So, the boys woke up at different times this morning. No.1 was anxious to go downstairs and open gifts, but I had him wait until after our traditional apple fritter's Christmas breakfast. And by the time that was done and cleaned-up, No.1 had calmed down a bit and we were ready to go to the basement.
No.1 asked Santa for a red bike that is big enough for him but bigger than the bike he has now with back pedal breaks. Well, guess what? Santa found one a Walmart a few weeks ago and stored it at a friends house the put it by the tree last night. No.1 was rather impressed.
No.2 came down the stairs saying "Mehwee Kissmas" over and over. It was adorable. He saw his new balance bike and then glanced around the room and saw the train table! "Oh! Dats Cool!" and he ran right over and began to play. It took several tries to get him to come back to the tree to open gifts.
So far, so good.
Mr. handed out gifts and both children opened theirs one at a time. Thank yous were exchanged, hugs and kisses given, wrapping paper tossed. Then it was time for what I thought was the coolest gift for No.1. I had been searching for just the right Minecraft t-shirt for months and finally scored one (two, really, as I ordered S and M just in case) on Cyber Monday. It is not your typical Creeper or Minecraft man shirt. It's a silhouette of a boys head and inside the brain area are Minecraft blocks. So, unless you know Minecraft, you won't get the shirt. No.1 had been so excited to get a DC Minecraft shirt the last time we were up there (just a cheap tourist shirt), so I thought this was a perfect gift. I threw in a couple pairs of pants, too, just because he needs them.
I handed No.1 the box. Immediately his face fell. "I know what this is," he mumbled. "It's clothes." Dejectedly he opened the package, saw the pants and folded shirt (you could not see the image) and tossed the box to the side. It was like I had offended him or something.
I was upset. No, I was mad that my child could be so rude and not show any gratitude for this gift and that he didn't even look at the shirt. Maybe his reaction wasn't that severe, maybe it was just the Clomid (it really screws with my hormones), but, for me, my perfect Christmas morning was ruined. Nothing else mattered. I had an ingrate for a child.
Then, as steam was spewing forth from my ears, Mr., seeing (and hearing) my disappointment in my son's actions, unfolded the shirt and showed it to No.1. It was then that No.1 changed his views on clothing as a gift. His face lit up, he apologized for his behavior, and he thanked me for the shirt (the pants, well, I'm sure that's another matter).
With my perfect Christmas morning restored, I still couldn't help but think about why my child had acted so poorly. Have I overindulged him over his 7 short years of life? Have I failed to show gratitude for even the little things? I'm not sure what the answer is (Mr. says it's just because he's 7 - that might be it), but I want to figure out some ways to teach my boys gratitude so that even socks will bring forth a hearty "thank you!"
So, here's to blessed, dear 7-year olds.
Here's to the perfect gift (well received or not).
And here's to a Better Mommy Me.
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