The madness, it must stop already

So we've been on a bit of vacation, and my favorite sister is now married off, and it was a wonderful thing. She is babely, he's not too hard on the eyes, and we've found a new favorite drink. What's not to like? (And the extended family? Oh Lord, have we found some new fun friends. The girls are a riot. And trouble. Oh dear, are they trouble.)

We needed this vacation, you see, not just because Kris was marrying the man o' her dreams, but because we are overwhelmed. (Again? you are saying, I can hear you, but yes, again, so bear with me.) The holiday madness, it has started, and started early, with a large clank of the cash register drawer. I have a terrible habit, you see, of taking on too much. And by too much, I mean WAY too much, like girl scout troops and class moms, handmade Halloween costumes, and visions of homemade gifts for everyone I know and love (and some people I don't) and adding new traditions like randomly celebrating St. Nicholas' day by baking, because you know, there is never enough baking in the world... and I am tired. Tired and weary just thinking about it.

So this year, I vowed, I will simplify. Just say no, I chanted. No rushing, no bustling, lots of time to enjoy things. My children will learn to appreciate simplicity, I ranted. Even if it kills all of us. And judging by the number of checks in the T*ys 'R Us catalog, it just might.

And then, well, this appeared on my sewing table. Like elves carried it in or something, I don't really know how it happened, but the madness snuck up on me and whacked me in the back of the head. This does not, I'm sorry to say, even show all of it, since I'm declining to include the stockings that have been in progress for 5 years now. They are old enough that I now hate them, but just don't have the heart to ditch them. And the baby gifts for the children that are now not quite 2. (Don't even get me started on the guilt.) And the homemade Christmas cards that I swear I won't do every year, but that I do anyway.

My friends know that I am a glutton for punishment, and they love me for it. And I will admit that I secretly relish the comments of "Well, if we're requiring a handmade gift, I sure hope Susan draws our name." (Ok, maybe it's not such a secret anymore. Thank you, BA, for the compliment.) But the kicker?

The real kicker was the discussion at Bunko last night about the poor, poor family who had never taken their children to the toy store. Not even the one time. Poor, neglected, little baby. What on earth was that mother thinking, the chorus exclaimed? What does that poor child play with? Maybe we'll get her some things! You mean they buy... used... toys? The shock and horror around the tables was not too unlike the horror used in discussing, well, bad school systems or something. True suburban mother outage, I tell you. Poor babies.*

And I quietly stood in the mass, pondering my simplification plan. You see, we have decided there will be a cut back on the amount of "stuff" our children receive. We are lucky enough to be part of a large family who are generous, and even if we got our children not a single Lego, they would have enough toys for a neighborhood. And I'm not trying to short my children, I promise. We are buying them gifts, mainly because we love doing it. But this year, we are cutting back. Three things per child, and the S-man cometh with one larger item. Maybe two. And as I offered it up to the raving horde as an alternative, I was met with... silence. Dead, cold, silence. The kind reserved for pronouncements of guilty verdicts.

"Like, only from you, right? Santa can bring more? Seriously, that's all you're doing? Won't they feel bad that their friends are getting more?"

Maybe that is the madness that needs stopping. Homemade cookies, anyone?

*For the record, this was not a choice driven by finances, which frankly, to the crowd, made it all the more horrid.