Family Daze

January is the month for regaining senses

By Debbie Farmer

So it's January. A month for, well, personal reflection. Now that the presents are opened, the tree is gone, and the lights are down, you finally have time to sit and take a good long look at the gifts you bought for your children.

And every year my observation can be summed up in six words: "What the heck was I thinking?"

I must admit, my past is filled with Christmas mistakes. Gifts, mind you, that seemed perfectly reasonable in December. Take for example, the purple princess gown that my daughter discovered under the Christmas tree four years ago. I pictured her having hours of fun creatively role-playing fairytale fantasies in her room. Ha! Ha! I say.

Apparently when you're 5 years old, and have your own purple princess gown, it becomes more than merely a costume, it becomes a way of life.

"Presenting the most beautiful and powerful ruler in the world!" she announced every time she entered a room. "The Princess Bela-Flossissma! Ta-da-da-da-da-dum!"

Apparently this was where we were supposed to look amazed by the company of such royalty--and then fall to our knees in thanks. And we did. Especially when, three months later, the gown mysteriously disappeared.

Then there was the magic kit that I gave my son two years ago. It came with a cape, top hat, wand, magician table, magic cups and cubes, and the directions to more than 50 amazing tricks.

And I must admit that at first there was something endearing about watching my 4-year-old son multiplying two foam rabbits into six, changing red balls into blue ones and making coins disappear while we looked on and clapped. And clapped. And clapped. The problem started, you see, after we had seen all 50 amazing tricks and he began to improvise. Then no one was safe.

All day long I heard phrases like, "Look, Mom, I can make this glass of water float in the air!" and "Hey, Dad, wanna see me tear this picture of Grandma in half and put it together again?" Or my personal favorite: "On the count of three, the cat will disappear into the vacuum cleaner!"

Lucky for us, about the time we were ready to send him away to live among the lounge acts in Las Vegas, he lost interest in the magic scene and went back to spending his time riding bicycles and spitting in the sandbox.

The Christmas after I recovered from the magic set, I bought "My Playhouse Theater," where my children could expand their artistic creativity with no hocus pocus involved. That said, never once did I think that, come January, I'd be held captive every evening as the only audience to a thinly disguised version of The Three Bears, starring three Power Ranger figurines and a monkey sock puppet as Goldilocks. There should have been some kind of a warning on the box.

Surprisingly enough, this year's top mistake-of-the-season isn't my son's electronic drum set with "headphones," or the tennis shoes with wheels hidden inside the bottom that I gave my daughter. Rather it's the sing-along karaoke machine I gave both of them. Every hour since Christmas morning I've been treated to special live performances of songs with lyrics like "Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeeeeah. Yeaaaaaaahhhhhh baby. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah."

And that's not all. When my kids get tired of following the CD lyrics, they just make up their own songs. Most of which fall into the stream-of-consciousness category and go something like: "I love to eat pretzels when I go to the mall! Yeah, I do, baby! But hold the mustard! Whoooooa, yeah! Hi ya, Mommy. I love to eat hotdogs, too! With lots of catsup! Hey! Give me the micro ... "

You'd think a person with my history would've seen this coming. You would think. I'm not sure why I keep doing it. It's astonishing, really. Oh, I could say I was caught up in the spirit of the holiday season. Or that it was a momentary lapse of reason caused by the cold medication I took before going to the mall. Or maybe, just maybe, it's because deep down I know kids live for this kind of stuff, and I want to make mine happy.

Whatever the reason, thank goodness there's January to bring me back to my senses.

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Debbie Farmer can be contacted at Debbie@familydaze.com.

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