By Angela Garwood
Tis the season. Tis definitely the season. I know this because, like a fun annual tradition, I’m once again up each and every night, when I should definitely be unconscious, staring at a screen, this time trying to remember which vanity storage unit my daughter asked for. Because to get the wrong one would be a tragic Christmas sin.
Then there’s the clay bead-making kit, the Stanley cup, the Nike Pro shorts (in this weather?) and everything else on Maia’s extensive and highly specific list, which I’m grateful for; there’s nothing worse than being gift-idea-clueless at Christmas.
For Leo, though not quite clueless, I’m still Googling “gift ideas for three-year-old boys” and refraining from messaging my entire NCT group to ask what exactly they’re buying their three-year-olds for Christmas.
So far Leo is getting a bike, some puzzles and a selection of clothes that I love, but that he’ll care little for. There was once a day when “a bike” alone would be sufficient.
In 2023, however, it qualifies as his “main gift” surrounded by a selection of smaller gifts, and then a stocking full of even smaller ones.
And so the hunt for medium educational toys continues.
There will also be the odd “useful” gift (like clothes), thrown in for the pure joy of unwrapping something. This will manifest as a new lunchbox. It’s about time, for nearly a year Leo’s been using the same sad old Tupperware. No colours or garish branding or compartments; just a plain container previously home to leftover food.
“Sorry I know his name’s faded,” I commented one afternoon looking down at his vanishing surname, written in Sharpie pen on the lid.
“Oh, we all know it’s his…” his nursery teacher said smiling.
I took this to mean: “Because all the others have children’s lunchboxes you weird stingy parent.”
In 12 months, I hadn’t really given it much thought. This was his lunchbox and it has long served its purpose; it does what it says on the tin; or rather it is what it says on the tin; a box for his lunch. There’d been no real need to replace it. There still isn’t. I’m merely giving in to an imaginary peer pressure.
Thankfully, Joel’s family are incredibly organised with gift-giving.
An eight-person Secret Santa with a humble budget and wishlists. There’s no guesswork as we give each other specific ideas for our children too. (Of which there are now, as of last Sunday, seven, from four days to 10 years old.)
My side of the family is a little different. There are gifts, but there’s little structure. No budgets or guidance. The same thing happens every year: I ask mum what she’d like, she says “Nothing darling. A nice card.” And I debate whether to go rogue, get something for the house, or follow her words exactly.
My dad is easy. A book, chocolates and perhaps some new handkerchiefs. Yes, he is the one remaining old person in the UK (and probably the entire world) still using a handkerchief. I’d always thought it was rather gross, but as I’ve gotten older I’ve come to appreciate the environmental benefits. Still think it’s a bit gross. But they’re a nice gift and he’s not a box-of-tissues person.
I’ve always thought my Aunty Ruth does Christmas beautifully; a big box of edible goodies for the adults, always Fair Trade and organic, maybe some eco-friendly soap. Art supplies and small, quirky, non-garish toys for the children. What more do we really need?
Angela blogs at The Colourful Kind, https://colourfulkind.com/
