I'm not great at Christmas
I don't love the pressure of gift-giving. It was fun when the kids were young. Eva still loves Christmas. She has a countdown, watches Christmas shows on Netflix and other streaming services as early as July, and listens to carols. It's fun how much fun it is for her.
For years, getting through Christmas meant getting through the busy season at Lush Fresh Handmade Cosmetics, which was really a year-round project on Groundhog Day repeat. So what I loved most was the built-in break: Christmas, Boxing Day, and soon after, New Year's Day. Shutting down, hunkering down with family, and enjoying each other for a few days was, and still is, the best part.
What I don't love is saving gifts for occasions, birthdays included. If I think of someone and find something that fills a need, or that I know they'd like, I'd rather give it to them right then.
The catch, especially with my wife, is that Brenda grew up where making a big deal of a birthday, privately and publicly, was how you showed and received love. My family did that up to a point, but it faded fast after about age five or six, from what I remember.
I may also still be carrying some gift-giving trauma. In elementary school on Quadra, I gave my absolute favourite pillow, an apple-shaped smiley-face thing, to a friend (let's call him Darren) for his birthday. He mocked me in front of everyone for giving him a used pillow. At least, that's how it felt.
Brenda and I once had an argument when I said I enjoy giving unexpected gifts and delighting people more than living up to the standard of an expected occasion. I'm not right, just different. People deserve to feel celebrated. I just don't love being tied to the societal calendar.
One Christmas I missed buying any gifts for Brenda. I went shopping on Boxing Day. That did not make amends. It's still a sore point, along with a few theories about what was going on for me that let it happen.
Lately I think part of the answer is that I'm a self-diagnosed ADD adult (another story) with what's commonly called Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria (RSD), an intense emotional sting from perceived criticism or rejection. It's a clinical concept more than an actual diagnosis. Either way, it affects my gift-giving more than I understood until recent years.
I'm being personal here because some of my earlier writing might give off an air of being on top of things all the time. In fact, I use tools to stay on top of things because there are days I feel on top of the world, and days I couldn't fight my way out of a wet paper bag.
These days I plan ahead. I'm already working on Fraser's birthday gift (just before Christmas Day, which makes it harder to keep the two separate), and I'm keeping lists and ideas for Brenda and the other kids. It isn't natural for me. It's a system I built because good intentions weren't enough.
Brenda, I'm working on it. You deserve to be celebrated.