Two days until Christmas.

Two.

If you're a parent with more than one kid, you know what that means: It's Evening-Up Time.

Admit it. Right about now you're mentally counting gifts to make sure your offspring will have the exact same number under the tree on Dec. 25. Don't even try to pretend you don't do this.

One child has seven packages, the other only five? You're going back to the mall.

You thought you were done shopping but you just spied the cutest pair of socks for your daughter? She'll love them. But remember, you now have to shop until you find some adorable mittens for your son.

Is this materialistic? Oh yes.

The antithesis of the true meaning of Christmas? You bet.

Is it the best argument ever in favor of having just one child? Absolutely.

But it's too late for that. From the moment that second baby is born, parents wear themselves out trying not to show favoritism. Doesn't matter if one kid acts like the spawn of Satan and the other is the next Florence Nightingale. Siblings must be reassured that they're loved equally by their parents.

How to display that equal affection? With present parity on Christmas morning.

Fact is, no mother or father wants to experience that awkward moment when one kid is sitting quietly on a pile of torn wrapping paper while the other squeals with delight as she rips into more unopened gifts.

Hanging in the air at that moment will be the unspoken accusation that one child is loved more than the other.

Doesn't matter if one got a bike that cost the same as four shirts. The kid with the bike will also need packages containing a bell, a lock and a light to equal things out.

These yuletide calculations are stressful. And it doesn't end when your kids leave home. My own mother always made sure my brother and I had the exact same number of gifts - long after we were out of college and on our own.

Even when I was 30, if I finished opening my gifts first, my mother would panic and paw through the detritus of Christmas until she triumphantly emerged with another colorfully wrapped gift with my name on it.

Eventually my mom had seven grandchildren. She prided herself on having an equal number of gifts for each, as well as for my brother and me and our spouses.

Exhausting.

My kids are grown. Long gone are the days of Christmas wish lists for outlandish things like Shetland ponies and electric cars.

And yet I worry. I am my mother's daughter, after all.

To avoid Evening-Up madness this year, I downloaded a password-protected app that allows me to keep track of Christmas. It's cold and calculating as it compares purchases for everyone on my list.

A glance at the app on Monday told me my gifts were in perfect balance. I felt smug and satisfied.

Then it reminded me that 85 percent of my gifts still needed to be wrapped.

Pass the Scotch tape. And the Scotch.