Holiday Gifting as an Artist Mom

Hero early morning under the tree, admiring our “polar express”, a gift from a dear friend.

“It might be an urban legend, but I heard that the wealthy families of Seattle all sit down on Thanksgiving weekend and plan for what nonprofits they will support for their end of year giving.”

I’m perched on a worn chaise in the artistic director’s home office, brainstorming ways to raise funds for Nebula—a Seattle-based venue for immersive art, think moody Meow Wolf. I can’t help picturing an affluent matriarch with a Tiffany fountain pen, meticulously listing worthy arts orgs at her 12-person dining table. My mind conjures this image from years of jogging through Capitol Hill's “Better side of Broadway” neighborhood with mansion-lined streets, peering into windows, imagining lives so different from my own.

What would it be like to have so much wealth that gifting to others, beyond your own family, was simply part of the holiday routine?

As the holiday season approaches, my family, the Peachey Rosso 3, is asking a different question: What can we afford? We’re thinking about how to honor family on both coasts without breaking the bank. Our gifts are less about dollar amounts and more about gratitude. How have I been supported this past year?

When I was younger, Christmas looked a little different. After those Capitol Hill jogs, I’d return to my tiny artist’s studio in the Pike/Pine corridor, filled with the satisfaction of devoting my life to a career in theatre. Christmas gifts were hastily purchased from Pike Place Market on credit, and friendships were celebrated with post-show wine fueled caroling sessions rather than material goods. No one supported me. I didn’t owe anyone anything - or so I thought.

Now, as a mom, the satisfaction is there, but there’s so much more room to fill it to the top. So many traditions to bring into the season, so many lists, so many gifts —ones that blend creativity, gratitude, and the occasional financial snowball.

“Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Brodie who wanted a scooter with light-up wheels and a secret hiding place for his play-doh.”

As I spin this bedtime story, Hero’s eyes sparkle, and I silently congratulate myself for a dual win: connecting with my son and setting the stage for a memorable Christmas morning.

In our house, giving isn’t about budgets. It’s about composing homemade songs, gifts under $20, and Christmas movies snuggled with my husband after the little one is asleep. Hero, one of only three grandchildren, will have a house full of presents thanks to his extended family and doting “Aunties”. This little kid came into our lives with a lot of love…and in the age of Amazon, a lot of stuff!

Sometimes, gifting means letting go. “Mommy gave your baby toys to other children,” I gently explain to Hero. It’s a challenging conversation, but I want him to understand the value of sharing what we do have.

Charitable giving in our family looks like trips to Goodwill after pre-school drop off, clearing space for the incoming holiday bounty. These moments are small but meaningful lessons in generosity, even for a three-year-old. My heart Is torn as I read the letters from nonprofits listing their needs. I wish I could do more. I have so much love to give since Hero has been born.

Hero with his Paw Patrol advent toys we pulled out in early November.

“We’re doing a soft launch of Christmas!” I joke, pulling down decorations from the attic weeks before December. Hero’s excitement is contagious and after the burnout of the early fall, I am all in. He recognizes familiar ornaments and proudly counts the days on his advent calendars—three, thanks to my generous family. “Nana and Grammie can’t stop giving me presents!” Hero chortles.

This season, having a young child is pure magic. His memories are forming, but still delightfully fuzzy, leaving room for surprise and wonder at every turn.

Candy becomes its own currency during the holidays. Christmas cookies and “Nana sweets” make excellent bargaining chips for everything from potty training victories to a quiet car ride home from pre-school. As much as I love indulging Hero, I know the pantry will need a cleanse for all of us when January rolls around.

“I don’t like Santa.” It’s 7am and pitch black out of our kitchen window as we eat waffles and yogurt before school. Hero looks at me with a doleful expression. It’s one of my favorite things about age three, how he tests out his ideas on his Dad and me. “Well, the holidays are a long time. Over a month. Not every day is fun. You don’t have to like Santa all the time.”

Four Christmases into motherhood, I’ve gained a kind of perspective that feels almost angelic. The holiday season isn’t about the commercialism, the sugar rushes, or the mounting credit card balances—it’s about survival, joy, and connection in the Pacific Northwest’s darkest days.

I’ll put presents on the credit card again this year, trusting that future gigs will cover the cost. For me, gifting is about showing gratitude for the people who make this wild artist-mom life possible. It’s about creating joy for my son, my family, and the village of caregivers who help me every day. Yes, that does have a dollar sign attached. Yes, I will pay it with interest. These things are less important in the grand scheme of things.

 In the end, it’s not about the gifts themselves—it’s about the moments, the magic, and the gratitude that tie it all together. As an artist mom, I’ve learned to embrace the dark, the financial risks, and the surrender, because that’s what makes this life so beautifully, uniquely mine.

Our mantle may be my pride and joy, thank you black friday Amazon garland with lights. Yes it is okay to be a basic artist mom.