The approaching holiday season has brought with it a new nemesis: Toy catalogues.
Back in my day, mom had a catalogue with an awesome toy section at the back of it. I remember spending many a happy hour sitting in the plush great chair turning the pages of this book. Week after week. For several years. In sepia-colored hues.
Did I tell my mom I wanted all of them? I can’t remember. I do remember looking at the photos and imagining I had the toys, what it would be like to have them, how I could get them, how I could make them up with what we had around the house, because there was no fucking way we would be able to buy them. Our budget just couldn’t allow that.
I didn’t even know they still made toy catalogues, but I guess having a kid attached to me made me a magnet for marketing detritus because two of them are in my house right now. Wee One is loving them, going through like, I wish I could have this. I wish I could have this. I wish I could have this. I wish I could have this. I wish I could have this. I wish I could have this.
She’s four. Of course she wants it all. I think I did, too, but how much is too much? I think that when I was a kid, if I really attached to something, mom made it happen. I remember bring six and desperately wanting the small yellow Popple, Potatochip, and being so surprised and grateful when I got it.
So far, WO hasn’t attached to anything in particular, and I’m just telling her to add it to her list for Santa. Hopefully that will be enough.