So as I am weaving threw the aisles, tripping over screaming toddlers who should really be home watching Tinky Winky slap Po, and cursing myself not so silently under my breath, it dawns on me like a three shot espresso what a total mess Christmas has become.  It’s no longer about good will toward men and peace on earth.  It’s about get your damn hands off my Lego Ninjago dude and no one gets hurt. 

Realistically, none of us need anything.  I mean seriously people, take a break from your smart phone for one teensy second – if only so you don’t flatten the senior citizen with the walker in front of you – and think about it.  Yeah sure I bought some things for my kids, but it’s mostly stuff that they needed anyway.  School stuff, hockey equipment, books, and the odd video game.  I mean what do you get kids that have everything?  Between the Grandparents, my sister, and their Dad and Step Mom, they will be opening presents well into Easter.   And, frankly, I think there’s a little over kill going on. 

I remember when I was a kid, we had some pretty robust deliveries from Santa.  One Christmas in particular, I remember going into the family room and the presents were nearly into the kitchen.  Go Santa!  I think that was the year I go my first pair of skis – they were orange K-2′s and they had my name on them.   In fact, if I recall, I was more excited about the color and my name being on them then the skis themselves.  Shhhh, don’t tell Dad. 

At any rate, my point is that at some level, more stuff is just that – more.  Unless you are Kim Kardashian and then more is not nearly enough.  Think I’m being harsh? Take a look at her fake eye lashes.  It’s amazing the woman can see to drive a car.  Oh wait, she has a driver.

But I digress.

And when did this all occur to me you ask?  I think it was sometime between the giant sticky bun from Specialties and my forth cup of coffee.  Any who, I was taking stock of my life – which mainly involves checking my anemic bank account and praying to the Over Lords at  B of A to magically infuse it with funds – and I realized that I truly have everything I need. 

Certainly my life it not perfect.  And, I think you would agree, every situation could be just a shade better.  But out my retrospection, my goal is no longer to have the best, most high paying job, or the fanciest horse, or the newest fashions for my kids.  It is to enjoy what I have more fully.  To stop and smell the dandelions and then pop their heads off with my thumb.  It is to teach my kids how to use a rock to make hopscotch squares in the parking lot and to prove to them that you will not die from Salmonella if you eat a truck load of raw chocolate chip cookie dough. 

In short, my new goal is to slow down.  Learn to breathe deeper.  Tell the people I care about that I love them more often.  Stop trying to manipulate every situation that doesn’t go my way.  Accept people for who they are and not who I want them to be.   Quit worrying that I will die alone surrounded by cats.  And, most importantly, teach my children to do the same.  Well, except the part about the cats. 

So my advice to you this Christmas is this:  Remember, money will buy love and happiness for a very short time, but love and respect and humor and peace will last forever.  

And, of course if that fails, you can always just head to Nordstrom and drown your sorrows in a new Coach bag.

Ma:  ”How are you feeling dee-ah?”

Me:  “Much better – I feel like a new person.”

Ma:  “Pee-numonia so awful.  Your Grandmother had it and she had to spit up in a bucket.”

Mental head slap.

Ma:  “Did the doctor tell you to use a bucket?”

Me:  “Um no, Ma.”

Me:  “I think the protocol has changed a little since Grandma.  Now they give you expensive drugs.”

Ma:  “Okay.  Well, you might wanna give it a try.”

Me:  “Thanks Ma – I’m good.”

Ma:  “Well, your Fah-tha and I are glad you are feeling better.”

Me:  “Thanks Ma.  Me too.”

Ma:  “Well, I gotta go.  The dog is doing the pee-pee dance.”

Me:  “The pee-pee dance Ma?  Really? Ma? Ma?”

Click

God help me.