No idle threat

This was what the tree looked like at bedtime last night.  Ornamented and grounded with presents, all ready for the coming holiday.

This is what they woke up to this morning.  Ornamented, but stripped clean of the gifts they had carefully searched.  The gifts I had scraped and struggled to buy.  The gifts I lovingly and thoughtfully chose for the children I love more than, well, more than anything.

I love them so much that I patiently waited for them to pick up their room.... For months now.  I'm not exaggerating, months I've been waiting.

I love them so much that I dropped to my knees and begged them (again, not exaggerating, I was on my creaky knees) to put their laundry away.

I love them so much that I grounded her for letting her grades drop, but gave in and let her go to the Girl Scouts fall party because I didn't want her to be left out.

I love them so much that I added 7 dozen marshmallows to my workload yesterday so that they could give them as teacher gifts.  Yet, when I had finished fluffing the bows, all they could say was "but you didn't make the hot chocolate.  I can't give it to her without the hot chocolate.  Why can't you just make that too?".

I love them so much that it was always an empty threat.  "Fine!  I'm canceling Christmas!"  "I'm taking back all of the gifts."  "I'm donating all of the gifts to kids who will appreciate them."

Until last night when I sat, defeated, on the couch staring at this tree.  This tree which we decorated (while arguing) and I wrapped presents for (while worrying that they wouldn't be excited at what was inside) and they crawled under (to check for the elf I moved every night in an attempt to keep the magic alive).  This tree, I decided, was mocking me.  

You won't do it.

It was just another idle threat.

You don't want to be the mean parent again.

Just go to bed, lady.  You're never going to actually take those presents.

And, I slumped off to a restless night.

Drinking my coffee at stupid o'clock this morning, I looked to my right at the presents and the tree and the threat of them waking up to one more day of me giving in.

And I grabbed some bags, loaded up the presents, took down the stockings, and quietly took away Christmas.

I don't want them to be the spoiled ungrateful kids I've seen stomping little feet and rolling preteen eyes around my house.  I don't want that more than I don't want to be the mean lady again.

They didn't know what to say this morning when they awoke to the new tree.  But they sure knew I wasn't idle anymore.  And that, oh judgemental people, was the price I lovingly paid my children this morning.