaxed. I forgot (well, almost forgot) my longing for suede gloves. With less stuff, there was less that had to be done (no hunt for batteries, no onerous cleanup), and we spent a slow, lovely day together.
I'd like to say it all worked out that well, but of course, it didn't. It was a struggle to quiet my anxiety in the seasonal din. Because I'd opted out of the December craze, my sister's kids got their package late. For weeks afterward, whenever Otis tried to redeem his Boss coupon, I'd be chopping onions or packing lunches and I'd say, "Later."
But other things, surprising things, turned out better than we expected. The boys never missed toys that weren't there, and that made me wonder what could happen if we just gave kids the room not to want stuff.
After that, we began approaching Christmas as an adventure. The next year, as a family, each of us asked for one gift. Otis couldn't grasp the concept of "one," so Ezekiel made suggestions, among them The Complete Adventures of Curious George. It was just one book — yet he adores that book, has carried it onto every airplane, shown it off at school.
Last year, at the boys' suggestion, we each got one main present and one surprise. (Ezekiel got a ski day alone with his dad; Otis got to "sleep in the big bed" with us on Christmas night.)
We haven't eliminated their obsessions over lacrosse gear or iPods, and the boys' birthdays still provoke wild binges on our part. But we have started a conversation in our family. We found that even a small change promotes a shift, and I've learned that the point isn't to stop spending money, but to be awake to our decisions. This year I look forward to Christmas because it doesn't feel like a bloated habit anymore, but a chance to explore the precious depth of being together.
About the Author: Susanna Sonnenberg is the author of the memoir Her Last Death (Scribner).
Next: Readers share their spend-free holiday moments
Creating a holiday that's rich in memories, not loot. We specify a theme for each night of Hanukkah: One night is family gift night, so the gift is a family game. One night is educational, so we give a book or something related to learning. Our favorite night is when we go to the store with the money we would have spent on gifts, and the kids choose toys to donate to Toys for Tots.
My parents give a gift that encourages time together, such as tickets to a show, or that encourages activities and exercise, such as paying for a ballet or swimming class.
My mother, sister, aunt, cousin, and I choose one Saturday a month in September, October, and November for Family Christmas Craft Day. The children love giving gifts they've helped make. It cuts down on the expense and lets us spend time together.
My mom and aunt decided one year that we should take a family vacation instead of buying gifts, so we went to Florida. We did a Yankee swap with gifts we found for less than $10. No mall shopping, and sun and sand instead? Priceless.
We've decided to buy only used toys or make them. We've found the perfect toy on Craigslist on several occasions. I fear our kids will think us cheapskates in the future, but at ages 4 and 1, they're blissfully unaware.
When I divorced my children's father years ago, we were left nearly destitute. My mother's church helped us furnish a rental home, provided toys and clothes, and took up a collection. Now we go back to my mom's church and participate in the Angel Outreach program, which helps foster kids. My children choose a child from the angel tree (often one much like themselves), and we budget half of what we would have spent for their presents.
One of our favorite gifts is a slip of paper placed in our daughter's stocking. It's a coupon for a day out with Daddy, who takes a day off to spend with her alone, doing whatever she chooses. That gift is usually the only one she remembers by February.
My siblings and I exchange names, and each year we have a different wacky rule. One year, everything had to be found at a thrift store. Another year, all gifts had to be edible.
About a week before Christmas, I take my four kids to the dollar store to buy gifts for their siblings, godparents, and grandparents. The presents get opened after dinner on Christmas Eve. It always surprises us how happy everybody is with their $1 purchase, and the gifts get recognized more than they would in the Christmas-morning craziness.
I get a takeout holiday dinner, so I can spend the day with my husband and children rather than being tied to the kitchen.
I carry on a Christmas tradition that my parents began when I was young. Any monetary gift that the family receives is put toward a family night out. This usually means getting dressed up for The Nutcracker, going out for dessert, and then driving around to see the lights. My children now look forward to that night more than any gift.
