Santa’s Helpers
Not having my own child to tell stories to on Christmas doesn’t lower the level of stress I have to go through whenever I have to decide what to buy for my family and my friends’ children. I was blessed with a husband whose love for travelling was so obvious that booking a trip for a vacation was the best choice.
But having to wander through the bookstores and toy stores with hordes of families pouring from all directions is my version of hell. It was like I was slowly being drowned in shrieks. I had contemplated online shopping for everything but had decided that it was easier to see for myself than having to ask people to return things on such a busy holiday.
So year after year, I put myself through the sweaty and grueling torture of buying toys that would be broken in a few months and clothes that they would outgrow by next year. And always I wonder why we have to bother. I wish I could just send them a Christmas card and be done with it. Why does love have to come in a box during this season? I could only imagine if the song came true that everyday should be like Christmas. I would probably faint.
But whenever I see the look on my nieces and nephew’s faces I remember that Christmas was not exactly for little old me. It was for those millions of innocent children who look forward to the rewards of a year of being a nice kid.
That almost makes shopping bearable.
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