My Life as a Parent: The Cat Toy

Ah, Christmastime. School plays, holiday movies, snowmen, and gingerbread. Then there’s the list. All parents try to give their children things they want, but the true spirit of the season is about giving. When money is tight (and when isn’t it?) giving takes creative thinking. Our son found a way to it, and, in the process, gave our family another yuletide blessing. Joy.

Every year our church assembles Christmas boxes for needy children around the world. Participants choose a boy or a girl, and an age range, and then fill a shoebox with appropriate items. Veteran members said they found toothbrushes, underwear, and toys at a local dollar store for a fraction of the price. With my zeal for a bargain, I decided to take my children with me and show them how it was done.

The following Saturday I explained to my kids, ages six, four, and two, that, in addition to our regular errands, we were going to buy items for the shoebox. We talked about giving and the importance of spending money wisely. Then I told them we were going to the dollar store. My son’s face lit up. ”I have a dollar,” he said. He ran to his room where he uncorked his piggy bank. He freed the contents onto his bed and emerged, clutching a single dollar bill.

At the dollar store, the children waited as I hunted for bargains among the undergarments and toiletries. When I was finished my son said, “Now let’s look for a toy that I can buy.” But with only a dollar to spend, Alex was relegated to plastic baby dolls, out-of-season bubble toys, and cheap key chains. I offered some money to bump him up to the next level of trinket buying but he refused. Silently, I was proud.

Next, we went to the mall for winter coats. “We’re smart to buy now,” I told them. “Everything will be on clearance.” They waited, again, and when we were done my son said, “Can we spend my dollar here?” We searched through bottom racks, clearance scarves, and mittens. Again, I offered to help. He shook his head, no.

Outside, I suggested his favorite card shop two stores down, but everything was too expensive. Even the allure of Pokemon cards was not enough to make him accept a handout from Mom. Patience was waning.

“I’m starving!” said the four-year old.

“I potty NOW!” said the two-year old.

Tears rolled down my son’s frustrated cheeks; his inner adult long gone. I chucked all three kids into the double stroller, piled it high with new coats and bargain-bought underwear. We raced to the upstairs bathroom, kitty corner from the main food court.

The line to the ladies room was daunting and I thought about using the men’s room (always the shorter line of the two). Luckily, the hallway was filled with candy machines and games for prizes. Not only were they a distraction, but, on closer inspection, my son noticed that they cost only quarters to play. Finally, something he could afford! I traded him the single dollar bill for four quarters, and, at the entrance to the bathroom, he announced that he would wait for us – outside. “No,” I said. “You won’t.” The girls and I entered a stall. Alex waited, alone.

My middle daughter washed her hands as I lined up her sister with the sink’s electronic eye. I caught sight of my son. He was slouched over the vanity, looking at something cupped in his hand. “Mom,” he said. “I got something for the shoebox.”

“In the bathroom?” I said. Mentally, I retraced our steps. We entered the door. We passed the couch and a scale. There was a dispenser on the wall, but…Oh, no!

He stared at the object, dangling form his forefinger, and tried hard to make it fit into his idea of a plaything. “I think,’’ he said. “Yeah, I think it must be some kind of a cat toy.” He beamed at me, offering proof. “See how it swings?”

Case closed. My son had finally, frugally, and, all by himself, purchased a tampon.