It's all Kevin McAllister's fault!

Spoiler alert: Santa is not real!

Let us set the scene. It’s Christmas, one of those magical ones! It’s cold. Thick fluffy snow is softly falling outside. I can smell the roast in the oven and mom is kneading the dough for some cinnamon buns. I have a feeling; it will be a successful night! I walk to the living room and look at the Christmas tree. What is this? What ….I mean…what is going on? What are these …these….BAGS doing under the tree? I run to mom and complain.

„...but they have really pretty ones in Hollywood movies!” I was perplexed.

“Life isn’t a movie, Helen.”

“It could be though?! How hard can it be?”, honestly I thought. Mothers are almighty. How come mine was failing with these terrible bags!

“If you want it then do it yourself. I have other things to take care of!”

“It’s not THAT hard! Mooo-oo—oom!”

I wasn’t a kid who'd complain, but this time, the presents, or well, the lack of the presentable packages, really got me.

“That’s enough! Go wash your hands and help me set the table!”

And just like that she went back to the kitchen. What was I supposed to do? I marched to my brother and demanded that he’d side with me. He merely looked at me, mumbled something and kept ignoring. He didn’t care. It was obvious that I wasn’t going to win this battle. Not at least at that Christmas. My brother cared what was inside a package and I cared about how it was wrapped. I got angry, because we didn’t live in a big city. I could have gone to the store and just wrap everything. I was mad. Selfish, clearly, but still mad. Being only ten years old, with limited amount of pocket money, I didn’t have much of a saying in the matter. I huffed at myself and crossed my arms as if that was going to change anything. As I was sitting there, stewing in my own dissatisfaction, I got an idea. I stood up and went through the entire bookshelf before I picked up an origami book. I folded paper for hours, ignoring my mom's orders, thinking of the ways how I could make the Christmas presents look better. Eventually I had to wash my hands and help mom set the table. All the freshly made new art was left deserted on the floor. What a shame! Sad bagged gifts and dinner later, I sat down next to them and wondered, how could this not be a thing for my parents? I never really understood it. If mothers were almighty, how come mine always used gift bags and hardly ever any ribbon? Or when she did, then it was cheap paper kind that rolls up. It was shiny and plasticky and I hated it.

After I had picked up last of the origami swans, I decided – when I grow up, all my gifts will look beautiful. Besides, wrapping a present nicely takes approximately 15-20 minutes. After quick math, for the family of five, it takes 100 minutes max, so as I see it, she could have used that time as an art therapy. Since there were no glue guns involved, I figure, it would have taken her even less. My scoffing and huffing only took me as far as washing the dishes after dinner that night.

In my terrible ten-year-old selfishness I wasn’t aware of the work that goes into cooking a Christmas meal, get present, wrap them without us kids noticing it, getting us all up in the morning and all the rest of the life admin really took. What a terrible child! Of course, the last thing in my mother’s mind was wrapping presents and making them look like the ones Kevin McAllister had. Perfectly square, wrapped in pretty paper, with a big bow on top….the dream! I felt deprived of magic with gift bags and crinkled paper in it. I didn’t really care about the present, I always looked at the package first. Very superficial, I know, but there was something that gave it oomph whenever I saw a perfectly wrapped gift. My heart skipped a beat and my face filled with glee. It was a visual bliss. As the time passed, I grew up and came to my own money. It wasn’t until I moved to Los Angeles, where I finally gave into my desire to create beautiful, sometimes weird, but always impeccably wrapped presents. Glue gun became my best friend. And…a blistering enemy. Countless burn scars now decorate my fingers in more places than I can count, yet I don’t see it as a sacrifice. It’s part of the beauty in the love for gift wrapping.

Being a big fan of little things in life, it’s not surprising I am now known as the ‘wrap artist’ amongst my friends. Very often the gift itself isn’t worth much. It’s sentimental at best, but the wrapper around it has been thought through to the smallest detail. It’s like an addiction that I cannot shake. The rush that I get from picking out every single element sounds SO wrong but feels SO right. Planning a theme for every Christmas, thinking of the person the present is for, weaving inside jokes into the design….It’s a form of creative therapy for me. I allow myself sink fully into it so that the gift becomes the only important thing. I focus. I am like a junky looking for the next fix. And by next fix, I mean Christmas. There is no method to my madness. The thing I love most about gift wrapping is the joy that it brings to people around me. It’s a special kind of awe. Like a warm hug, it just lingers around you. People always worry about ripping the paper, but I have had my joy, so I never mind when they rip it apart. It’s a double whammy of happiness for me and the recipient. There’s only 206 days left till Christmas. Not that I am counting or anything…