The Handmade Experiment

True confessions:

1) I can't stand Christmas music.
2) I am Ebeneezer Scrooge this year.

I can't quite put my finger on it, but for some reason I'm not feelin' the love this holiday season. It might have something to do with the way it seems to have crept up on us from behind and pounced, catching us wholly off guard. It might have something to do with a lovely but frenetic week of Thanksgiving festivities with two separate families (I vow never again to do two full Thanksgiving meals on consecutive days; it makes me--err, I mean my kids--entirely too cranky to be around). But there must be something else there, under the surface. We rode our bikes to the park today to collect acorns and passed at least three families outside, Christmas music playing from the garage (did I mention how I feel about Christmas music?), hanging their lights and decorations. It is unsettling to think that nationally--globally, even--we are at an economic crossroads, and I have a hard time reconciling that with a desire to celebrate a holiday that traditionally costs us a whole crapload of money, even when we try to do it minimally.

Let's face it: money's tight. Who out there isn't feeling the pinch? I've never felt real financial fear like this before, the kind where you open your mailbox and find a letter from your mortgage company about how much the value of your house has fallen, and how where you once had a $100,000 safety net in equity you now have nothing (thank God for Xanax.) It's hard to get into the joy of the season when so much of it is wrapped up (pun intended) in consumerism and material items.

So tonight, Chris and I held a meeting with our little family, one we have been considering but fearing for over a week. We pulled the kids together and told them that we wanted to try something different this year: the first "Rust Family Homemade Christmas." We will all spend the next twenty-five days working diligently on homemade gifts with found materials. The only purchased gifts will be in the form of traditional candy for the kids' stockings.

Sometimes I underestimate my children. I had expected a protest, a fight. I had this whole speech prepared, stories to tell, various ways to get them excited about the idea. But when we told them, their little faces lit up like we were complete freaking geniuses. Homemade! Christmas! Within three minutes, Chloe and Elias were already thinking out loud about possible ideas. We promised to sit down individually with each of them and help them brainstorm possible gifts for their siblings and parents. We each filled out a form with some basic information--favorite color, favorite animal, favorite sport, a wish--and hung them in the family room in case someone needs inspiration. Never once did this 6 and almost-9-year-old contemplate what this meant for them: no Nintendo games, no American girl dolls, no toys that would undoubtedly end up in a landfill somewhere within a year's time. They were so excited by the prospect of making something special for each member of our little family that I didn't have to pull out my speeches, my guilt trips about starving children and unemployed parents, about the true meaning of Christmas. Because they already got it.

It will help that I get rather manic about passing hobbies, something the two huge tubs of yarn and fabric in my closet can attest to. But I love what it means to really contemplate a person and who they are and then show them your love by using your time and your own two hands instead of purchasing something from the internet and waiting for the UPS man. Chris and I did this between just the two of us last year. We bought gifts for the kids, and they for each other, but he and I decided to exchange homemade gifts with materials that cost under $10. After much deliberation, I gathered together a series of poems, quotes, and photographs for a "Composer's Inspiration Book" and had it bound at Kinkos. I included a hundred pages of lined staff paper for his composing. He's always asking for new ideas for pieces to write for his choirs, and I wanted to give him something I thought he could really use and something that showed him I took his art seriously and wanted to play my part as muse. Chris surprised me by trying something amazing: he wrote me a short story. His first stab at fiction, ever (and likely his last). He wanted to know what it felt like to be immersed in my art, to show me how much he appreciates what I do. I have never felt closer to him on Christmas morning than I did last year.

I hope we will all be feeling this way about each other this coming Christmas morning. I hope the kids' enthusiasm holds and they are more excited to see their gifts opened than to open their own. I hope we come through Christmas a closer family. And if not, well, at least we'll have avoided digging ourselves any deeper into that debt pit. But I won't listen to Christmas music. Unless Karen Carpenter is singing. I'd listen to her sing anything.

So, bring 'em on. I need ideas for handmade Christmas gifts. Comment away, my friends.