This is a humblebrag but I’m going to say it: I like to keep the “stuff” I buy my children to a minimum. Once you start, you could easily not stop. There are so many things you could buy and so many increasingly fancy places you could buy them, but of course they don’t need them. You know it and I know it but it gets to you, whoever you are. In fact, I would say the less I can afford the easier it is to convince myself my child needs a pikler climbing thing (even though I still have no idea what it is or why it’s better than letting them scale the wine rack) and I am failing them by not being able to provide it or fit it in my home. I am feeling it this year. Deep down I truly believe Zipporah (4) needs ear muffs even though she has never worn the battered hand-me-down ear muffs she already has for more than six minutes.
I was well over a year into my mothering career and all I’d bought was this, books and a joblot of old bouncy balls. But now I am 4.5 years deep and I’ve bought things, I’ve seen things, I’ve regretted things. I’m old now. Not that any of you were under any illusions but I definitely showed my age by opening with the word humblebrag.
Anyway, there’s one thing I’ve bought that I do not regret for a second, even though it looks absolutely horrible because it has been smeared and smothered and stickied and stomped to bits and the idea of scrubbing it and spraying it pink was a pipe dream I upheld throughout spring and summer but eventually abandoned. That is: a Montessori kitchen tower.
Lately, the word Montessori is being tacked on to any old wooden jackanory to make toys appeal to wealthier, stupider parents, and I can neither confirm or deny that standing up in the kitchen is a Montessori principle, though I do know those guys are fond of “purposeful work”.
What I know is that for me motherhood has brought with it a catalogue of self-esteem issues that had been lying dormant since my teenage years and this has made me extremely prone to panicking about what other more competent parents are up to all the time. Which distant grottos they’ve managed to schlep their kids to. How many times they’ve been swimming so the children don’t fall out of the habit over winter. How many times they went to wholesome playgroups this term instead of getting a pretzel at the mall. That sort of thing.
And what I have been finding useful recently is retracing who I am, and why I parent the way I parent, and why that might be different from other people around me. And yes, part of that is that I am a depressive so I can’t manage things sometimes, but part of it is that I am a person who likes to cook and decorate gingerbread men and plan Christmas day cauliflower cheese. And do you know what I can do with my kids when they stand on their Montessori kitchen tower? All of those things and more. I’m not going to Kenwood this year, or Kew, but I’ve made loads of paper chains. We’ve cut out loads of shortbread shapes. I am their mother, and I hate swimming.
Here are some things you could buy your children if you really want to:
A little rainbow whisk and some sprinkles.
A blanket for watching TV on the sofa.
A joblot of Sylvanians on eBay.
Merry Christmas. We are the lucky ones. I know it’s hard to remember that sometimes. I’m grateful to be warm and safe and fed and to have the opportunity to use the word joblot three times in one email.
I just clicked on the link for the poetry book and HORROR OF HORROS - John Lewis say
'this is no longer available online'! I'm hoping, however , I can get it by walking into a book shop? The link just needs a tweak!!
lol Laura.
Also, Sylvanian Family joblots… evergreen.