In the end, it was me.

I couldn’t do it.

I couldn’t not do Christmas the way we’ve always done.

The kids, oddly, would have been fine.

When we told them we’d be cutting back from 18 presents to two — not so much because of our own economic status, but because we wanted to focus on what’s important and because we wanted to honor those who have less –they were surprisingly acquiescent.

“I don’t need that much stuff anyway, Mom,” said the eldest and the trend-setter for the rest of the crew.

It sounded so good on paper. Instead of starting my shopping in August, I would spend a couple of easy days picking out for each of my three children a few clothing items and maybe a few books. I would not worry about each child having a spread from Santa and 17 gifts under the tree, an electro-techno gadget of some kind, six stocking stuffers, a game each, a DVD, a Yo-Yo, Silly Putty and a Slinky.

On Christmas Day, instead of the usual four, we would spend half an hour opening gifts. The rest of the day would be spent engaged in family activities, playing the one new game somebody got. Maybe even later we would go to a community center to serve food.

Somewhere around Dec. 18 then, I lost it.

I reverted to old behavior, which I learned from my own mother: Mama couldn’t afford to buy me and my three sisters much stuff the rest of the year. Ah, but she used Christmas as an excuse to lavish.

Presents wouldn’t even be that big or that expensive. But they would be plentiful and evenly divided. No child would get more than the other. But each would get a lot, 15 or 20 under the tree. As each gift was opened, the rest of the family would look on, celebrating the giver and the receiver. We went to Midnight Mass and visited Grandma and sang carols and ate pralines and chocolates. But just as all those things were Christmas, so was opening presents.

Christmas presents was ritual.

And tradition.

And in the end, I couldn’t give it up.

In the end, I rushed around getting calendars for each kid and techno gidgets. I got the right number of books and the fleece hoodies. I got 6.5 stocking stuffers and a Slinky for each child. I got lots and lots of tiny presents, mostly things they needed like socks and ink pens, and yes, one big luxury for each child — an iHome for my daughter, a digital camera and Rock Band for my sons. It didn’t matter the size or the expense of the presents, though, I found joy watching ever so happily as each candy cane was unwrapped, each pair of socks tried on.

I used the opportunity to lavish my family, who just like my family of origin, doesn’t get much the rest of the year. They don’t get a lot. But they give: My 20-year-old son started United Way on his college campus last year. This past spring, all five of us gave up our spring break and traveled on a bus for 20 hours to New Orleans, where we worked on a school that had been destroyed by Katrina. We give on a regular basis to family members less fortunate than us.

I don’t say this for praise, but more, I suppose, out of guilt – and an attempt at understanding the fullness of our humanity at Christmas time. Sometimes we give. And sometime we get. On Christmastime, in particular, we in this culture have a tradition of giving presents. To others. And to ourselves. It doesn’t have to be a bad thing.

- Debra-Lynn

P.S. Photo above is my 11-year-old son opening a snow globe.