My 5-year-old child mirrors so many of my own personality traits that it often feels like looking into a smaller, more exuberant version of myself. He is naturally sociable, effortlessly connecting with people of all ages and backgrounds—from making instant friends with another child at the playground to chatting amiably with the elderly neighbor who strolls by each morning with his dogs. Like me, he thrives on interaction, delights in exploration, and possesses an unrestrained enthusiasm for new experiences. Perhaps unsurprisingly, his primary love language is also receiving gifts; tokens of affection, no matter how small, make him feel recognized, cherished, and deeply connected.
Because of that, his Christmas list has grown to be astonishingly long—and admittedly rather costly. At five, he is still a wholehearted believer in the wonder of Santa Claus, convinced that every present is handcrafted in a snow-covered workshop by cheerful elves. This innocent belief, while heartwarming, makes it impossible for me to explain the practical realities of budgeting or the concept of financial limits. To him, materials and money simply do not exist in Santa’s magical economy. Knowing that, I’ve had to find creative ways to help him appreciate abundance without setting unrealistic expectations or diminishing the enchantment of the season.
**I set a gift limit**
We remain firmly rooted in that precious phase of childhood where the magic of Santa still thrives, and because of that, I can’t exactly sit my children down to deliver a talk about financial caps or dollar amounts. They still picture the North Pole as an endless factory of generosity, where toys materialize freely and joy has no price tag—an image I sometimes wish existed beyond stories. Instead of discussing cost, I’ve chosen to impose a limit on the number of gifts that “Santa” delivers. In our household, that number is ten per child, which feels manageable given that most of their requested items are small or inexpensive.
This limitation is surprisingly easy to justify within the logic of the Santa narrative: after all, if Santa must distribute gifts to millions of children across the world, it’s only fair—and entirely reasonable—to assume that he can carry only a certain number of presents for each child. In this way, the rule feels like part of the magic rather than a restriction, maintaining excitement and fairness simultaneously.
**I asked him to rank his wish list**
When I was little, I approached the holiday season with equal parts creativity and strategy. I would carefully compile and reorder my Christmas wish list countless times, cutting images from glossy toy catalogs and glueing them beside handwritten notes to emphasize just how much I “needed” a particular toy. I remember vividly how thrilling it was to dream, anticipate, and imagine. Now, remembering that sense of wonder, I use a similar exercise with my own children—but with a thoughtful twist.
Each year, I have them rank their wish lists by level of importance. This structured process encourages reflection: it helps them identify which items they truly desire most and which ones are merely passing fancies. It also gives me valuable insight into what might bring them genuine joy. Just as importantly, it becomes a gentle teaching moment about gratitude and managing disappointment. I remind them that Christmas, while undeniably exciting for its gifts, is about much more than receiving; it’s about appreciation, love, and shared celebration. By asking them to prioritize, we also open a conversation about how not every wish may come true—but that the blessings we do receive are worth joyfully acknowledging.
**I’m teaching them to give, not just receive**
Now that my boys are five and seven, they’re at an age where they can begin to understand the joy of generosity in tangible ways. Each receives a small weekly allowance, and I’ve started using part of it to teach them how to give thoughtfully. Every year, we visit a toy store together, and I encourage them to select a gift for each other. Observing their choices is both endearing and enlightening—the delight on their faces as they secretly pick something their sibling will love is pure holiday magic. This simple ritual emphasizes that giving is as meaningful as receiving and that thoughtfulness can be its own reward.
We’ve also made it a tradition to adopt a family through the Salvation Army’s Angel Tree program. We begin by reading through the wish list of the family we’re supporting, discussing what each family member might enjoy or find useful. Then, the boys help me select presents at a local store, imagining what would bring happiness to another child. These outings naturally prompt deeper conversations about kindness, privilege, and community. I talk with them about how not every child has the same resources, and that when we have a little extra, sharing it can brighten someone else’s day in profound ways. It’s a grounding and compassionate lesson disguised within an act of holiday cheer.
**I encourage gratitude**
This year, we’ve decided to cultivate gratitude earlier in the season, weaving it into our everyday routine instead of reserving it for special occasions. Each evening at dinner, every member of the family takes a moment to share one thing—large or small—for which they felt grateful that day. It could be something as poignant as a friend’s kindness or as simple as a warm cookie after school. The goal is to nurture a mindset of appreciation that extends well beyond the holiday season.
We’ve also started a new family project—a growing “leaf wall” in our dining room. Every day, the boys write one thing they’re thankful for on a colored paper leaf, and we tape it to the wall. Over time, the wall transforms into a living tapestry of gratitude, a physical reminder of abundance that doesn’t depend on material gifts. This activity has become such a joyful ritual that we plan to continue it not just through Christmas but into the new year as well. It’s a simple way to reinforce that the best parts of our lives often have little to do with what we possess and everything to do with what we notice.
**I always have veto power**
Every family handles the mythos of Santa differently, but in our home, the illusion is delightfully personal. My children are utterly convinced that I’m close friends with the man in red himself—so close, in fact, that we message regularly and exchange updates about toy lists, cookie preferences, and sleigh routes. This playful dynamic lets me maintain a bit of parental control over what “Santa” brings while keeping the story intact.
That final layer of “veto power” serves two crucial purposes. The first is practical: it allows me to uphold a sensible budget and prevent overspending on high-ticket items that the workshop (or, more accurately, the household wallet) cannot accommodate. The second is safety and suitability—I can gently intercept requests that aren’t appropriate for their ages or circumstances. For example, my 5-year-old has his heart set on a roaring dirt bike this year, but some Christmas dreams are best deferred until a later, less injury-prone season. Jokingly, I tell him that Santa and I agreed we’d prefer no emergency room visits under the tree this year.
Through each of these strategies—establishing limits, ranking desires, fostering generosity, encouraging gratitude, and maintaining responsible oversight—I’m trying to nurture both the enchantment and the grounding lessons of the season. Christmas, for us, isn’t just about receiving; it’s about learning to balance wonder with wisdom, joy with mindfulness, and magic with meaning.
Sourse: https://www.businessinsider.com/setting-limits-tempering-expectations-kids-holiday-christmas-hanukkah-gifts-2025-12
