Gift-giving disaster
Logan models one of my failed presents from 2019: farm overalls. He returned them the following week.
We are exactly a week into December, and I am happy to report that all of my Christmas decorations are up and more or less in their proper spot. I say “more or less” because I never really know where the foot-tall nutcracker will end up (dang kids!), and the Elf on the Shelf is of course a daily wild card. All the other decorations tend to land in the same spots year after year. The choir of singing Dalmatians that I made in elementary school out of a tuna can and a black and white gardening glove sits—every Christmas since 1985—on the piano. Our nativities from around the world—Chile, Israel, Mexico, Romania and Spokane Valley Toys-R-Us—are displayed on the shelves flanking our fireplace. And on our refrigerator are taped eight half-sheets of paper bearing each family member’s name along with the words, “Wish List”. This is an essential part of our Christmas preparation, because I am terrible at giving gifts and I need all the guidance I can get.
I actually love giving gifts, but I usually fret so much about finding just the right thing that I end up going around and around in circles until I find just the wrong thing. Add to that a heavy dose of practicality and frugality, and you have a recipe for gift-giving disaster. Thankfully, Logan is an excellent gift giver. He relishes picking out something extravagant and fun—something that the recipient would never expect. The kids love it when Logan is in charge of gift giving, grocery shopping, meal preparation, or event planning, because he approaches it all in the same way: it doesn’t have to make sense, it doesn’t have to fit into a budget, but it MUST lead to oohs and ahhs and utter delight.
He wasn’t always that way. We got married 10 days before Christmas in 2001, and I was excited to see what my new husband would give me on our first Christmas together. I wasn’t expecting anything extravagant, but I was still stunned to open up my present on Christmas morning and behold a pair of socks, some soap, and two cooling racks. I can fake excitement over a sub-par gift better than most people, but I doubt I pulled off a convincing amount of delight over that one.
Over the years, I have carefully trained Logan as to what kinds of gifts will be well-received by his delightful bride. Call me a diva, but I really just have two requirements: the gift cannot be anything that has to plug in, and it cannot come from a store with a conveyor belt. The one exception to this rule was the year he got me an aqua blue KitchenAid mixer, which he correctly guessed I would love and I immediately developed strong feelings for. There have been holidays where every gift to me from Logan has come from a different department of REI. That is fine! They fit within the “No Outlet, No Conveyor Belts” parameter, and I welcomed them.
While Logan’s gift-giving abilities have evolved, mine sadly have not. I’m still stuck in the dark ages of gifting. One anniversary, I gave Logan a sweatband to wear when he played basketball, and for his thirtieth birthday I gave him a microfiber cloth—a really fancy one!—to use when wiping down the interior of his car. In my defense, however, I will point out that he is extremely difficult to shop for. He likes cutting-edge technology, sometimes even things that haven’t been fully invented yet. It’s not out of the realm of possibility for him to put a product on his wish list that is still in beta testing or involved in a Kickstarter campaign.
You’d better believe I’ve been checking those wish lists on the refrigerator every day, looking for clues as to what to get each member of my family for Christmas. As I tell them often, “You do NOT want me to be left to my own devices on this. But just to be safe, what size sweatband do you wear?”