Why do I do it every year? My offspring, now in their teens, supply me with a Santa list on December 1. It's the rules, according to them.
I go through the lists and secretly cross off all the R18 X-Box games and DVDs (sorry son, but you're only 13 and I don't care if all your mates have got them and they're really not that bad because there's really not that many beheadings and prostitute bashings), anything that's pink and sparkly and from Smiggle (sorry daughter, but you're 15 and you have so much of that junk lying around your bedroom already, that I refuse to buy any more). A hoverboard? At $1000 and a guaranteed head injury, I don't think so. Anything with an 'I' or the word 'Mac' in front of it - been there, done that. How many smashed screens and munted headphones will it take for you to realise that you are clearly not capable of looking after those things properly?
So what are we left with? Books and CDs and clothes written, recorded and designed by internet zillionaire teen 'viners' and 'YouTubers'. I know, I don't get it either. But determined to not just give the kids vouchers, I dutifully go online to locate said 'merch', order, credit card details supplied, read the 'Your order has been logged and we'll update you on progress' emails and then promptly go into a state of anxiety. Will the stuff arrive before Christmas? There's literally only days to go! What will I do if nothing turns up? What if the YouTubers take my money and run?
So to allay the fear, I zoom to Smiggle (I suppose another glittery stationary set won't hurt) and Rebel Sport (no hoverboard, but maybe a softball bat or something with Nike written on it will suffice).
Thankfully the adults in my life are more than happy getting a good bottle of wine. Now that I can happily manage with my eyes closed.