No More Flaccid Christmas Stockings

There is a scene in the movie Oh. What. Fun. where a middle-aged mother (played by Michelle Pfeiffer) has left her horribly unthankful family on Christmas Eve and driven cross-country to show up for her favorite talk show. The host, played by Eva Longoria, has a contest every year called the Holiday Mom Special. In a series of antics that are only believable because the feminine urge to have a rage-filled Advent is real, Michelle’s character ends up on the show.

And Eva Longoria’s character explains why she started the Holiday Mom Special:

“It’s because I’ve been buying myself Christmas presents for the last fifteen years just so that I could have something to open while my family tears into the gifts I bought them like a pack of coked-up howler monkeys.

You know what my husband got me last year? An upholstery cleaner.”

And then there is a brilliant use of the word “flaccid” when describing how empty a mom’s Christmas stocking usually is.

Listen, you could watch this movie with your husband, or you could just send him this article.

In the Condon household, I get the most gifts and I have the biggest stocking. But not everybody’s husband has been anointed by the Holy Ghost. And this time of year, I am all too often at a happy hour when one of my friends tells me that all she can look forward to is an appliance or a robe yet again. To quote my mother, I would leave a man for less than that.

It makes me want to scream. It is as though college-educated, gainfully employed men do not know how to google “43-year-old perimenopausal mom jewelry art monogrammed book cozy Christmas gift.” Guys, it’s literally a copy/paste for you now. You’re welcome.

And an empty stocking is just entirely unacceptable. World Market is like the North Pole for middle-aged ladies. There’s chocolate, bath bombs, and salami. Welcome to your new holy trinity. Just walk in and start throwing stuff in a basket. Besides, I say, if Mom’s stocking is flaccid, then everyone is flaccid too.

Also, if God can go so far as to give us Jesus Christ to save us, then you can probably give your wife a pair of sparkly earrings.

But ladies, here is where the grace gets in: If he puts some effort in, then keep your mouth shut. Many men are terrified to get their wives the wrong gift because the joy can quickly turn to judgment. Because of Instagram or just plummeting progesterone rates, we have the tendency to open a lovingly wrapped gift and yell out, “These aren’t the right earrings!” or “You know I only wear elastic pants right now!”

My husband walks into Anthropologie every year and buys me something that he thinks might work. And then he lovingly tucks the gift receipt in the box. And every three years, I keep whatever he purchased. But I never ever critique the gift.

I asked him once if it hurts his feelings that I often exchange for something I like better, and he said, “No. Because your favorite thing is to shop. So you either like what I got you, or you get to shop.”

I’m telling you: anointed.

Buying gifts is an absolute risk of love. I am convinced that is why I am so exhausted this time of year, because I am buying for everyone but me. So if your husband decided this year that he is really going to put himself out there and make it rain this December 25th, then ladies, I want you to do a kind of Christmas-morning meditation with me.

Remember when you were younger and your first boyfriend bought you something? And it was so dumb and so weird and you thought it was the most gorgeous thing you’d ever seen? I was in seventh grade, and my boyfriend gave me a silver-plated, monogrammed (he got one thing right) Zippo lighter, and you could not tell me it wasn’t diamond earrings.

I am not asking you to fake it. I am asking you to remember what it felt like the first time a boy thought you were special enough to buy something for.

Because Christmas is about a child coming into the world to push us toward love and forgiveness. And Christmas is about children, who are often astonished at how known and loved they are.