Christmas: A Crash Course in Saying Thank You

This Year of Gratitude (YOG) hasn't been launched officially, yet, but the day after Christmas seems the right time to begin saying thank you.

My husband, Drew, and my daughters, Jeannette and Lindsey, thoughtfully selected gifts for me that demonstrate how well they know and understand me.

Drew essentially reads my mind. I refused to give him any list of things I desired for Christmas. He had to figure it out. We've been practicing, though. Many mornings Drew will pour me a cup of coffee and ask which coffee mug I want or which flavored creamer. I always say, "guess." It's not that I don't have a preference. I absolutely know which mug and which creamer I want. This is high stakes morning coffee. Drew hasn't gotten it wrong yet (even though the answer changes from day to day). So he was ready for the big leagues.

What I really needed was new pajamas, and I would've gotten them myself, but I despaired of ever finding the perfect ones in time. They needed to be lightweight, because the number of comforters and blankets that make our bed the comfy cloud of slumber paradise that it is precludes the wearing of flannel pajamas. Also, the top had to be just a black v-neck t-shirt made of a soft cotton-poly blend, because the heavy Beefy-T t-shirts weigh me down and restrict the free roll of dreamy tossing. This definition of the perfect pajamas formed in my mind as I drove home alone from my last trip to the mall. Drew had completed his shopping the day before. And on Christmas Day, among the many wonderful gifts--including a lovely sparkly heart necklace that I secretly desired--I opened a package containing the perfect pajamas. Is that love? Or is it a little creepy?

My daughters and I have a tradition of shopping at the mall together and then separating--the girls pairing up to find their gifts for me. Before you call Children's Services to report me for abandoning them at the mall, I should note that this tradition began when the girls were 12 and 17 and armed with cell phones. We're not talking babies crying in the mall, "My mommy's lost!"

Well, this year we separated at the mall, and Jeannette and Lindsey spent the afternoon together in perfect accord and cooperation, selecting all the right scarves and candles and scented oils to delight their mom. I love my gifts. But I love, more than anything, their sisterhood. It isn't always evident. They haven't spent large amounts of time together, their age difference placing them at different developmental stages, and their tastes being almost completely opposite. There were years when the older mocked the passions of the younger. Jeannette reminds me of the emotional fires that needed putting out. But now they are older, 16 and 22. The firestorm is out. They are nice. They are friendly. They have inside jokes. They help each other and bounce ideas off each other. They are building a sisterhood for their future lives, for adulthood. This is their beloved gift to me for which I am the most thankful. I hope it will be a gift to themselves as well.

So, thank you, family. Merry Christmas. I love you.