When you are a kid, gifts are your reason for living. One of my favorite presents EVER was going to Lionel Playworld with my parents on Christmas Eve, and being told I could choose a giant metal swing-set for our backyard. I remember I couldn’t decide between the slide combo, or the monkey bars addition. My head nearly burst with excitement when I spotted the delivery truck heading up our tree-lined street.
Later (once I met my beau) the gifts got smaller, but pricier. Ultra deluxe meals, designer duds, plane tickets to Paris, tiny blue Tiffany boxes bearing jaw-dropping jewels… all delightful and absolutely memorable.
These days, the only gift I truly yearn for is silence and un-interrupted sleep; precious time away from the suffocating noise of everyday life. My husband needn’t pick up a catalog, or spend wads of Benjamins, forget the fancy wrapping paper, and save a tree by skipping the sappy card. The best gift is the following sentence:
“Hon, you deserve a weekend off. I’m planning a father/son trip to get out of your hair and let you relax.”
48 hours later I end up missing them terribly, but when they return, I am renewed and ready to rejoin the madness. Ah, best gift of all.
The return makes one love the farewell – Alfred De Musset