So we do this thing in our household where every birthday, Christmas or donation-of-hand-me-downs-from-friends that comes around, I rally up the pint-sized troops to clear out their own collection. Whereupon, we motor on down to our local charity bin, dump the lot, Mummy feels a lot better about moving in the clutter-free direction and toasts a champagne to her awesomeness.
Miss Six is a dream at this, so completely un-materialistic in fact, that her specific instructions to me this week were exactly this: “I pretty much don’t want anything of mine. Except my babies.” So, while my daughter had no qualms donating nine tenths of her entire toy stash, Mister Four spent the entire mission thumping fists, burning flags and singing various national anthems in protest. THIS: after donating a grand total of three – yes, that’s right, three toys. And they were crappy.
Aye me. Capitalism sure hits them young.
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