Christmas Shopping Humbug

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Should I mention it yet? That overwhelming word? Christmas?

Yesterday I went shopping which, like – never happens any more, being such a stupidly over-loaded (self-imposed) writeaholic. I went shopping for scary bits for our Halloween party on Saturday and for… da da da daaaaaa – Christmas.

I usually start Christmas shopping on 27 December every year, but this year has been a little slower due to moving inter-country and buying a house in a new town and publishing books and raising kids and all that. Conveniently, most of my nieces and nephews are at that easy age where I can cop out and send a gift card (which is always much more gratefully received than a perfumed hanky and a stationery set).

We don’t do adult gifts any more for Husband’s side of the family which means even less shopping. And Husband and I have decided ‘not to get each other anything because coming home to Australia has been enough financial shock to the system and we’re still working through a massive stash of items squirreled in from China anyway’. (Footnote: I still got him something. Sssh).

I’ve already received an SMS from Santa saying it would be fine for Ella and Riley to get new DSi’s this year, so, mindful of the hefty Santa bill we’ll be receiving on Boxing Day (gee, DS games in Australia sure don’t cost $2 like they do in China), the kids’ stockings will certainly be a little undernourished this year.

Of course, that’s meant I haven’t had to do a great deal of shopping, which is nice – but who could ever have imagined I’d officially go Christmas shopping yesterday and come home with absolutely nothing?

Since coming home to Australia in January, I’ve been very uninspired by the goods available for kids. Maybe it’s because my kids are reaching a certain age where things are shifting with them – preference-wise, capability-wise, obsession-wise.

Maybe it’s because products cost up to 50 times (I’m not joking) more than they do in China (see our sickenly abundant Chinese Christmas, pictured). Yes, I know there’s a reason for that, but that still doesn’t explain the massive mark-ups between four hundred middle men on the way to that glittery place under our Christmas tree.

Maybe it’s because, after living amongst four years of material overabundance in Beijing, I’ve come home with an overpowering desire to streamline, simplify, declutter. Since repatriating, our house has entered a delicious clutter freefall that’s had a glorious effect on our family’s life. The last thing I want to do is cram that serenity with trashy crap that never gets used, clogs up the arteries of our freeflowing household and sits firmly on the credit card like a black lump of doom labelled ‘absolute and utter frigging waste of hard earned dollars, sucker’.

To put you in the picture, we are a family of only one car. I know. People’s bodies flail backwards and their eyes go uncontrollably skyward when I tell them this. “But how do you DOOOOOO it? How can you exist on only – gasp – ONE CAR!?”

Quite well, actually. Just takes a wee bit of planning. Sure, sometimes it would be nice to have an extra set of wheels (because we don’t feel like walking or riding a bike or having to schedule our week and all its activities carefully) but I would say that over 99% of the last 9 months have been absolutely fine with one car.

And an extra bonus other than the obvious impact (or lack thereof) we are having on the environment? The impact on our wallets. It was horrid enough coming home to a place where even breathing is more expensive without crumbling under the weight of the cost of a second car (let alone the cost of Christmas presents).

But I digress.

I think one of the main reasons I’ve been so gobsmacked by the lack of scrumptious goodies for Christmas stockings is the price. Forty bucks for a couple of pieces of plastic car track that break after a week or get used once before some parts go missing. Twenty-two dollars for a ball that pops open magnetically to reveal… nothing. Thirty-eight smackeroos for a plastic doll that will soon disappear into a sea of other non-descript plastic dolls. Eighty-nine big ones for a computer game that will be superseded before the wrapping is torn off.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not cheap – but living out of the country for four years means I’ve been able to see the true value of things and have had minimal brainwashing exposure to what kids must have in order to be a fulfilled child (and adults, too, for that matter). It’s like I’ve come home and everyone is walking around in a stupefied daze – must have latest Nintendo watchamacallit immediately, cannot exist without designer label at forty times decent retail price so strangers will think am cool and rich, cannot go through life unless can mow down innocent stares in enormous, eco-quashing Hummer.

For some reason, I just can’t buy into that (‘scuse the pun). Sure, I’ll indulge in a little Country Road or Clinique sometimes, but that’s only if I really like it (or more to the point, if it’s on sale), not because I must poo poo Big W or Olay (I love Big W and Olay!). And I simply can’t justify spending a cent on anything the kids won’t love, adore and play with to the exclusion of all else. To qualify for purchase, an item must feature some kind of value for money, strong and frequent playability, absolute longevity and an innate anti-junk, anti-dust-collecting component (stuffed toys do not qualify, no matter how cute).

So, yesterday, I walked around in my own sort of daze, brushing aside virtually every single item I spied because it did not qualify for the above. It was horrifying. I’ve actually almost done shopping for Ella because she is a Mini Me and loves everything I love, and so whenever I see something I love at the shops, I just get it for her.

But Riley is a different story – and yesterday was really a hunting mission for his Christmas stocking. Boy, was it a failure. This is a sporting kid who has a collection of footballs, netballs, basketballs, handballs, soccer balls – the envy of Palace Beckham. He doesn’t really play with anything else, despite screeching “Mum! Mum! I want that for Christmas!” every time a toy ad swipes across the telly. So what on earth am I going to stuff in his stocking?

I did try. I looked, I sought, I fossicked for boy toys. And every ‘boy’ thing I looked at did nothing but repel my outstretched fingers like radiating kryptonite, curl my upper lip or expel an audible sigh (really a groan of disdain). Not only were the products rubbish, but the price was consistently beyond the ridiculous.

I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t do it. Why do we have to pay so much and more to the point – why do we have to pay so much for crap?

Where are we, for goodness sake? Europe?? We’re at the butt end of the world, nowhere near Europe, yet life costs so much here, we should have honorary access to the power of the Euro monetary system. How can the value of our dollar on a world scale truly equate the cost of living here (unless you are currently travelling to the States, lucky duck, but even that ain’t gonna last long)?

How are pensioners and infirm and single parents and other disadvantaged people surviving in this country?? Truly?

Okay, I’ll get off the whinge wagon. My poor son has a stash of beautiful books this Christmas, a new DSi and not much else – not even any outrageously-priced games. Goodness knows what the poor kid is going to play on his new money-making-machine.

I’m off to Target this morning to see if something there can redeem my Christmas shopping disdain. This is coming from someone who absolutely lives and breathes and adores Christmas – so the last thing I want to do is become a scrooge-like, penny pinching miser (although, being someone who is usually lavish with money, Husband would be happy if this was the case).

Can I find some toys to fulfil my very unrealistic shopping pre-requisites?

Watch this bare, unwrapped space.

For those in a similar present-product state of mind, don’t miss AWO’s upcoming Christmas gift ideas – we’ll be hunting out items of quality and price and gorgeousness that will make your Christmas shopping experience, well – much more positive than mine. Bah, humbug.