Nothing strikes fear into my heart like seeing my children pull out a pen and paper and start writing their Santa wish list. This year, my 6-year-old's list included a pony and "somthig rully big." Nothing like knowing expectations weren't going to be met to set you into an overcompensating buying frenzy. It's even worse for my older child, who wants a computer -- not gonna happen -- and camping gear, which, given the current price structure, must be laminated with gold.
Luckily, a friend reminded me the other day about his Christmas memories from childhood. They did not include lavish gifts but rather handmade holiday decorations, wonderful food and, of course, the annual adventure of acquiring a Christmas tree.
This was a funny year for tree gathering in Southcentral. There's no snow here yet to speak of -- in fact, some people are reporting rhubarb is coming up and bears are still awake. So we tromped out through the high fields of dead grass and fireweed stalks, my little girl's legs getting laced in the bushes, and looked for the ever-present perfect tree. My kids had done a reconnaissance mission the week before and had spotted one they thought was perfect. It was about 12 feet tall. Our ceiling is 8. And, of course, like all good trees, it was actually two in one. But as luck would have it, right next to it was a beautiful tree. My kids were skeptical. It was too small. They were sure. But I, with the wisdom of having dragged dozens of gigantic monster trees home in my lifetime, was pretty sure if it looked too small it was just right.
My son has been cutting the tree down himself for several years now. This year, he did it with an ax for the first time, carefully whittling the stem into something that resembled a beaver-chewed stump. We sang Christmas carols to encourage him, while reminding him now and again to swing surely and be safe. I have a perfectly good chainsaw in the shed that would have done the job in no time, but what's the fun in that?
When he got near the end, he invited his sister to help him knock it over. The two of them flopped on the ground and pushed with their legs, and the tree gracefully bowed to their will. And off we went, back to the house, to see if it fit. Once inside, the kids could barely believe it. The treetop just touched the ceiling and for the first time in memory, I did not have to return outside to take off another six inches of trunk. We cheered as the star fit easily on the top and, in true Alaska style, decorated ever so carefully to avoid getting stabbed by the razor-sharp spruce needles. The house quickly filled with the smell of the forest, and holiday music played. The holidays had landed, even without the snow and certainly without ponies and computers.
It's no surprise that the holidays often wind up being a time of stress rather than togetherness and joy. Our inboxes are inundated with the long list of ways we must spend and twist in order to be truly happy. As much as I resist wanting to teach my children that happiness comes from a huge pile of cheap, plastic loot under the tree, I also don't want to disappoint them. So I try to ride the balance between bankruptcy and being a scrooge.
Last year, we started adopting a family to buy presents for. Make no mistake, we don't have any extra to throw around this time of year, but my children have plenty of clothes and toys and food. Other people don't, and I want them to start being aware of that. So I say we are giving half our Christmas to the other family. My son balked a little this year, saying maybe we should do that every other year. Nice try, I said, but no. My daughter asked if we could request a family with a baby so she could buy baby toys, which she loves. We adopted a family with a 4-month-old and a 2-year-old obsessed with Spiderman. It seems like just a moment ago when my children were that age, and it was a joy to help someone during that intense period of life when all you want is to relax and sleep through the night. We make them cookies and our holiday bread. The children wrap all the presents.
Like my friend said, these are the things my children will remember long after the wrapping paper has been ripped off all the holiday gifts. Maybe there will be a moment or two of disappointment over the absence of a pony or computer, but underneath all that, there is the joy of doing things together as a family -- simple things like decorating gingerbread and singing carols and pushing over a tree. And, if we are lucky, fresh snow.
Carey Restino is editor of the Arctic Sounder and Bristol Bay Times/Dutch Harbor Fisherman, where this commentary first appeared.
The views expressed here are the writer's own and are not necessarily endorsed by Alaska Dispatch News, which welcomes a broad range of viewpoints. To submit a piece for consideration, email commentary(at)alaskadispatch.com.