Christmas Crazy

My husband and I attempted to begin and complete my daughter’s Christmas shopping in one night—last night. It shouldn’t have been a problem. Most of the things she asked for she isn't going to get...too obnoxious...too babyish...too much money...all the above...blah blah blah. She wants that "Butterscotch" horse (yeah, right...it's like $200 dollars). She also wants that “Squawkers” talking parrot (No way am I gonna spend $60 on something named "squawkers"). As odd as it sounds, she has also been asking for a cake decorating kit. "MOM!! MOM!!! It's the Betty Crocker Cake Decorator. It comes with all the things you see here, and you must be 18-years or older to buy!" I remind you that my daughter is 6.

The one thing that she really really wanted is the Polly Pocket Race to the Mall racetrack. She’s been begging for it since September and even saved up enough money to purchase it herself ($35 worth of 25-cent lemonade). By the time she had enough money, it was December and I wouldn’t let her buy it, “No way—why do you want to spend all your money on something that expensive when you can ask the Big Guy (Santa) to get it for you?!?” So every time she sees a Santa, she asks for Polly Pocket Race to the Mall. (Actually, she asks for “Barbie” Race to the Mall, and it took me 2 months to figure out it’s Polly Pocket, not Barbie. Barbie doesn’t have a race track—she’s so lame.).

Guess what…apparently every six-year-old girl wants Polly Pocket Race to the Mall. Either that, or NO one wanted it and the stores quit carrying it.

Oh, crap.

I have visions of a road trip to Wyoming…then maybe Kansas…quite possibly New Mexico. Whadda ya say, Ruth? You with me?