gifting angst

I'm thinking about gifts/ giving. (Duh.) What do I give my children for Christmas? What should my children give to their aunties and uncles, grandparents, friends? I'd love to be Martha Stewart and be magically able to craft something lovely with minimal mess that says, "I thought of you enough to craft you this useful, clever, and at the same time darling little votive candle, scented with cloves and orange peel. I want you to know that you are sort of special, but moreso that I have outwitted the whole holiday commercial machine and managed to trick you into thinking that I gave you a 'gift' when it's really just my excess ear wax and an old toilet paper roll that you have taken off my hands."

But, I'm not crafty. Nor am I really all that clever. And it's not really true that it's the thought that counts. Nope. It's the message that the gift sends, or the the thought behind the gift that counts, right? Like when you receive large underwear for Christmas. The thought must be, "I think that your butt must be too big for the underwear you wear these days." (That didn't actually happen to me. Well, it was not underwear.)

My mother has given me some choice gifts that I think speak to the fact that she thinks that I'm a HUGE dork. HUGE.

Item #1: K-mart jeans. Route 66 brand. This happened a few years ago, so the exact pair is, sadly no longer on the website. So, let me add that I did indeed try them on and found that they went above my navel.

Item #2: mother'daughter sleepwear from Lanz of Salzburg. My mother gave this to me when I was 10 days postpartum. She gave my ten-day-old infant a 2t nightgown and me a large one. Even at the time, you could have fit me and a whole preschool class under that nightgown. And, lest yout think that I must have some secret penchant for granny sleepwear, I do not. When I was seven, I did like my "Laura Ingalls" style nightgown that came with a little matching red hat. But, I gave it up LONG, LONG ago.

Item #3: http://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gif href="http://cgi.ebay.com/Porcelain-Girl-Doll-Hilary-Wimbledon-Collection_W0QQitemZ290186794618QQihZ019QQcategoryZ2394QQssPageNameZWDVWQQrdZ1QQcmdZViewItem">A porcelain Hilary doll. I can't explain this one. It must have been before the day of the easy shopping gift card rack at the grocery store. I have never collected porcelain dolls. My mom "said" that it was for Hillary Clinton. The doll has nothing to do with the first lady.

Perhaps this is where my gift-buying angst originates. I know first-hand what it's like to be tortured as a gift-recipient. What do you say when you open such gifts? Thanks? Do you have the receipt? FUCK you? (My mother, Momologue Sr. does not have the address or knowledge of this blog, thus this post will remain until the said woman discovers it.) Or, do you just retaliate with equally tacky gifts? I gave away the jeans to Salvation Army. I refused to even take the nightgown home. The rumor is that my mother regifted it to my aunt. I have the porcelain doll in my basement. And, I think that I'm going to give it to Greta this year.