Colleen Thoele is also known as Mama Pants. She is a child advocate, awesome wife, best mother ever, worst mother ever, greatest sister of all-time, and lover of sensible clothing. She tries really hard to not wear sweatpants every single day, which is hard, because sweatpants go the best with flip-flops, and flip-flops don’t require socks. She spends her down time blogging about the awesomeness and not awesomeness of living with the two tiny people that she made.
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If you Google ‘Ridiculous love affair with the magic of Christmas’, well, the result should just be my face. I would probably be wearing jingle bell earrings, too. And a Santa hat. Out of frame would be my elf slippers. Because, oh, I can’t even stand it, I love Christmas THAT much. I am just stupid for it. Of course I love presents, I mean…duh. You are lying if you say you don’t like receiving presents because…its presents! But we all know there is so much more to Christmas than that. And this is the story of how I truly learned that lesson…
2003 was not my year. Not at all. On top of personal struggles, I had a shiny new back injury and a looming divorce! Kind of sucks the fun right out of a person, man. So basically, I was a damn mess by the time Christmas came to town. Everyone was happy and singing. The stores were all a-glitter and Mariah Carey kept singing that amazingly catchy song through my radio. But all I wanted for Christmas, Ms. Carey, was to light a fire and burn all of my Christmas decorations in the yard. I traveled to the dark side and went full-on Scrooge. Life sucked the high hard one. I hated Christmas and all its stupid cheery love. PFT!
In my professional life, I worked at a shelter for women and children escaping domestic violence. Christmas was the time of year people would start calling because they wanted to give. They wanted to provide toys, food, clothing, furniture and more to the families I was working with. And they were excited. Let me tell you something, it’s damned hard to wallow in your own misery when you are a witness every day to the best of humanity. But that’s not what pulled me from the depths of my own self-pity. No, it was something – actually, someone… else.
As part of our adopt-a-family program, we asked our clients to each make a list of four gifts they would like for themselves. The only rule was that each gift could not cost more than $20.00. It was often really hard for them to make lists for themselves. The lists were, more often than not, for things like blankets, cleaning supplies, diapers, or a pack of underwear. Gas and food cards were in there, too, in place of movie tickets, Barnes and Noble cards, and infinity scarves. It was humbling to see the lists come in with needs on them instead of wants.
My job was to match up donors with wish lists. One very nondescript afternoon, I was going through one family’s lists, when I flipped to Rebecca’s* list. At just 10 years old, she was eldest daughter of the family (her baby brother and sister were just 2 years-old and 9 months old). Her list read:
1. Perfume (for my mom)
2. A baby doll with [a] blue dress (for Sarah*)
3. A stroller (for Jacob*)
4. Candles (for my grandma)
That was it.
I read it again. And then I read it again.
I sat in my office and cried. This 10-year-old child was asking only for gifts for her family and nothing for herself. Not a thing. She was going to spend Christmas in a shelter, and her wish was to give her gifts to her mom, sister, and brother. Overwhelmed and wondering how to proceed, I called my boss. I told her that I wanted to make this happen for her. I wanted her to feel the pride of giving these gifts to her family. But I was going to have to find another donor who would buy gifts for her, too. My boss agreed and I called Rebecca’s mom into my office. “I need some ideas for Rebecca”, I said, without telling her why. I had found a donor that was more than happy to provide for Rebecca’s original list and also the one that her mama and I created for her.
When the gifts came in, I brought little Rebecca back to my office to wrap up the presents she had requested for her family. She was so excited. She looked at the gifts as though they were the fanciest and most wonderful things she had ever seen. She still didn’t want them for herself. She wanted them for others.
And in those moments, it was official, she had changed me. My angry, wallowing, bah-humbug heart was lit up again. I could no longer justify my refusal to believe in Christmas, because right there in front of me was a beautiful child, with a beautiful heart. She felt the magic of Christmas while fleeing violence with her family. She found the magic of Christmas living in a shelter ,despite the reality of not knowing where her family would live or whether they could stay safe. She taught me what only a child can.
She taught me to believe again. What gift she gave to me.
*names have been changed
***Note from Momma: Leave a comment on any Momma’s 12 Days of Christmas post to be entered into a drawing for an Elf Pack, including prizes from, Godiva, Target, Amazon.com, and more! Happy Holidays and Good Luck! Earn an extra entry by giving $1 to [email protected] at PayPal, to be donated to Colleen’s designated charity or visit Colleen’s blog.***
