The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that I took care of the contents of my own stocking, because the Carpenter wouldn’t dare (it still rhymes).
Christmas stockings are my favourite tradition of Christmas morning. I cherish the hand-painted sock my mother made for me when I was a child. It holds fond memories of Christmases past, where Santa would fill that stocking to the top with little trinkets, candies, socks and a clementine.
Kids, when you become an adult and choose a life partner, Santa backs off the stocking duties for the grown ups to lighten his load. He assumes the adults will take care of each other – but adulting is not for everyone, especially at Christmas.
As with every year, in the days leading up to Christmas, when the stress of the holiday budgets, shopping and workload are more maddening than merry, my beloved will ask me that question that isn’t really so much a question as it is a request: “Did you get yourself stuff to put in your stocking?”
In other words, did you shop for yourself, so I can take credit for what a great gift-giver I am?
This year was no different, but I was still gobsmacked by the question. It extinguished the hope that this might be the year the love of my life would do something creative and thoughtful, just for me, in the spirit of the holiday tradition I hold near and dear. Sigh.
“No, but I’ll add that to my never-ending list of holiday chore bliss,” I responded, dryly.
He heard the sarcasm. He chose to ignore it. He had just offloaded a stressful task. He was feeling rather jolly. How nice for him.
I thought this utter lack of initiative was unique to my marriage, until I found myself surrounded by women in a local downtown boutique Saturday morning. As we stood there smelling lotions and potions, browsing the delicate decor and pretty wares, we struck up a conversation that would soon have us laughing that we were all shopping for our own gifts.
The other thing we shared in common was that we were totally okay with it. Shopping for our stocking items made sure we’d get what we actually wanted and would use. Self-care by our own standards. Santa would approve.
When I returned home to hide the loot, the Carpenter was relieved to know that I’d completed his task for him (ahem). When I told him about my experience in the shop, he laughed, unsurprised by the coincidence.
Ladies, I’m about to impart the Carpenter’s wisdom for what women need to understand about Christmas shopping from a man’s perspective. You might want to cut this out and post it on your refrigerator. He explained there are three reasons men don’t like to shop for their partners’ Christmas stockings, or in general.
First, most men don’t even know where to begin. Second, they are convinced they will screw it up entirely. Failure and disappointment will ensue, and they can’t bear that. Thirdly, some men are just jerks. Huh.
Brilliant. The Carpenter not only offloaded his holiday responsibilities, but he used logic to defend himself and his kind. I can’t argue.
I’m confident I’ll love everything in my Christmas stocking this year.
I wish the same for you.
