I am sooooo not politically correct enough. If I was, I’d be attaching a note to my child’s birthday invitations saying: “No gifts please, Sprog 2 would prefer you to make a donation to the Literacy For Boys charity.” Sprog 2 definitely isn’t politically correct enough for notes like that. She’d go mental if I banned presents from her party and suggested guests made a donation to a charity for boys instead. The last thing she needs is 15 more toys and sticky mosaic projects, but try telling that to a six-year-old. However, that’s exactly what a little boy called Saxon has agreed to do in two-weeks time. I was having lunch with a friend yesterday when the invitation to Saxon’s party fell out of her bag. Initially I was transfixed by the fact that RSVPs were to be made to the nanny. The nanny! Then I saw the fluttery attachment and was totally floored. Does Saxon really understand what he’s signed himself up for? Donations to a charity (for girls!) instead of gifts. Wow, I’d like to meet this kid and shake his hand. Not only is he a prince among small men, but if the trend catches on I won’t need to spend nearly as much time in toy shops buying gifts. (This month’s dizzy toy tally: 4 birthday parties, 2 kris kringles, 7 Christmas presents, 2 Santa sacks and counting …) I expect Saxon’s getting a goat for a Somalian village as his Christmas present. I’d better stop thinking about how wonderful that is or I’ll start feeling hollow about all the unnecessary trinkets I’ve bought this Christmas. I’m not totally devoid of community spirit – I’m putting a doll’s cradle under a charity Christmas trees. (Does it still count if it was supposed to be Sprog 2’s Christmas present last year, until she fell out of love with dolls somewhere between December 1 and 24? It reminds me of how incensed my mother was whenever I changed my mind about what I wanted from Santa. I could never understand why she took it so personally.) But it’s great that people like Saxon and Saxon’s mum and dad exist, because if they didn’t, the world would be an even crappier place than it already is for kids less fortunate than my spoilt-rotten Sprogs.
DIET TRANSGRESSIONS: One of Sprog 2’s toast soldier’s at breakfast (the guilt, the shame). I’m not counting my Thai gorge-fest at lunch because I showed super-human restraint by not eating rice. The same can’t be said for wine at my school mums’ dinner. But at least I didn’t wee behind a tree on my way home. I got a lift.
TONIGHT’S MENU: The Sprogs are going to hate me … more chicken tagine. I promise, this is the last night.
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