Tonight we bit the bullet.
We started to Christmas shop.
Not the browse-the-mall-but-we’ll-make-decisions-later stuff we’d been doing.
We dove into the fun part: toys.
Some of it was the perfect storm of sale price and declared desire.
Some of it was driven by lack of choice (a pertinent question: where has all the Go Diego, Go shit gone?).
Some of it was magic. The look on the man-friend’s face when he found the crayon maker for the Girl Child? Probably will go down as one of my favorite memories of Christmas 2012.
We did it, and it’s mostly done, and no one got hurt.
(That’s a lie. They opened up another checkout line, and in my rush to be in it, I TOTALLY CLOCKED A KID IN THE HEAD. I still maintain he walked into my fist, either way, I apologized profusely, and his mother only gave me partial side-eye.)
I left feeling a little melancholy. I miss toys. I miss coveting them, dreaming about them. I miss being able to get into a mindset where play and possibility were so much more automatic.
And then the man-friend sent me ahead to the car.
And bought my present at Toys R Us.
I’m fairly super-psyched by that.