Mr. December and I don’t give the kids presents at Chanukah. I usually try to do one small surprise or trinket per night: a dreidel and some chocolate coins, a mini craft kit, stickers and stamps, that sort of thing. Of course, the grandparents seize the opportunity to give the kids gifts. So do their Aunties.
(Just as I was raised calling my parents’ cousins and close friends Auntie and Uncle, my kids are growing up with Aunties and Uncles who are our close friends or cousins.)
“Hey guys,” I told the kids over breakfast, “Auntie S is coming to drop off some presents for you at 10:00.”
R raised an eyebrow and asked, “Is she giving us pyjamas like last year and the year before that?”
“Is that a bad thing?” I wanted to know.
It was not a bad thing. Said Auntie arrived at the door and gave us the gifts. The kids ripped the packages open and squealed in delight, then ran off to try on their new fuzzy footed jammies. They came out to the porch to show their Auntie that her gifts fit perfectly.
But the warm fuzzies didn’t stop there, because Auntie T dropped off gifts too: hand-knitted scarves, one in each child’s favourite colour. It was sweet to see how excited they got. K carefully saved the sticker and card that proclaimed, “This gift was handmade especially for you by Auntie!”
So tonight, as the kids are all snuggled in their beds wearing footie pyjamas, and their new scarves hang on their respective hooks in the mudroom, I’m feeling all warm and fuzzy too—because my kids are growing up surrounded by so many trusted adults who love them.
Chag Sameach! Happy Chanukah!