I had promised John that once we were married, I would buy all of the gifts for birthdays and holidays. I felt like this would be a slam dunk for both of us. I enjoy shopping and tend to remember what people want several months later and John wouldn't have to hassle with anything other than signing a card.
On top of that, I've prided myself in being able to select the right gift. Several years ago, I chatted online with a friend and helped him select Christmas gifts for each of his siblings. The gifts were a hit with his family and my shopping ego was inflated to gargantuan proportions.
There's one thing I never want to be known for and that's a boring gift. The gift that the adult wants the child to have rather than vice versa. And yet, that's the road I went down at Christmas when I bought John's goddaughter's present. Her mom had told us that she had mounds of toys coming to her, that the toy catalogs in the house were all earmarked to better help Santa. Clothes, she said, was this three year-old's new obsession.
My old fashionista self heard the buzzwords and squealed. I love little girls' clothes - they're so cute and frilly. I was told that she asked Santa to bring her a jacket that looked like mommy's. All I had to do was look for something edgy and cool that would go with her new jacket or sparkly shoes. Not a problem! I went to a kid's boutique and bought two outfits. We presented her with the gifts a few weeks later and were met with utter disappointment.
First the tot looked at John and asked, "Did you buy this?" John, who had been good about buying her latest toy obsession was quick to point the finger to the new wife; the one who had giggled at the sparkly shirts and the soft fabrics and had spent the previous month eagerly anticipating the happy eyes and smiles of the grateful child. What I saw in her reaction was a replay of that gift opening scene in "A Christmas Story" where the boys throw back the socks and other boring gifts in an effort to get to the good stuff. I had become the lame gift giver!
I was determined that when March rolled around, her birthday gift would be a toy. I would not buy an unsolicited book or clothing. Puzzles and anything educational were absolutely banned. I never wanted to see that look of disappointment again.
When the time came, her parents would take her on a recon mission of the toy aisles and report the items that piqued her curiosity. When I heard back, the list contained one toy. All the others had been taken up by the parents and family members. The toy she wanted, that had been left behind, was a Barbie cash register. As a child, I had always wanted one of those stand up play houses that looked like a kitchen and then they created one that looked like a store. This toy sounded like it was perfect for me (um, us) to give her. I could have fun with this.
Then I went to Amazon to do some research on this toy. It's not some old school cash register with real-looking play money. It had coins and bills, but it also had credit cards and a scanning wand. Super high tech.
I love gadgets and so does John, but I wasn't excited to give this gift anymore. There was something about it that made me think that this toy was the root of all evil. That somehow, this toy indoctrinated children into commercialized society and would encourage reckless spending. This little cash register with its pink plastic buttons was the exact reason that our economy was in its current state. A lot of power and blame for one toy, I know.
I agonized over the purchase. Do I give the child what she expressly requested? Do I pick out another toy with the chance that it may be duplicated? Do I go to the boring route (in the eyes of the child) and give her another outfit? Do I purchase what her parents have approved but I cannot get behind?
I decided to take the easy route and let the the toy be a toy. I bought it and had it sit on my kitchen table for a few days. I walked by it and waited for the toy to win me over. The demo would reassure me that the perfume, jewelry, and dress I bought were good choices and an absolute steal. I cringed. What had I done?!? I gave in to my ego and bought something that I felt surely would drive this new four year old into dependency upon credit and self validation through retail therapy.
At some point, John assured me, toys are just toys. Kids enjoy realism and this is what they see when they're out with their parents. This is what the child wanted and it's the parents' job to raise the child and help them understand the value of money and the responsibility that goes with it. She's four and just wants to play dress up and pretend to be an adult. Assuaged by the reality that was presented to me, I wrapped the gift in the pink paper and presented it to her a week later.
The same ho-hum response greeted us when she unveiled the register. All that grief for nothing! But a few minutes later, she was begging to have the register removed from the elusive packaging and a few hours of noisy play ensued. She was entertained and happy.
