I used to make lists.

You know, just like Santa. Only I made them for Santa and they usually included at least one Barbie accessory and some board game about boys (Dream Phone, anyone?).

As a kid, it was easy to answer the question “What do you want for Christmas?” because technically we weren’t asking our parents to buy us gifts -- we were asking Santa to make them miraculously appear under our Christmas tree.

I would flip through the Sears catalogue, write a letter to Santa, send it to the North Pole and, as far as I knew, my parents didn’t have to do a thing or spend a dime.

Which made the whole situation seem a little easier, a little less selfish.

But now as an adult, when people ask me what I want for Christmas, I know that my answer is something that they will spend their hard-earned money on.

And now that I’ve spent several years in the workforce, I have a deeper appreciation for just how hard-earned that money is.

Which is what makes a seemingly simple question so troublesome.

How do I answer it without sounding materialistic? It’s a self-imposed catch-22.

People love buying gifts for the people they love. It makes sense. We want to do nice things for those who bring joy into our lives.

And it’s not that I don’t want things -- if I kept of list of the items that I lust after it would be a mile long.

It’s that when I repeat the question to myself I tend to rephrase it as, “What do I want this person to spend their money on?”

And that produces a twinge of guilt that is pretty hard to kick. You see, I don’t want anyone to give up anything for me. And that’s what it feels like I’m asking them to do despite the fact that it’s just not so.

People wouldn’t ask what you want as a gift only to resent you for answering. Or at least people who love you wouldn’t do that.

On the flip side, I ask people what they want for Christmas, too! Hypocritical, but true.

I love buying Christmas gifts and I never feel like I’m going without basic necessities because of it.

Which I’m sure is exactly what every well-intentioned person who asks me feels, too.

And sometimes I just feel like I don’t need any more stuff.

While as a 5-year-old I thought another My Little Pony was essential to my collection, as an adult I know I’ll make it through the year without those Frye boots I’ve been eying or an extra baking pan.

But I’ve been asked the question and so I suppose it’s time to come up with an answer, which I’ll try to make as simple and practical as possible.

Unfortunately it probably won’t be as easy as flipping through a Sears catalogue.