Dunno why, but this is the worst time of year for me. Short days, short temper, short on inspiration. And then there's the January realization that, once again, we have gone absolutely fucking insane buying gifts for the kids. We know this because half of them are still in the closet, unopened. But the Hello Kitty tent I bought seven years ago, which is held together at this point with duct tape, is still getting hauled out every week.
Next year, I swear I'm going to give my kids a package of brown paper bags and a box of crayons. Maybe I'll throw in an orange.
The ghost of Christmases past haunts me every time I open a closet around here, even though lots of my consumer excesses have gone to the Salvation Army--like the Interactive Winnie-the-Pooh we bought Rebecca for her third Christmas, which you programmed by inserting a computer chip in its butt, after typing in your child's name, the names of her friends, her favorite stories and songs, etc. I spent $100 on this thing and I was so excited about it I couldn't wait for Christmas morning. David goes up and gets Rebecca and brings her downstairs while I set up the Pooh to greet her. Rebecca was still a little groggy when this mechanical bear suddenly whirs into life and a droopy little voice says, "Hullo, Rebecca." Her response:
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!"
The Pooh never got played with. Eventually Rebecca could bring herself to touch it--she seemed to regard it as a kind of Special Education student among her regular teddy bears--but then she dropped it down a flight of stairs and the Pooh developed a clacking kind of speech impediment in his jaws and I finally ditched the thing. When I think of the $100 I spent on it I want to cry, but that's probably nothing compared to the thousands of dollars Rebecca will spend someday on a shrink, telling him/her about the time her parents tried to scare her witless.
So you'd think I'd have learned, but no: a couple of years ago we bought Suzanne a mechanical bear that asked for hugs and wanted to be fed, and had its own special bottle that it slurped from. Suzanne played with it for a day and that was that. But it was only $30.
This year Suzanne had her heart set on an interactive ballet game, which came with a battery-operated mat that told you where to put your feet and a plastic "barre" on which our budding dancer could practice. "Bo-ring" was the pronouncement. And the thing is, I knew that. I knew it before I ordered it. But, in thrall to my child and the idea that no wish go unfulfilled, I bought that piece 'o crap anyway.
And now it's Suzanne's birthday coming up. More presents. She doesn't play with half the stuff she has already. This is madness. Kid-driven, consumer madness.