Three Shopping Days Left, Apparently

I have to say I was a bit wary the other day when my son returned home from a visit with his dad holding a Christmas present (I could tell by the Santa wrapping paper) which was allegedly for me from the kids. Particularly since my son admitted to having had nothing to do with the purchase or wrapping of the unexpected gift, I don't think I was being completely irrational when I held the suspiciously cheery package up to my ear to listen for ticking.

I didn't hear anything, but I wouldn't expect my soon to be ex to stoop so low as to use something as unsophisticated as an audible bomb. The dogs sniffed the package with a complete lack of interest, but all that tells me is that it contains neither food nor dirty underwear. I suppose I'll open it, eventually. As soon as the kids are safely on their way to a non-incendiary Christmas with their father's family.

Before they leave, though, I just have to assume -- so I don't look bad -- that the present is for real, which means I have not been given the dispensation for a complete Jewish Christmas as I had thought. Sure, I'm not invited for the festivities, but my gifts are apparently still welcome. At the very least I have to get my kids something. I had been operating under the mistaken impression that our parenting agreement gave me custody of the Jewish parts only. These things are so confusing.

So off I went to the mall yesterday, which was far less crazed than the malls I've frequented for last minute Christmas shopping in my in-laws' gentile version of deep dark suburbia. I was efficient, and I picked up the essentials pretty quickly, but the little excursion made me realize how much I'll miss the Christmas traditions that became such a part of my life by virtue of marriage. I'll miss the frantic Christmas eve trips to the mall, during which we would grab everything in sight just to make sure nobody was being gypped. I'll miss the sickeningly sweet homemade Christmas cookies. I'll miss the smell of bacon frying on Christmas morning, and the ridiculous tearing open of gifts that nobody really needs or wants, and that sit in piles on my mother-in-law's couch until it's time to schlep them home. I'll even miss the sporadic trips to Midnight Mass with my in-laws, where the beauty of the hymns far outweighs the nauseating stench of incense.

This year, while my children are off in Michigan suffering from sugar and fat overload and overindulgent consumerism, I will be having a civilized dinner with friends in a restaurant and seeing a critically acclaimed movie. I wonder, if given the choice, WWJD?