I’m here today to commiserate with those of you who may be thinking that The Most Wonderful Time of the Year always seems to have some small slip-up that knocks a bit of the sparkle off.

I suppose is happens to us all, but once you become a repeat offender, you tend to get somewhat of a reputation.  Family members in attendance at gift-opening time are known to ask outright if one of their gifts happens to be from last year.  Or, they lean forward with a raised eyebrow and inquire, “Are you sure that’s all?”

They’re not greedy.  They’re just offering me an opportunity to right my wrongs.  I take a little comfort in the fact that, though this seemingly unshakable tendency of mine irritates me to no end and adds to the general mirth at the festive gathering, at least it’s not dangerous.  Unlike Smuffy, no matter how many times this has happened to me, I never run the risk of being drowned, impaled or dismembered. So far.

Are you ready for my Christmas confession?  Are you longing to learn of my annual downfall? 

I am a lover of gift-giving!  My brain is an idea factory!  I am a super-shopper and, most of all, I am a master-hider!  My skills at the latter are my nemesis, however.  All year long, I scrounge, I create, I store up and I stash.  I make lists of things I’ve bought, want to buy, want to make and need to assemble and still lack parts.  I am in my element at thrift stores, garage sales, online, clearance aisles, craft stores and, yes, retail establishments.

I blame it on the house.  Limited storage causes me to scatter my treasures to the four corners, layer them between other stashed away items and wiggle them into cubbyholes already occupied by other items which then serve as camouflage.

Then, the tree goes up.  Then, wrapping begins.  Amid oven timers and cooling racks, when everyone’s backs are turned, out come all my treasures to be boxed, wrapped and fancied up with hand-made bows.  Except one.

I always miss ONE!

Smuffy’s been known to receive a cozy cardigan in May when I’m on a closet cleaning binge.  Poor Pookie has learned that she, too, is likely to be handed something in mid-summer that was intended for the Christmas stocking.  This has been going on for more years than I care to count. I swore I’d turn over a new leaf when I got a son-in-law, but he’s been around long enough now that when I handed him his last gift this year, he smiled and asked if I was sure about that.

A grandchild is on the scene now, causing me to repent afresh and overcome this tendency. Leaving out something intended for Little Snookie would be unpardonable!

I’ve been known to misplace a paper list. This year, I installed a new app in my phone to help me list each family member and each gift.  I had my act together.  I cleaned out one spot and one spot only and collected my stash there.  I did all the wrapping at once and checked it off again on my phone.

Ah!  Christmas went like a dream.  I took all the ribbing with a smile, informing everyone that I was 99.9% sure that there wasn’t a single thing that didn’t make it into a stocking or under the tree.

Then, it happened.  Christmas festivities wound to a close.  The house seemed strangely quiet – too much so – as the car pulled away with Pookie and her loves, leaving Smuffy and me (and Phoebe June and several bags of paper and cardboard boxes).  I went into the entryway, checked the front door and turned out the light. 

As I turned around, thinking nothing was the matter, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a tuft of tissue amid red and green over there.  For behind the TV there sat a small bag.  I rolled my eyes and felt my shoulders sag.  I knew what it was – there was no denying.  I merely chuckled, walked past and refused to start crying.

Pookie will love it!  She’ll think it’s just right – when I place The Un-given Gift into her hands tonight!

I know exactly what happened.  It was small and easily crushable under the tree with all those bigger gifts.  That little bag would be safer tucked away just behind the edge of the TV.  Well, wouldn’t it? 

What can I say?  It’s a tradition.

Happy New Year!  May you change the things you can and learn to laugh about the things you can’t.

Any true Christmas confessions?  Just leave those in the comments.  I can’t be the only one.  Can I?  Hello?  Hello?  Anybody out there?

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