I wasn't going to get anything for Pixie for Christmas since she has the memory of a goldfish and hates anything that isn't mine. It was really nice having made this decision and not have to worry about junking up my house with more toys that she doesn't play with and save a few bucks in the deal. Then yesterday for some reason it dawned on me that this might be the kind of thing that I go to hell for.
I made a mad dash for the dollar store and bought her everything she stuck her gooey little hands on. Now we have at least a little pile of rip-n-tears for her under the tree. Yes, the presents are lame, no, they won't warrant any great photo-ops, but by golly, let it never be said that I stiffed my only daughter on Christmas. And I've got to say, it is kind of nice to actually have something under the tree now.
It makes me sick at what a slave to consumerism I've become. Are there support groups for people like me?
We are off to do Christmas with my family and then attend my little brother's wedding. It should be six days of pure adrenaline as we try and keep Pixie from destroying everything in my parents' home, quiet on the 12 hours of driving to and from the wedding, and from getting eaten by my mom's huge bloodthirty labrador, Carmen. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Only 4 days left!