RMers with kids

[Monkey_Driven]

Curious about RM children's relationship to gifts/presents for the holidays.

Is it a huge deal in your house? Do they turn into needy little brats about them? Do you do a few big gifts or does it turn into a gift bonanza?

[spike]

This is the first Xmas where she’s pretty aware of it all, so feeling our way. I bought 3-4 gifts for her off Amazon the other day - nothing too extravagant and tried to do educationally focused but still fun things - which feels about the right. She’ll get a bunch of other stuff from grand parents etc.

I’m also assuming myself or the wife will pick up a couple things in the coming weeks as the holiday spirit fully washes over us. Hard to resist spoiling them a little at this sweet age.

I do try to talk to her a lot about the joy of giving presents too, and how that’s a big part of it all. I ask for her input when shopping for gifts for others, so she starts to grasp that. Hopefully that balances things out.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[Monkey_Driven]

Our boys are the only grandchildren on both sides, so they get spoiled by their grandparents. We've had a lot of dialog back and forth about limiting the number and physical sizes of gifts. Our rule is that if it doesn't fit in the car, it stays with the grandparents.

We only give 2-3 smaller gifts at our house, which includes one gift that each kid has picked for the other.

We don't do Elf on a shelf or threaten kids that their behavior will impact presents. Honestly, we rarely talk about the presents/gifts portion of Christmas. Instead it's about spending time with family and the other traditions. So far it's a good balance, but I'm sure it will get worse as they age.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[Monkey_Driven]

I'd take a 12' Moana obelisk over another Playskool ice cream stand any day of the week

I noticed that at 7 year old girl's b-day party the other day. Every toy she got had dozens of tiny pieces. Maddening!

[Kevin Davis]

There were definitely some growing pains in getting grandparents (my mom in particular) to respect our requests for smaller sizes and quantities of gifts. It kind of naturally works itself out as kids get older and the Switch games, Lego sets, etc. that they want become more specific. The “random toy” phase is tough from an accumulation standpoint in part because of the small pieces and storage challenges but also because those kinds of toys are just so easy for other people to buy. There’s a really low bar to walking into the toy section at Target and finding pretty much anything that a 3 year-old will love for $10 or less. But as they’ve gotten older, at least in our experience, the gifting has become more collaborative and we’ve found ourselves with a bit more control over what comes into the house. Plus they get things like Switch games that are small and store easily and neatly.

As far as we are concerned, we’ve tried every different approach, but the truth is that it varies from year to year and from kid to kid based on what feels right and what the budget is. I definitely have some of my own fond memories of waking up on Christmas morning and ripping the wrapping paper off a Nintendo game that I’d been wanting since September, and I have always wanted to recreate that experience for my kids (and my wife’s childhood memories are similar), so we try to find that elusive sweet spot between “material gluttony” and “an opportunity to treat them to some nice things above and beyond the norm.” There have definitely been years where we have missed the mark on either side, though (usually on the side of overdoing it). But they’re never greedy about it, and they’ve all reached the point of enjoying giving as much as receiving. Honestly one of the coolest things ever is helping them plan gifts for each other and for other people, and then seeing them work on them (or work to save for them) throughout November and December. The ideas they come up with are incredibly creative and the amount of time they’re willing to invest in them is inspiring, as well as the amount of their own money that they’re willing to spend.

We add in some of the gratitude/giving back activities that Trag describes, but we’ve never done a fully non-traditional, “for this Christmas, we’re taking a trip instead of getting gifts”-type thing — I totally respect it, but I don’t think it would feel like Christmas to any of us, at least not in itself.

[Monkey_Driven]

There were definitely some growing pains in getting grandparents (my mom in particular) to respect our requests for smaller sizes and quantities of gifts. It kind of naturally works itself out as kids get older and the Switch games, Lego sets, etc. that they want become more specific. The “random toy” phase is tough from an accumulation standpoint in part because of the small pieces and storage challenges but also because those kinds of toys are just so easy for other people to buy. There’s a really low bar to walking into the toy section at Target and finding pretty much anything that a 3 year-old will love for $10 or less. But as they’ve gotten older, at least in our experience, the gifting has become more collaborative and we’ve found ourselves with a bit more control over what comes into the house. Plus they get things like Switch games that are small and store easily and neatly.

As far as we are concerned, we’ve tried every different approach, but the truth is that it varies from year to year and from kid to kid based on what feels right and what the budget is. I definitely have some of my own fond memories of waking up on Christmas morning and ripping the wrapping paper off a Nintendo game that I’d been wanting since September, and I have always wanted to recreate that experience for my kids (and my wife’s childhood memories are similar), so we try to find that elusive sweet spot between “material gluttony” and “an opportunity to treat them to some nice things above and beyond the norm.” There have definitely been years where we have missed the mark on either side, though (usually on the side of overdoing it). But they’re never greedy about it, and they’ve all reached the point of enjoying giving as much as receiving. Honestly one of the coolest things ever is helping them plan gifts for each other and for other people, and then seeing them work on them (or work to save for them) throughout November and December. The ideas they come up with are incredibly creative and the amount of time they’re willing to invest in them is inspiring, as well as the amount of their own money that they’re willing to spend.

We add in some of the gratitude/giving back activities that Trag describes, but we’ve never done a fully non-traditional, “for this Christmas, we’re taking a trip instead of getting gifts”-type thing — I totally respect it, but I don’t think it would feel like Christmas to any of us, at least not in itself.

That's the good stuff right there.

[spike]

I'd take a 12' Moana obelisk over another Playskool ice cream stand any day of the week

[spike]

Got an email this morning that one of my kid’s classmates tested positive for Covid. We have a family holiday party and then fly to Cancun for a week this weekend, so will have to see if she develops symptoms. Sigh.

[doug rr]

Got an email this morning that one of my kid’s classmates tested positive for Covid. We have a family holiday party and then fly to Cancun for a week this weekend, so will have to see if she develops symptoms. Sigh.

meh, you'll catch worse things at Señor Frog's...

[spike]

Got an email this morning that one of my kid’s classmates tested positive for Covid. We have a family holiday party and then fly to Cancun for a week this weekend, so will have to see if she develops symptoms. Sigh.

meh, you'll catch worse things at Señor Frog's...

Don’t drink the water.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[E.H. Ruddock]

yay

[tree_]

nay

algorithms are bigly unpredictable so far, and it's probably only going to become more so

[E.H. Ruddock]

nay

algorithms are bigly unpredictable so far, and it's probably only going to become more so

yeah but Grimes

[dad]

nay

algorithms are bigly unpredictable so far, and it's probably only going to become more so

yeah but Grimes

Claire

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.