Weird but good
I did something weird tonight.
After my kids were tucked into bed, I slipped into the laundry room where their Christmas presents are hidden, selected several, unwrapped them, and put them in the back of my husband’s car to return this week. I’d add another if I could find the receipt.
Yesterday as I wandered like the rest of the refugees through the aisles of Target, seeking one more gift to even up the imaginary scale between siblings, the uncomfortable realization began to dawn that I’d gone far afield. I was struck by how many of the choices there on the shelves were things we’d already done: beads for necklaces, Lincoln Logs, potholders, Make-Your-Own Scrapbooks, blocks, Thomas the Train, a toy laptop, a Leap pad…
I had a mental picture of the nine lives of consumerism:
- toys buried under other toys in the toybox
- Too Many (plastic horses, stuffed animals…)
- beads and legos under my bare feet, and clacking up into the vacuum cleaner
- boxfulls taken to Good Will
- garage sale
- projects started and not completed
- projects started and completed and tossed among the other “so what?” items
- well-intentioned birthday gifts never played with
- toys ignored because they’re unnecessary to creative minds seeking to amuse themselves
More importantly, there in the aisles I had a prophetic vision of my daughters’ future as Those Who Get Everything They Want. It wasn’t pretty. (Their future spouses didn’t think so either.) The vision was more powerful even than the one I dread: little faces wearing “Is this all?” expressions on Christmas morning.
Don’t get me wrong. I LOVE giving them presents, and they’re getting a few good ones! But I’m paring down.
It’s weird, but good.
