Topping my Christmas list this year is something simple: a toilet paper roll changer. It would appear to be easy enough, but for some reason no one else in my family seems to have mastered the art of removing the cardboard cylinder when the paper is gone and replacing it with a fresh roll. I can only assume that my loved ones are overthinking the complexity of the job, or that perhaps power tools are required instead of a simple squeeze of the bar.
I don’t get it. So Santa, I hope you are listening since it’s rude to leave guests to hang out to dry, especially at this time of year.
Next is a laundry-sniffer-sorter for the teenage boy’s clothes. Normally it’s my nose that’s called up for duty on this, but my olfactory senses need a break. Will’s floor is the hamper and goes from clean to every-inch-covered messy in the course of a busy week. Since the mish-mash of clothing and towels represent the range from never worn to practically rancid, I have used the sniff test for years to ferret out what needs to be washed and what can be recycled back into the closet and drawers. (Please don’t tell my family I do this). Underwear and socks are the only items exempt from this strategy.
The very best thing Santa could bring me is a boy-waker-upper. I don’t mean an alarm clock. We already have an industrial strength alarm with buzzer, and the iPhone can emit the most annoying wake-up noises along with the most soothing music cajoling Will to wake up, wake up, honey, you must get ready for school. The wake-up routine is truly one of the most difficult tasks in my life and I would love for a stronger something — Mack truck, King Kong, nuclear blast — to get the job done.
The boy who is a leaping leprechaun at bedtime (hey, want to see me do a handstand? Look at the new flip I can do!) is comatose in the morning. He refuses to get out of bed and yet, he wants to be on time to work out with the team before school. The wake-up routine starts at least 15 minutes before he actually wants to roll out of bed.
“Will, this is your 15-minute warning,” I say. “Come back in 10,” comes the sleepy grumble from under the covers.
I go downstairs and make another cup of coffee. “Will, it’s been 10 minutes.” “Ok, just five more,” comes the response.
I sit at his desk and check messages on my phone. “Now. Now. Get up, get up,” I command, rapping him on the legs, first gently, and then, not so much. “One more minute, mom. Really. One more minute.” Another 10 minutes later he rumbles out from under the covers, but now he’s mad at me because he’s going to be late.
That night, he says, “Mom, you really have to get me up in the morning,” as if I am responsible for his inability to rise and shine. To which I think, really? REALLY? So Santa, could you please have your elves invent something to bulldoze the boy out of slumber? A catapult to hurl him into the shower? An alarm clock that’s a bucket of ice water that shoots down on his head after the second snooze?
I don’t want to be selfish, so I’ve also been thinking about gifts that Will would like. The most precious is the gift of more time, especially to sleep. These days he gets up at 6 for that team workout. That’s followed by classes until 3:15, and then practice or a game. Then it’s home for dinner and then two to three hours of homework.
It’s an irony that teenagers are so pressed for time at a time in their lives when boys, in particular, need more sleep. There’s also time needed to hang out with friends, watch TV, and most importantly to me, to daydream.
Another gift I want for Will is the gift of perspective. This week, as he was stressing himself out about all the work the teachers were piling on just before Christmas break, I told him to remember that life is about the journey and not so much about the destination. His face said what kind of nonsense is that as his eyes glazed over, so I elaborated. I told him that while we are grateful he is working hard, he also should remember to have fun and be a kid. His face broadcast his true thoughts: more nonsense wrapped in a cliche; gee, thanks, Mom.
The pressure has intensified on high school students even earlier to get into a “good” college, and if you’re an athlete, to be recruited. That pressure used to come from parents. Now it is much more peer-driven, especially with Facebook and Twitter to trumpet one’s own accomplishments. Early admit decisions from colleges went out this week, and kids are celebrating or slinking around in disappointment. Hero or goat, and it’s all so public and instantaneous. That’s the kind of pressure we never had.
As for my own gifts, I’ve already got the best ones in the bag, so I don’t have to raid Santa’s. Molly is coming home from Paris for the holidays. Katie is also home from San Francisco, and we are treasuring our time together before she moves to Boston next year. Will gets two whole weeks to sleep and hang out with his friends, loving sisters, and parental units.
These are the true gifts of the season and as Tiny Tim would say, “God bless us, everyone.” Happy holidays and happy 2014!
