Christmas Pen Pal

Big Guy has a pen pal. For the second year in a row, he has received a Christmas card addressed to him, alone. Pen Pal includes a chatty little note and a photo of her family. The only problem--she is sending her card to the wrong "Big Guy."  My Big Guy isn't the one that used to work with Pen Pal. Somewhere there is someone with the same name that Pen Pal knows and cares enough about to keep up with, once a year. But it's not my "Big Guy."

When Pen Pal's first Christmas card arrived, Big Guy double-checked and triple-checked his memory. He doesn't know Pen Pal. I sent a Christmas card--signed Big Guy and the Girls--back to her. I figured she'd sort through her mistake and move on to the right Big Guy.

That didn't happen. About a month ago, Big Guy received Pen Pal's annual Christmas card along with a fresh photo of Pen Pal, her husband and her toddler daughter. They are a cute family. Again, she included a Christmas catch-up note. Once again, Big Guy searched his memory--he doesn't know her. And neither do I--except sort of, I do.

I used to be Pen Pal, juggling a toddler (or two) with laundry, writing assignments, and the nitty-gritty of life. Most of the year, I did well. Then Christmas slipped into the mix and I went into over-drive. We bought the fresh tree, crafted hand-made gifts, slapped the girls' paint-embellished hand prints on sweat shirts, ornaments, cards and anything that stood still long enough. We did the Santa scene. And we drove with the girls strapped in car seats through neighborhoods lit up like Las Vegas. And, without fail, I'd come up with a perky Christmas letter and photo to stuff into cards. I wanted perfect bliss for my starter family.

I got memorable. Inevitably, Birdie or Daisy would catch a cold; a snowstorm would slow our 11-hour drive home or I'd run out of ribbon--after a while in the Christmas chaos, it didn't take something large to put me off my cheery overdrive pace. But year-after-year, the Christmas letters went out without fail.

Then one year, I didn't send out cards--and it felt so good.  

I love the Christmases we have now--but they aren't as sweet. Birdie and Daisy are in college--and gift cards are their version of a box with a book. I ditched the real tree as no one helps pick up fallen needles. And until midnight mass moves to 9 p.m., I'm not going. But there was a time when I did it all, kind of like Pen Pal.

As I look at her card, addressed to "Mr. Big Guy," I feel a tickle of the do-it-all days of Christmas. Big Guy and I will send Pen Pal a card--soon because it's OK to send a card in January. And next December, if Pen Pal sends a card, maybe I'll revive my Christmas letter. If she can do it, with a toddler, I can do it without one.