Making her children, EARN their Christmas presents, and the kids finally, understood, how fun it is, than to just be, handed the presents! Translated…
“Mom, the teacher put up a Christmas tree in the class, it’s so pretty!”, “Mom, the teacher put so many toys under the tree today!”
a Christmas treasure hunt list for the kids to check off…
My youngest son for two days, shared his joys of how his school is celebrating the holidays. Although we don’t have a religious affiliation, at the end of the year, we’d still, gotten drawn by the music, the decorations at the end of the year. As he finished talking, I’d recalled St. Exupery’s “Le Petit Prince”, “What is ritual?”, he’d asked the fox, the fox said, “it’s make a day different than the rest, a moment, separate from the rest”. I’m so grateful to my son’s school instructors, to add that sense of ritual to my son’s life.
The life at the end of the year came like the waves, with the crowds coming and going. I’d normally selected a day, to examine everything that’s happened during the past year, open up the photo album on my phone, to recall everything that brought me happiness. Walking on the highwires of life, of work, seeing these times that were, frozen, I’d felt glad and hoorayed, “ahhhhhhhhhh, thankfully I took this shot, otherwise, I would’ve, forgotten………”, all of these moments, gone in a sudden, of the daily lives, are called “pebbles” by the writer, Yang, like how the waves crashed in, they’d always left behind the sediment deposits, it’s just, that the writers used the papers and pen to remember, while I, I used, the photos.
illustration from UDN.com
That very night, I sat under the light, write a card to my children, gave them a book, recounted the changes they’d made in their lives for this year. While their father, with the passing of time, gave them anything from blocks, toys, microscopes, telescopes, basketball backboards, etc., etc., etc., etc. But my son is getting older now, I’d given my first year middle school older son the algebra and classical literature questions, and designed the English, the simple poetry riddles for my younger, to give them that excitement, for EARNING their own, Christmas presents. To give them enough time for this treasure hunt, I’d selected a weekend afternoon, to announce the rules of the game for Christmas.
At first, my sons complained, of how annoying, how troubling it was to get my presents for them, showed that lack of interest, but, they were, expectant, of this once-a-year family event. And as I’d encouraged them, they’d, started, looking around the house for the treasure hiding places, and, hoorayed over each and every time they managed to find the answers. After they’d solved four riddles, the gifts they’d, “earned” became, especially, precious to them. They sat in the living room, and started, playing with their winnings. As they got the joys from this game, they’d started asking, “We are going to play the escape room games next year then!”
And every year since, I’d, continued, this sort of a ritual. It has nothing to do with material nor money, but to connect the love we feel and share for one another. And just like that, we’d, tossed in one pebble into the lake, causing the ripples, saying thanks to the past versions of our selves, and, looking forward to the new. This sort of a delicate feeling, is exactly what I wanted to give to my children, so they can take each and every day with their heart, zooming in on the smallest matters in their lives, and, maybe, years from now, they’ll, still, remember it.
And so, this, is the thoughtfulness of this mother, to make her sons, EARN their Christmas presents, and in the process, the children realized how wonderful it is, for them, to use their own brains, to solve the riddles, the puzzles, and they found the fun in using their own abilities to solve the problems that presented themselves to them.