The effects of Christmas shopping
Wednesday 15th December, 2010
Hurrah! I have just about finished the Christmas shopping and have a story I'm reasonably happy with ready to hand in for my next OU deadline. To be honest, I think the shopping was more difficult than the writing, although it started innocuously enough.
Éila, to Santa at the school Christmas Fair: "Santa, please may I have a new writing book for Christmas?"
Picture my thoughtful expression as I consider the chances of getting away with such a cheap, easy and educational Christmas. Yes, of course this was too good to be true. Yes, the Class Swot act was most likely a cunning performance. No, I don't know what I was thinking for that small, beautiful Father Ted moment.
I was momentarily disinclined to remember that:
- Éila has just a slight tendency towards the dramatic
- Both kids have an uncanny ability to persuade adults outside their immediate family that they are in fact tiny perfect angels who arrive home each day volunteering to tidy their bedrooms, do their homework, and make Mummy a gin and tonic
- As soon as we actually get home, all pretence is abandoned and they ditch their public personas quicker than you can say "kid's TV"
Which brings me to the next part of the tale. For the last two weeks, Éila has watched the TV adverts as avidly as the programmes. Every single ad break sees her leaning forwards in her chair, chanting "I'm getting that for Christmas" like a mantra. Luminous everlasting Play-Doh, Rapunzel Barbie hair-braiding machines, toy dogs that waddle and pee. What are these toy manufacturers thinking? Or what am I thinking, letting the kids watch TV this close to Christmas? (If "letting the kids watch TV at all" even crosses your mind, please scroll back to the graphic above and stare at it until you feel better.)
I think that perhaps we'll stick to CBeebies from now on. I wonder if I can convince Éila that it's only the first thing you ask Santa for which counts?
