That’s it. Finally. I’m done. Done Christmas shopping. This afternoon, I ventured out to the store to get the last “one last thing” I’m going to buy for Christmas this year. I know, I’ve said that before, but this time, I mean it.
I really thought I was done until we were at the Great Wolf Lodge and The Princess wrote a letter to Santa while we were there (they had this special post office to send letters right to him – wink wink). She told Santa that she wanted two Annabell babies, a puppy, and a Furby. Well, my grandmother already got her the Annabell baby, and Santa’s just not getting her a puppy this year. To avoid Santa looking like a total chump, I had to go out and get that Furby.
Man, is it UGLY! It looks like a cross between a bird, and the thing in the movie Gremlins before it actually turns into a Gremlin. It talks, and has “feelings”. It supposedly even dances. I know it’s going to be one of those obnoxious toys that I will be kicking myself for buying. I’m sure I’ll start kicking myself sometime around noon on Christmas day, and I won’t stop until the batteries die (of course, you know how well stocked we are for batteries in this house, so I’m sure we’ll be able to keep that thing going until The Princess gets to fourth grade).
As a parent, it’s hard to find that happy medium between really celebrating and knowing what that season is really about, and wanting to focus on the magic of Santa and the gifts and the giving of the gifts to our kids. I don’t want The Princess to be materialistic and “gimmee gimmee gimee”, but I so enjoy going shopping for her and the Pumpkin and picking out the things I know that they will like, and will make them smile (well, more so for The Princess – next year, it will be more fun shopping for Pumpkin!).
Only for my daughters would I dare brave the crowds at the trashiest WalMart in the world, three days before Christmas to buy a toy that I know will ultimately drive me bonkers. ‘Tis the season.
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