My kids don’t need any more toys. Seriously, people, I am begging you. They are over-privileged, and I am out of storage space. That’s a bad combination.
I prepare for each Christmas season by going through their toy boxes and throwing out the crappy gifts they got last year to make room for this year’s crappy gifts. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I would love for friends and family to skip the toy store and just hand me cash instead. I could put it to much better use, like buying wine for myself.
Any gift that requires me to keep it alive, clean up or provide parental assistance is not appreciated. Ever. If you gave my kids one of these gifts, then I am sorry you had to find out this way, but your gift sucks.
1. Live Animals. My children have received 3 hamsters, 3 frogs and 2 turtles as Christmas gifts. Are you freaking kidding me? I struggle to keep the humans in the family alive, so please don’t add to my stress. It is starting to look like a poor man’s zoo around here, so unless you want to find a litter of stray kittens on your doorstep, keep the critters to yourself.
2. Make-Your-Own Jewelry Kit. This beast of a gift comes with hundreds of small, pointy beads packaged in a cellophane bag that is nearly impossible to open. When you finally rip it apart, a shit ton of plastic beads come flying out and you immediately lose half of the gift. I don’t worry about finding the missing pieces, however, because I know I will discover them in the middle of the night when I am barefoot. Yep, there it is. And now I have a turquoise hexagonal gem impaled in the bottom of my foot.
3. Fart Gun. Newsflash: my kids don’t need any assistance making gross noises and then laughing hysterically. We have that covered. This horrendous toy creates 8 different fart sounds and even makes a smell. I had no idea there were so many varieties of farts. Thanks for enlightening me.
4. Science Experiment Kit. Are you going to come over here and clean up the neon orange volcano lava that is now staining the grout in my kitchen tile?
5. Giant 3D Puzzle. Just what I always wanted: a half-completed miniature replica of the US Capitol building, in puzzle form, collecting dust on my dining room table. Why half-completed, you ask? Because my kids lost interest after a couple of hours. It’s a good thing I don’t throw dinner parties, because someone would have to eat on the Capitol lawn. This bitch has 764 pieces. That’s right, 764. I am making a list of 764 ways to retaliate.
6. Colored Hair Spray. This stuff gets all over the place and stains. Kudos to my daughter for at least keeping it in the bathroom, but we now have bright red hair spray splattered all over the white shower curtain and bathmat. It looks like a murder scene in there.
7. Stuffed Animals. Save me a trip and just take the stuffed animal directly to Goodwill.
8. Mega Box of Art Projects. Somehow you found a way to cram 8 different worthless gifts into one box. Sure, we can all have hours of entertainment making tissue paper cows and lunch bag puppets, but where the hell do I put all of the masterpieces until I throw them away?
9. Talking Doll House. This is just creepy and it gives my kids nightmares. When you walk into the room, the house “eyes” open and it asks, “Shall we play house today?” It scares the bejesus out of them (and me) every time. Next year just go ahead and give my kid a Chucky doll, ok?
10. Karaoke Machine. Trust me, there are no budding vocal superstars in my house, so I do not appreciate having to listen to off-key Taylor Swift and Lady Gaga covers. It wouldn’t be too bad if they knew the words, but my kids ad lib most of the lyrics. Loudly. They also use the microphone to yell at me across the house, so thanks for that.
Really, it’s not the thought that counts, so let’s make a deal. You stop giving my kids awful Christmas gifts, and I’ll save the litter of kittens for my mother-in-law. Sound good?
Angie Frederickson is a freelance writer and stay-at-home mom. When those worlds collide she has been known to hide from her children in order to meet writing deadlines. One favorite hiding/writing spot is her bedroom closet…they never look there. Frederickson lives in Houston and when she is not carting around overscheduled children or dodging PTA volunteer requests, she writes feature stories for a local lifestyle magazine and blogs at accidentallyathome.com