My kids dictated their first Christmas lists two years ago. At the ages of two and four, they were hard-pressed to come up with more than one thing each. We decorated the list with holiday stickers, mailed it off to Santa, and scarcely spoke of it again. Last year, they generated a reasonable handful of wants and moved on with their month. This year, nearly every day has been dominated by new demands and a wanton desperation that’s completely uncalled for. The sweet, innocent requests of nothing more than a stuffed dinosaur have given way to the expensive specificity of Santa-savvy 4- and 6-year-olds, including (but not limited to) the following:
1. ALL the f*cking Legos. The first draft of my older son’s list included no less than $1200-worth of Legos. No lie. He just went through the Lego catalogue and wrote down damn near everything. He won’t write 5 sentences per week for his spelling homework without moaning like I’ve asked him to pedal the car to school Flintstones-style with his own two feet, but he had absolutely no difficulty scribbling out lengthy Lego titles like “Bounty Hunter Speeder Battle Pack” and “Mobile Command Police Center”. When he was all done, the paper was so heavy with pencil lead you could barely see white between the jam-packed letters.
2. Toys we already have. Until very recently, my younger son tried to buy a die-cast Lightning McQueen every time I let him loose with his allowance in Target. Nevermind the fact that any Cars playset you buy comes with a complementary Lightning, the eleven Lightnings we already owned apparently weren’t enough for him. Last year, as a variation the vehicle theme, the same son asked for and received the Hot Wheels Ultimate Garage, a hulking behemoth of parking spaces, corkscrewing exit ramps, drag race strips, and a rabid shark (not sure why) that leaps out of nowhere to eat cars as they pass. This year, the first thing on his list was the Super Ultimate Garage. Same f*cking thing, except this version has an equally misplaced gorilla instead of a shark. Basically, the next item on his list should be a storage pod in the driveway to house the 20-cubic feet of Hot Wheels parking structures we will then own--cuz ain’t nobody got space for TWO Ultimate Garages.
3. Toys that don’t exist. Among my older son’s lengthy list of Lego requests was “Lego Football”--which sounds easy enough, right? Except that a quick Google search revealed an NFL “building block set” that was not actually “Lego”. Even though it claims to be “compatible with most major building block brands”, anyone who’s ever tried to build anything with a mixture of bobo off-brand Legos and the real thing better be old enough to utter a series of muffled “goddamits” without getting sent to their room. I admit, that Scandinavian empire has us all by the balls, but at this point, we’re heavily invested in Lego. And Mommy--I mean, Santa--is simply not willing to accept another Pandora’s box of construction materials into this house. So now, I’m compelled to explain to my 6-year-old that, while Santa can fly through the air in a giant sled and teleport into our house through the gas fireplace--his holiday magic does not include the ability to convert generic building blocks into honest-to-God Legos.
4. Weapons. My boys’ modest Nerf handguns were recently confiscated for repeatedly shooting Mommy in the ass. These guns came with specific directions to ONLY SHOOT at the plastic-coated cardboard targets they came with--because foam bullets, though seemingly harmless, sting like a b*tch when you add a suction cup to the end and accidentally take one in the eye (or the asscheek). So, while their original guns are in extended “time-out”, my boys have added replacements to their Christmas list. This year--because they’ve been soooo responsible with the first pair— they’d like to upgrade to the Nerf version of a rocket launcher or automatic assault rifle. Because nothing says “Peace on Earth” like a plastic shoulder cannon that shoots 3 bullets at once from a revolving drum of 30 foam darts. Merry Christmas, Motherf*ckers!
5. God-awful expensive toys. A Super Ultimate Garage. A drone. A “roller racer” (which is basically an overpriced plastic skateboard that you sit on). Each item by itself is ridiculously expensive, so the thought of getting any combination of them is pure fantasy on the part of our kids. They’re getting lots of cool stuff, sure. But a line must be drawn. Otherwise, they might as well ask for Mommy’s spare kidney as down-payment for toys, especially ones that cost twice as much as the Blue Book price on the ‘83 Tercel I drove in high school.
6. Toys they’re not f*cking getting. Somehow, we’ve made it six-and-a-half years with 2 boys in this house and not a single request for anything incorporating Thomas the Train. And I’ll be damned if we’re starting now. I’m sure the Thomas & Friends Super Station Playset is a f*cking blast. But I refuse. First, it’s a playset. Then it’s a train table. Next thing you know, Mommy and Daddy are sleeping in a tent outside because Thomas and his f*cking friends have effectively encroached upon the master bedroom. I might not have seen it coming with the Legos, the Cars movie gear, or the Hot Wheels--but I recognize Thomas for the gateway drug he is. No f*cking thank you.
7. Age-inappropriate toys. The 14-year-old across the street has a bad-ass remote control car that’s faster than the average moped and larger than a standard Christmas goose. Super cool for a kid who’s old enough. Recipe for disaster when you’re six. Sorry, son; not happening.
8. Kid-level crack cocaine (aka, Pokémon cards and Bey Blades). When my older son got his first taste of Pokémon this past summer, every second of screen time was then devoted to binge-watching the whole excruciating first season of the Pokémon cartoon on Netflix. After that, came an unquenchable thirst for Pokémon cards and general Pokémon trivia. Now, suddenly, he’s all about Bey Blades—the cartoon, the toys, the “stadium”--all for the glorified equivalent of animé-inspired tops. Between Pokémon and Bey Blades, there’s more merchandise and lore to stim-out on than the average 6-year-old can consume in a single Christmas. But by God, our kid’s gonna try.
9. Anything advertised on Nick Jr. A giant Wubble Bubble made of gossamer-thin plastic that’s supposedly durable enough to tackle with your full body weight on pointy blades of grass? Sounds like 10 seconds of fun and a lifetime of heartbreak when that thing busts immediately. It either won’t work as advertised or give you 5 kinds of cancer from whatever carcinogenic concoction they fashioned it from. Then there’s the Wham-O Hamper Hoop, which is basically no different from the 4 basketball hoops we already have, except there’s a mesh bag attached for you to slam dunk your laundry into. And there’s Magic Tracks! Glow-in-the-dark racetrack for battery-operated cars! So cool! How do we know? Because we have them already. “But this set has a tunnel, Mommy!” F*cking super. But hard pass.
10. Last-minute additions. Since the day after Halloween, not a day has passed without one of the boys frantically asking “Where’s my Christmas list?!?” because they just had a gift request epiphany that must be recorded immediately before they forget. Clearly, this whole thing has gotten way out of hand, so we recently made it known that the window for Christmas list updates has closed. “But...but…but…” but nothing. At this point, my boys will get what they get and like it. If not, they’ll be forced to endure encore performances of the speech I roll out whenever they act like ungrateful little bastards entitled “Which of your things should we donate to all the starving, toyless orphans who’d love to take your place?”
I know, I know. Christmas spirit is a hell of a drug--and it’s perfectly natural for my kids to get caught up in the madness. There’s some major reprogramming to do between this year and next, but in the meantime, I should probably take a little of my own advice and stop being an ungrateful little shit myself. Those apples don’t fall far after all! Here’s to Christmas wishes that are easy to grant and New Year’s resolutions that write themselves!
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