The holiday gift shopping calls have begun, and I don’t see any end in sight. Family all want to know what to buy my little 2-year-old girl. She’s finally at the age where toys are getting fun, and everyone wants to join in.
But this kid already has stuff! Lots of stuff, and she doesn’t need that much more, unless she’s going to go into the wholesale toy business. My mother was up last weekend and took inventory of her needs. She was horrified to see that her little play kitchen was missing so many vital pieces and necessary utensils — things that proper kitchens wouldn’t be caught dead without. She needs table settings for eight apparently.
Cordial glasses for pretend late night liqueurs. Truffle shavers. Garlic presses. Water goblets. A sous chef. You name it.
“How can she live like this?” she demanded. “Poor little thing. She doesn’t even have butter knives! I’ve got shopping to do.”
My aunt called from a Toys “R” Us in Tampa where she was doing her own shopping.
“Brian,” she said, “the store is closing and everything is 40 percent off … so I bought it all. They’re loading it into two semis right now. Do you have a warehouse in the backyard?”
I cried.
My father says he has a stack of toy catalogs he’s received in the mail and wants to know if he should just mail them back with a note that says, “send me one of everything, and a genuine African elephant if you have one.”
My dad asked if we were into Disney stuff, but so far we’ve pretty much avoided the Disney cult. I just read an article in the Wall Street Journal talking about how Disney is pushing its Princess line of toys harder and harder in a quest to make every little girl in America (and little boys, too, if they’re up for the schoolyard beatings) into sweet, make-up craving, ball-gown wearing, tiara-crowning princesses. Oh, no! What’s wrong with being a peasant? That’s glamorous, too.
No Disney, for now.
Happily for me, my daughter likes trucks and Matchbox cars. This is great because I do, too. She likes simple things, like sticks and rocks. She likes bugs and even pointed at some dog poop the other day and smiled. But people don’t understand and want to get her more. “Does she have a Boeing 747 yet? Would she like an intercontinental airliner? I found one cheap on e-Bay.”
It’s gotten so bad that I’ve taken to not answering the phone. It’s either that, or I have to get a little evasive. When someone calls to ask what they should get her, I tell them “saltine crackers” and quickly hang up. Should they be persistent and call back, I answer, “You want fried rice with that egg foo young” and then hang up.
If that doesn’t work and they ring me again, I shout into the receiver, “No toys. Capitalism bad! We’re communists now. Send porridge and scratchy toilet paper.”
I’m thinking of getting explicit about what we do — and don’t — want. For instance, I don’t want anything that is so sharp that when I step on it in the middle of the night I will need the emergency suture kit that comes with it to sew up my foot.
I don’t want any toys that make noise, sing, screech, yelp or say things like, “Hi, do you want to be my friend? You smell like sunshine and dandelions. Yippeee!”
My insides will froth like root beer.
I don’t want anything that comes in a bucket that can be dumped on the floor, and I sure don’t want anything that requires a lifelong membership or repeated purchases of endless accessories.
We just want moderation here at the Thompson house. To raise a child who has just enough, but not too much. Is it so wrong to abhor excess and crave a little simplicity? I didn’t think so. Anyway, gotta go finish the warehouse in the backyard before the Toys “R” Us semis get here.