Perhaps it was just a toy and my concerns were unfounded.
On top of that, I've prided myself in being able to select the right gift. Several years ago, I chatted online with a friend and helped him select Christmas gifts for each of his siblings. The gifts were a hit with his family and my shopping ego was inflated to gargantuan proportions.
There's one thing I never want to be known for and that's a boring gift. The gift that the adult wants the child to have rather than vice versa. And yet, that's the road I went down at Christmas when I bought John's goddaughter's present. Her mom had told us that she had mounds of toys coming to her, that the toy catalogs in the house were all earmarked to better help Santa. Clothes, she said, was this three year-old's new obsession.
My old fashionista self heard the buzzwords and squealed. I love little girls' clothes - they're so cute and frilly. I was told that she asked Santa to bring her a jacket that looked like mommy's. All I had to do was look for something edgy and cool that would go with her new jacket or sparkly shoes. Not a problem! I went to a kid's boutique and bought two outfits. We presented her with the gifts a few weeks later and were met with utter disappointment.
First the tot looked at John and asked, "Did you buy this?" John, who had been good about buying her latest toy obsession was quick to point the finger to the new wife; the one who had giggled at the sparkly shirts and the soft fabrics and had spent the previous month eagerly anticipating the happy eyes and smiles of the grateful child. What I saw in her reaction was a replay of that gift opening scene in "A Christmas Story" where the boys throw back the socks and other boring gifts in an effort to get to the good stuff. I had become the lame gift giver!
I was determined that when March rolled around, her birthday gift would be a toy. I would not buy an unsolicited book or clothing. Puzzles and anything educational were absolutely banned. I never wanted to see that look of disappointment again.
When the time came, her parents would take her on a recon mission of the toy aisles and report the items that piqued her curiosity. When I heard back, the list contained one toy. All the others had been taken up by the parents and family members. The toy she wanted, that had been left behind, was a Barbie cash register. As a child, I had always wanted one of those stand up play houses that looked like a kitchen and then they created one that looked like a store. This toy sounded like it was perfect for me (um, us) to give her. I could have fun with this.
Then I went to Amazon to do some research on this toy. It's not some old school cash register with real-looking play money. It had coins and bills, but it also had credit cards and a scanning wand. Super high tech.
I love gadgets and so does John, but I wasn't excited to give this gift anymore. There was something about it that made me think that this toy was the root of all evil. That somehow, this toy indoctrinated children into commercialized society and would encourage reckless spending. This little cash register with its pink plastic buttons was the exact reason that our economy was in its current state. A lot of power and blame for one toy, I know.
I agonized over the purchase. Do I give the child what she expressly requested? Do I pick out another toy with the chance that it may be duplicated? Do I go to the boring route (in the eyes of the child) and give her another outfit? Do I purchase what her parents have approved but I cannot get behind?
I decided to take the easy route and let the the toy be a toy. I bought it and had it sit on my kitchen table for a few days. I walked by it and waited for the toy to win me over. The demo would reassure me that the perfume, jewelry, and dress I bought were good choices and an absolute steal. I cringed. What had I done?!? I gave in to my ego and bought something that I felt surely would drive this new four year old into dependency upon credit and self validation through retail therapy.
At some point, John assured me, toys are just toys. Kids enjoy realism and this is what they see when they're out with their parents. This is what the child wanted and it's the parents' job to raise the child and help them understand the value of money and the responsibility that goes with it. She's four and just wants to play dress up and pretend to be an adult. Assuaged by the reality that was presented to me, I wrapped the gift in the pink paper and presented it to her a week later.
The same ho-hum response greeted us when she unveiled the register. All that grief for nothing! But a few minutes later, she was begging to have the register removed from the elusive packaging and a few hours of noisy play ensued. She was entertained and happy.
Perhaps it was just a toy and my concerns were unfounded.
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