We spend two hours decorating and call it finished. First we get the items from the attic, put up the tree, then start the clock. Each person makes sure their favorite decorations are up, and no one complains about helping. We spend more time making candy and cookies together to deliver to friends and neighbors.
We have a light Christmas Eve dinner with our favorite finger foods — feta cheese dip, meatballs, chocolate- covered strawberries — just a few treats that everyone gobbles up, which means no waste.
Every Christmas, our five children receive three gifts: one "gold" gift, the big item they're longing for; one "myrrh" gift, which is for their body, such as clothing; and one "frankincense" gift, for their spiritual growth. It keeps spending down but also focuses on our celebration of Christmas and the gifts given to the Christ child. We send a portion of the money we've saved to a charity.
We use our advent calendar as a meaningful way to start the day. Each day my 4-year-old daughter opens a door, and there's a message inside that invites her to do something in the holiday spirit: It might be calling her great-uncle to sing a Christmas song or telling her little brother a Christmas story.
Each year my extended family conducts a charitable lottery instead of exchanging gifts. Each family writes an organization's name on a slip of paper. We submit our choices along with a check, then draw a winner. The winning family donates the money to their chosen charity. The lottery generates a lot of dinner-table discussion about the state of the world and what we can do about it.
We make or find special gifts. My stepdad's a crossword puzzle buff, so last year I went to armoredpenguin.com and made a crossword puzzle with clues about his life. And for my mom, one year I organized her negatives from the last 40 years.
A tradition that my parents started is a year-in-review poem. My dad puts on his Santa hat and reads a poem he's written about our family's adventures from the past year.
We do a few gifts: something you want, something you need, something to wear, something to read.
We try to get things that encourage a hobby, particularly if it will mean more time we spend together as a family. For instance, for our 6-year-old who was interested in cooking, we got a basket with a chef's hat and apron and fun kitchen gear.
Last year my daughter was 3, and people had started to tell her Santa was watching. I think it was starting to scare her a bit, that this big, white-haired man was just waiting for her to slip. We told her Santa had seen all the great things she'd learned to do and the awesome way she'd played with her new brother. To get this point across, Santa left a photo album next to the cookie plate. The photos were things she'd done during the year, such as learning to jump off a diving board or sharing with her brother. Santa wrote little notes to go with each picture. It's a nice reminder of how much she grew in a year and all the nice things she can do for others.
Every couple of Christmases, my extended family drives 8 1/2 hours to Ruidoso, New Mexico. We rent one cabin and snuggle in tight. Our children never miss the fact that there aren't many presents in those years. Never once have I heard my 5-year-old say, "Do you remember the stuffed animal I got?" But I've lost count of the times I've heard, "Remember when Santa Claus visited our cabin?"
My cousin was getting his first leave from the war in Iraq, so my grandparents had a large family Christmas. My cousin's only request was for everyone to bring him a copy of their favorite book. He wanted to read what we all enjoyed on his downtime in Iraq. It helped him pass the time and reminded him of his family.
My grandfather (Opa) became a baker when he immigrated to the States back in the '50s, and the family love of baking has continued through the generations. As kids we poured and spooned not-so- consistent dough onto pans. Then, as if that weren't enough child labor, we'd dress up in Santa hats or reindeer ears (seriously), load up the cookies, and deliver them to our neighbors. That's a lot of family time.
I've replaced holiday cards with "annual cards." I send my yearly update in August. It's less pressure and gives me time to craft personal notes.
My husband loves Doctor Who, so I made him a Doctor Who scarf. It became a top- secret family project. My mom helped, my son was the lookout to tell me when Daddy got home, and the rest of the family would get my husband to do "chores" out of the house.
Last year I had to give up the craziness because I was 8 months pregnant with twins. I found myself sobbing on a bench because I couldn't make it through the mall to buy my husband a present. Christmas was great anyway, but the important part for me was the effect of letting go. Once you see it works out okay without all the presents and decorations, it seems crazy to do it any other way. Or maybe that's what having kids does to you.
