I woke up this morning in a cold sweat, completely panicked, as I had the most alarming realization…

There are just a few shopping days left before Christmas and I haven’t bought my grandchildren anything.  Nothing.  Nada.  Zilch.  Not so much as a measly little stocking stuffer.  

And I call myself a grandmother! (Actually, I don’t call myself a grandmother, but that’s another discussion.)

I have 5 grandchildren under the age of 6 who will descend upon my home early Christmas morning, their sweet cherubic little faces gazing expectantly towards my tree wondering which of the plethora of gifts strewn about are for them.  Never quite imagining the answer.  

None of them.  

And it’s not because I haven’t been shopping.  Indeed I have.  I’ve been in the physical stores AND online.  And I’ve been at it for months.  I’ve bought darling outfits for their mothers.  I’ve bought warm winter coats for their uncles and chic athleisure wear for their aunts – everything wrapped and tagged. And every time I shop I always include a little something for myself.  One must always remember to bless Mrs Claus. 

But nothing for the littlest among us.  The very people we purport the “magic of Christmas” to be, “all about!”   So, why ever not?

I think it’s because I know from past experience, the things I usually get them are not the things they really, really want…

In years past, I’ve purchased toys for the tots.  Lots of toys.   Which their mothers pragmatically insist they leave at my house to play with when they are here.  Consequently, my house AND their homes have more merch than our local Toys R Us.   Most of the loot is still in its original packaging in the closet in my spare bedroom.  

I don’t mean to imply my grands aren’t wildly active children getting into absolutely everything.  They are. 

One thing they can’t resist when they come over here is Band-Aids.  Yes, you read that correctly.   My grandkids are obsessed with Band-Aids.  The little hypochondriacs manufacture non-stop injuries, requiring me to pull out my arsenal of Band-Aids and administer aid to their tiny extremities.  And one adhesive strip is never enough. Every injury requires 4-5. It’s almost as if they have Munchausens-By-Proxy.   

Except, not by proxy.  Nothing is by proxy around here. Ever.

They are equally passionate about sprinkles. The kind that are supposed to land on top of baked goods, but rarely do. They land everywhere else in my house. I find them days later in rooms no one even entered? Every time the grands visit, some bizarre Pavlovian response is triggered, whereby they must concoct some type of occasion they deem bake-worthy.  This event must be celebrated by making something that requires the liberal use of sprinkles.  

Of course they never eat the baked goods.  That’s my job.  They are hyper-fixated on the sprinkles. And there’s just no describing this mess.   In a shameless effort to illicit sympathy from my friends, I’ve attempted to post pictures online, but I guess the photos just don’t quite capture the depth and scope of the situation, because people seem to miss the point, gushing over how adorable the little stinkers are instead of remarking on the appalling state of my kitchen and surrounding areas. 

The only other household item that works them into a lather rivaling that of Band-Aids and Sprinkles is a .99 cent neon pink spray bottle I bought at Walmart.   When they’re here I fill it with water so they can play “Cleaning!”  Since there’s only one, it sparks tearful, hair-pulling, screaming matches.  I don’t know what it is about spraying water, but kids love it with a fervor. They spray my windows, my fence and our dog.  This past summer they played, “Mobile Pet Wash” and after our dog was as clean as any mutt could possibly be, they took turns spraying innocent ants on the sidewalk for hours.  I considered intervening, PETA style, on the insects behalf, but, as I mentioned, hours of amusement…

I’ve decided my grandparenting ethos is more about “making memories” with the children than buying them crap they don’t play with.  I’m already shocked and saddened by how fast they are growing up.  Even faster than my first round of children, it seems.  

But still, I am going to need something tangible for them on Christmas morning or I might be making a memory I’m not eager to be associated with.  

So, I’m off to the Dollar Store to procure stocking stuffers. I’ll fill their stockings with a lit assortment of Band-Aids, Sprinkles and neon Spray Bottles.  I got a little choked up when I noticed that the common denominator of these items was that they all represented Love…okay, well, Love and hydro-aggression. 

Never matter – at least I know they’ll enjoy this stuff and we’ll be making some messy, misty memories we won’t soon forget. And, if anyone gets hurt, which they undoubtedly will, we got ‘em covered. And covered. And covered. And covered.