I adore
wrapping presents. I get a contact high
when I walk into tiny boutiques that exclusively sell wrapping supplies. I love elegant wrapping paper, thick silky ribbons,
and handmade cards. If it has to do with
making the gift look pretty on the outside, I want it. Wrapping paper is sort of the lipstick and
eye-shadow of the present. Sure, it’s
what’s inside that counts, but a little mascara never hurt anyone.
I also enjoy
receiving gifts. I love the idea that
someone thought about me enough to go out and find something that they thought reflected
my personality.
Sometimes
people buy me something that I already have, like a green and blue sea-glass necklace from Nordstrom or a new hardback book that I have just finished
reading. In that situation, I am
grateful that they know me so well that they are that familiar with my exact
taste to buy me an identical item to one that currently resides on my coffee
table or in my jewelry box.
The Husband
does not share my love of all things gift.
When an anniversary approaches, he cringes. When my birthday is a week away, he
panics. When the kids’ birthdays are
upon us, he hands me his credit card and says, “Please buy them something they’ll
like.”
Is it any
surprise that The Husband and I do not exchange gifts?
It happened
slowly, it’s not like after a year of dating he said, I will never buy you a
box of Godiva chocolates so get over it.
He was very good about gifts in the beginning.
But the next
thing you know, you are buying a house and having a baby and you have enough
money to buy what you need, so extra gifts become superfluous. Who gets the gifts, then? The house gets the gifts.
“No,
Sweetie, we just got a new stove—I don’t need a present.”
“New air
conditioning was expensive. We don’t really
have money for gifts now.”
“I’d rather
have a new tile backsplash. Let’s install
that and not do gifts this time.”
Before you
know it, you have been married a dozen years with no Tiffany jewelry to show
for it. No cashmere sweaters wrapped in
silver Nordstrom boxes, no leather purses from Coach under the Christmas tree,
no box of handpicked candy in an adult-sized Easter basket.
Sometimes I
get wistful, thinking how nice it would be if The Husband surprised me with
flowers or a gold bracelet or a pretty picture frame.
But then I
look out the kitchen window while I am putting away the dinner dishes, and I
see him playing soccer with our boys.
They run, they jump, they kick.
They high-five each other and cheer.
I receive gifts every
day. Not the kind to display on my
coffee table, the kind to keep safe in my heart. MOV
