I ran out of hiding spots for Hanukkah presents last year. When my boys were young, I hid them in the coat closet, then our basement storage room, and eventually, I stashed them behind our living room couch. But nothing gets past my older son — he found them every year.
Each fall, I’d make a list in the Notes app on my phone. Eight was the magic number. There had to be eight boxes for each child. “What should we get them this year?” I’d whine to my husband as if he miraculously had eight ideas per kid. But the stress of this decision always fell on me. Making the list was my chore.
Half their presents were toys or games. I’ll always remember their buoyant voices when they opened a gift they’d been hoping for like the PJ Mask headquarters or a Lego set destined to be built then destroyed. The other half were necessities. They didn’t cheer quite as excitedly when they found underwear or crew socks or a winter hat and gloves in their gift box (okay, they didn’t cheer at all).
I’d try to anticipate what they’d need in the coming months and do my best to hold off until Hanukkah. If they needed new sneakers, say, it was the perfect time for new kicks. But some years, the holiday began late, and the first snowfall arrived early — they’d need snow boots by late November, or they’d outgrow their underwear by Halloween. So I’d give them new underwear and purchase a toy in its place only to find it buried in the corner of the playroom under junk they’d lost interest in soon later.
This year, I am free from the burden of presents. And it’s just another reason why I love parenting children beyond their younger years.
As Hanukkah approached, I’d spend half a day on the floor with wrapping paper, Scotch tape, and scissors. “I’m not wrapping the presents next year,” I’d announce, just as I did the year prior, when I watched my hard work torn to shreds and taken to the curb with the recycling. Then, of course, motherly guilt would set in by the next September, and I’d find myself back on the floor.
A present nightly was magical for the younger years, but at 10 and 13 years old, those days are over. We’re not giving our boys a gift for each night of Hanukkah anymore and it’s the best feeling in the world. This year, I didn’t make a list. There will be no wrapping paper. “You’ve got holes in your socks? No problem! Here’s a new pack.” And best of all, I’ll never need a new hiding spot again.
That said, we are giving them a surprise: a foosball table that we’ve long thought about getting. It will be the one tangible Hanukkah gift they receive this year, and will mark the beginning of our playroom from a toy-filled jumble to a (more) streamlined room. Lately, my boys have been opting for experiences over toys, anyway, even for birthdays. They enjoy seeing the Philadelphia 76ers play basketball more than receiving a board game or a puzzle. As a Hanukkah present, they went to their first Eagles game last week. Experiences can’t be wrapped into a box and opened like a traditional Hanukkah present, but they also won’t find their way into the corner of our playroom. And it’s just another reason why I love parenting children beyond their younger years.
“What do you love most about Hanukkah?” I asked my 10-year-old last night, feeling guilty about the change. “Celebrating with family and lighting the menorah,” he told me. Neither of my boys have asked for tangible gifts this year. They’re maturing, and our holiday traditions will follow their lead. Now I know we made the right choice.
