Christmas in March

When I was six or seven years old and living with my family in Dhaka, Bangladesh, I remember my sister and I getting ahold of a lot of butcher paper and deciding to have Christmas in April. (I don't really remember the actual month, just that it was nowhere near December.) We wrapped up an enormous amount of our little toys and put them all into a basket for my mother to open. I still clearly remember the intense sense of excitement I had, creating all of those fun little gift packages. I was so sure my mother was going to be thrilled and excited, too. I don't remember my mother's reaction, but I'm sure it was satisfactory, even though she probably felt very little true enthusiasm over opening multiple packages filled with her daughter's toys.

I'm glad I have this memory, because it's helping me empathize with the Papaya and the obvious thrill he gets these days when he wraps up his cars and presents them to me as presents.

One thing I can't empathize with, though - why, oh why does the Papaya insist on using his dirty socks as his primary wrapping medium?

When I read my sister's decorating and home design magazines, they recommend wrapping presents in non-traditional materials - cloth napkins, baby blankets, brown paper, etc. This seems to be the trendy and classy thing to do. So maybe the Papaya is trying to flow with the times. I have never yet, however, read a single article that suggested using dirty socks to enclose gifts. He is clearly avant-garde.

To fully comprehend my distress at the Papaya's choice, you must know that laundry is the one household task that I really enjoy - that I really excel at. Making dirty clothes clean - it feels like magic. And then folding fragrant, clean clothes & linens and putting them away - it gives me such a feeling of riches. All those clean clothes, nothing dirty any more - wow! Part of my laundry prowess involves never losing an article of clothing. If socks or breast pads don't match at the end of the laundry cycle, I feel incomplete until I find the pair and will often search the house until I find satisfaction. My floor may be filthy and my end tables bathed in dust, but hey - all my household's socks match! Life is good. Am I quirky? You bet! But wouldn't the world be boring without quirky people?

Anyway, imagine how painful it is for me to see a dirty sock with a car inside, wrapped in scotch tape and sitting on my dining room table, when I know that its pair is far from it and that my next dark wash is coming up tomorrow. Can I get that dirty sock into the wash by tomorrow so that it can be cleaned with its pair? Can I get them together again?

It's not as simple as just opening the present, pulling the car out, and throwing the sock into the laundry basket. Oh, no. The Papaya insists that his special presents cannot be opened until it is Christmas time.

"But Papaya," I cajole, "Christmas isn't for months and months and months! You don't want to wait that long!"

"No, Mommy - you can't open it until Christmas time," he responds with gusto.

"How about we wait until Daddy comes home tonight?" I suggest. "Then it will be a special time."

When Papaya Daddy returns and we are eating supper together, I make another attempt to free the dirty sock sitting in front of my dinner plate. "NO!" the Papaya insists. "It isn't Christmas time yet!"

"Why don't we pretend it's Christmas tomorrow?" Papaya Daddy suggests, obviously enjoying the situation. "We can even sing Christmas carols."

The Papaya seems doubtful but I grab at the suggestion. The next morning at breakfast, I announce that it is Christmas and that I get to open my present after we sing a carol.

"NO! It isn't Christmas time until winter comes! It isn't winter until it snows!" The Papaya has been listening to me only too well.

I desperately grab our powdered sugar shaker from the cupboard and dust powdered sugar over each of our cereal bowls. "There! There's snow! It's winter! Let's sing 'Jingle Bells'!" I immediately dive into a rousing chorus and Papaya Daddy joins me. The Banana loves it and claps along. The Papaya looks disapproving. This isn't fooling him. I still can't open my present.

I grasp at the last straw in my arsenal. "How about if we find real Christmas paper, Papaya, and you can choose the kind you want and wrap a present in that instead of a sock?"

He immediately perks up. "Open your present, Mommy!" Music to my ears. Gratefully, I peel off the 12 pieces of tape and pull out green Ramone (from the Cars movie). "Thank you, Papaya! Does Ramone belong to me now?"

"No - he's my Ramone. Merry gave him to me." I guess we still have a few pointers to teach the Papaya about gift-giving. But what I really cared about was that those red socks got back together again in time to wash them both and reunite them, clean and dry and good for another wear (and wrap). Life is good.