We gather at my mother’s house for many holidays, but the one we would never miss is Christmas. Her house is well suited because it has the largest dining room, and it is geographically right in the middle--a mere half-hour’s drive from each of her four children and their families. Our Christmas celebration takes place on Christmas Eve, long after my mother has begun her preparations.

My mother’s vision of Christmas is elegant and festive, but involves much labor. We repeatedly offer to help, but she insists upon doing the work herself. She begins by ironing a linen tablecloth, which should take two sets of hands to maneuver on and off the ironing board; somehow she manages it by herself. For the last couple of years she has produced two crisply ironed tablecloths as our group now numbers seventeen and we require two large tables. Ironing the linen is just the beginning, though. The two tables are elegantly set with china and crystal, a festive center-piece, candles, gleaming silverware, and a beautifully wrapped confection at each place.

I recall initially being nervous about my children’s conduct. Would they drip gravy on the crisp linen, gobble up the gourmet candy before the meal got underway, or perhaps devise a balancing game with the silverware and water goblets? Of my mother’s eight grandchildren, the oldest four are mine, and I often feel like the proverbial guinea pig testing the waters at each family affair. Our Christmas Eve dinners are no exception. We have worked hard to instill respectable manners in our children, but a formal dinner can be a challenge for any child. What I’ve realized though, is that I’m the only one who worries. After all, my mother raised four children and has been through this before. So, I try to put my concerns aside and simply enjoy the elegance that makes Christmas so memorable for our family.

For several days prior to Christmas, Mom prepares a feast which takes into account everyone’s culinary preference; the vegetarians are treated to a veritable smorgasbord of meatless dishes, and those of us who never gave up our taste for traditional Christmas Eve roast beef are not disappointed either. She even prepares desserts that accommodate the plum pudding lovers and the less traditional got-to-be-chocolate-or-it- isn’t-dessert crowd. Long before we sit down to eat, however, we have appetizers and cocktails and listen to Handel’s Messiah. We also open gifts.

The business of gift-giving has taken some unusual twists. Before we started families of our own, buying gifts for each other and Mom was something we enjoyed. It was easy, too, since we lived close to each other and spent time together; we knew what each person wanted or needed. Our enjoyment lessened considerably, however, as our own families grew, but it took the wisdom of a seasoned mother to recognize the change and do something about it.

As new parents, we were perhaps too busy contemplating our new roles to realize that we had far less time, and certainly less money to spend on Christmas than in years past. Although we all continued to visit regularly, the spontaneity of our get-togethers diminished. We also didn’t need as many things as we used to. We had accumulated the necessary paraphernalia to run our household. For those of us who no longer worked outside the home, a business wardrobe was unnecessary. And in some respects, more possessions would only clutter our lives. We all needed more time, and perhaps more sleep, but gifts that used to be so important at Christmas had lost some of their charm. Even Mom occasionally let slip that if she really needed something, she would buy it herself. She knew exactly what she wanted or needed; everything else was superfluous. She felt the same was true for us.

Nevertheless, for several years we kept our Christmas celebration much as it had been, even though it was becoming increasingly difficult to juggle all that holiday shopping. When lean financial times descended upon some of the family, we tacitly acknowledged that gifts should be less expensive. Mom was uncomfortable knowing we were spending money on gifts that weren’t necessary. She knew it was the thought that counted, but she didn’t want to find room for a bauble she wasn’t likely to wear or use. Likewise, she could tell when we had received something we liked but didn’t have use for, or when we didn’t get the one thing we truly wanted. Sensing a growing awkwardness about giving and receiving Christmas presents, she suggested we find an alternative. We quickly agreed to make homemade gifts the following year.

We produced an interesting assortment of handiwork and unearthed many previously unknown talents, creating everything from authentic Taiwanese dishes to hobby horses for the children and marbleized stationery sets for the adults. While our homemade gifts eased the financial pressure of the holiday, the work we insisted on putting into our presents only added to the time crisis in our lives. We knew it would be difficult to duplicate the magnanimity and creativity of the first-year’s effort, year after year.

Mom was the first to make noises about not exchanging Christmas gifts among the grown-ups. She could see that although we had eased the financial stress of Christmas, we were creating a time-drain in its place. This, she insisted, was not what Christmas was all about. What she treasured most in our celebration was being surrounded by her four children and eight grandchildren. She wanted us to share that enjoyment with her, unencumbered by gift-giving worries.

So four years ago we adopted a gifts-for-children-only Christmas policy. There was some initial resistance. After all, getting gifts was fun! And what about my sister, who didn’t have children? What would the adults do on Christmas Eve if there were no presents to open? And yet, the thought of not having to spend days shopping for or producing homemade gifts was appealing.

As summer gave way to fall that year, and the stores began to bait holiday shoppers, it was with considerable relief that I went about our Christmas preparations. My shopping list was surprisingly short, leaving time to establish traditions with my children such as reading The Nutcracker and making a gingerbread house.

The celebration we had with Mom that year, and those that have followed, seemed more meaningful in the absence of gifts. We arrive on Christmas Eve without feeing exhausted. No one is nervous about whether or not a particular gift will be welcomed. My sister, who still has no children of her own, looks forward to giving gifts to her nieces and nephews. We enjoy watching the children open their gift from each family, and we are proud when a child has taken the time to make something for an aunt or uncle, or best of all, for Grandma.

As we share the children’s excitement and enthusiasm we have plenty of time to reflect on the joy we find in being together as a family. Our celebration, cast in the elegant trimmings so important to our family, is perhaps my mother’s finest Christmas gift to us all.

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