Confessions of a Single Mom When Santa’s on a Budget

“Ho, ho, hoo–ooommmmmggg! How am I going to make this happen again?” 

My inner monologue starts around Halloween each year when I realize that the holidays are fast approaching, and once again, I have to whip up some North Pole-level sorcery using my already stretched-too-thin days, overly-caffeinated yet-still-exhausted body and meager bank account balance as my only tools. 

Being a parent is hard work. We can all agree on that. But being a parent during the holidays is a full-contact sport. Literally and figuratively. Physically and emotionally. 

Between the school events, holiday planning and kids’ ever-changing wish lists running on a loop through our brains set against the background noise of bills, appointments and menial everyday tasks we need to remember. It’s … well — it’s a lot. You can get through an entire summer break completely unscathed (okay, let’s be honest, it’s not that simple, but we made it … somehow) only to have Christmas rear its ugly head, ready to kick us in the ass — and the credit cards. 

When I was little, I was privileged enough to grow up in a home with parents who adored making Christmas special for us. It’s what made the holidays my favorite time of the year. Waking up before the sun even peeked over the horizon on Christmas morning, running downstairs to discover the incredible display that Santa had left absolutely blew our minds — every single year. 

I wanted nothing more than to pass down that same spellbinding, surreal experience to my kids — delivered with the same ludicrous, over-the-top flair I grew up with. As I entered parenthood, I had big (possibly unrealistic) dreams about how I was going to ensure that happened. 

Being a parent during the holidays is a full-contact sport.

But, sometimes life comes at you much harder and faster than you could have ever anticipated, and reality forces you to come to terms with the fact that some — maybe most? — people can’t make the dreams they had for their own families happen. 

This was especially true once I became a single mom. 

In the first years after my divorce, it became evident that I was not in a position to provide the magical experience I desperately wanted to give my kids. They would tell me about their friends’ exorbitant lists (An Apple Watch for a 6-year-old? Computer gaming systems with multiple monitors? Who are we — the Rockefellers?) and then later, share all of the things those friends received from the mysterious Man in Red on the Big Day. It felt like I had done something horribly wrong by not delivering the same kind of lavish Christmas morning for my own kids. I struggled with a lot of guilt over this. I felt like I was somehow failing as a parent. 

I put so much pressure on myself to deliver this “perfect” holiday, when the reality is, and has always been, that most weeks I’m lucky to put food on the table, or have the funds to sign up my kids for the field trip or seasonal sport they are looking forward to. If only I could wrap up all of those receipts and package them with a nice big bow on Dec. 25, and my kids would have that same starry-eyed response at the sight of all I’ve done for them throughout the year on that magical morning, things might feel less bleak. 

But alas, kids don’t understand the daily struggle it sometimes takes to make their lives as happy, comfortable and safe as we do. And that’s the ultimate goal, isn’t it? As much as I came into my parenting journey with a deep desire for my kids to experience the holidays with the same magic and wonder I had growing up, I eventually grew to want them to comprehend that the fascinating allure of this time of year comes from many things — the least of those being the gifts they may or may not receive. I wanted them to understand that having that kind of Christmas is a privilege and not an expectation. And in our situation, it’s (unfortunately) not a realistic one. 

Instead of showering my kids with a pile of gifts every year to fill some imaginary void I had created in my head, I began doing things differently. I do my absolute best to gift my kids the one item that they desperately want. Whether it’s a new pair of AirPods or a laptop, I will try my hardest to make it happen. Even if that means it has to be a refurbished, gently used or an older version to make it more cost effective. And if it’s not in the cards for us that year, I’m honest with them. Because I want them to know that I understand how important it was, and I need them to understand that I tried my best. Outside of that coveted item, anything else they get is a need. Something I know will be useful to them. Because, let’s be honest, besides that one thing they are seriously vying for, no other item is so important that it won’t likely be forgotten about in a few months. 

I wanted them to understand that having that kind of Christmas is a privilege and not an expectation.

By changing my approach and the holiday experience I wanted to bring my kids, it made things far less stressful for me every year, which made it much easier for me to actually enjoy the season, rather than white-knuckle through it in hopes that I would somehow make it out whole. 

And, despite my initial feelings of inadequacy and falling short, as time went on, I started to consider that maybe this new holiday mindset was actually doing my kids a service — one that would help mold them into the adults I am striving to raise. They learn compassion, empathy, consideration for others, and most importantly, the true meaning of the season. Family. 

They’ve become more aware of other people’s situations during the holidays. So much so that they have made an effort to collect any extra change around the house for the “Santa” who stands outside of storefronts every year. And when we clean up their rooms, they choose to donate their unopened or gently used toys or clothes to make someone else’s life better. And above all, rather than feeling like they are missing out on something, they take great pride and joy in being part of creating joy for someone else. The grief I once felt has dissipated as I realize my kids are learning valuable life lessons. 

I’m a single mom. My kids see me do so much for them every single day, and as they get older they appreciate those things (big and small) far more than I could have ever truly hoped they would. To me, that says a lot about the caring and thoughtful kids I am raising. And I would like to think part of that is because of the way I’ve adjusted my outlook on Christmas morning and how those remarkable and extraordinary memories we carry with us never really were about things; they are about the people who surrounded us in the moment. The magic of Christmas is what you make of it, and thanks to the circumstances that brought me here, I was forced to shift my focus from materialistic, ultimately meaningless fillers, to what is truly important during the holiday season. And that is, always has been, and will always continue to be family.