Buy yourself a present, and get over yourself

Tue Nov 04 2014 - 01:00

Q I always feel the same every Christmas: I make a huge effort to buy thoughtful gifts for all my family and no one ever does the same for me, and it really annoys me. But I don't feel able to say anything about it because I sound like a princess and I am a mother of three and should get over it. My parents were always terrible present-givers and I always vowed I would be really good at it and make a fuss of our children and of my parents, but I can't help sort of resenting the fact that there is still no one making a fuss of me. How can I get this to happen without sounding spoiled?

My husband is hopeless and basically gets me a scarf or gloves or something a few days before Christmas but I know it's my own fault for always saying "Ohhh don't worry about me, I don't need anything special, honest." Anonymous

A The first thought that struck me when I received your email was For the love of gawd, woman, it's only November 4th! My brain is still in summer's tail, I have barely scraped through Halloween, let alone made any plans for Christmas.

Can it be right on any level to devote a quarter of the year to thinking about what happens on just one day, December 25th? Thinking, planning and ruminating about it 100 days in advance is, quite frankly, enough to send anyone into global meltdown, which is the uncomfortable place you find yourself in. And, yes, you do sound like a princess, and instead of working out manipulative ways of getting whatever present you want, I suggest the following gritty remedies: 1. Live in the present. Not for the lack of a present that you won't receive in 100 days' time. 2. Ban yourself from planning, purchasing, preparing or even thinking about Christmas until December. 3. Don't waste any time – even when December arrives – sourcing and buying perfect gifts for everyone else, if you end up resenting it. Such faux martyr behaviour serves no one. 4. Give all the money you would have spent on presents to a worthy cause instead – and tell family members you did. That'll learn 'em. 5. Buy yourself whatever gifts you fantasise about receiving and that your family fail to deliver. 6. Only you are responsible for your happiness at Christmas time. And if your happiness is contingent upon presents, your attitude and perspective need a radical overhaul.

Does this make me sound a bit bah humbug? Probably. But I choose to see it as my way of keeping this one single day in some kind of perspective. I rather like Christmas to creep up on me, a present of itself, what with all the parties and carols and the comedy Santas and rubbish gifts.

Last year we were all asked to donate a wrapped gift for Santa’s grotto for the kids at nursery, which everybody duly did. It was the twins’ first time in a Santa’s grotto – and they loved it – but nothing made me laugh harder than when Rufus unwrapped his gift: three small rolls of Sellotape. Talk about crap gifts. Would that have made you laugh, I wonder?

As for Rufus, he couldn’t have been more delighted by having his own Sellotape, which he unleashed upon every imaginable surface at home.

Now if I were like you, I would be extremely disappointed by Christmas, because when it comes to gifts, we are all terrible at it in our family, but that’s fine by me. My best friend though – something of a princess – who values the giving and receiving of perfect presents above all else, does it like this: At the beginning of the year, each member of the family puts their name in the proverbial hat and draws out the name of another. That is the person for whom they have to buy an amazing gift worth a specified amount, and they have all year to sort it out.

We’re talking commissioned pieces of artwork, cashmere dressing gowns, the sorts of gifts only a family of financiers could afford; but the idea is that it is much better to receive one fabulous gift than 10 mediocre ones. And, of course, it cuts down on shopping for everyone too.

Maybe this is a tradition that would suit you and your family? A set of present-giving rules that would ensure no one feels short changed.

I have no idea what I will buy for anyone. And as for what to cook, or even where we will be, I don’t know yet. Why? Because I’ve got 100 days of living to do in which anything could happen. Which is an infinitely more inspiring prospect to me than obsessing over one day on which the same stuff happens more or less year in, year out.