Okay so you get what you pay for.
That’s a lesson my mum has tried to drum into me over the years. Why then was I tempted by some £2.50 dolls in my local post office on a memorable day when Emily and Melissa were a fair bit younger?
I’d only popped in to pay a gas bill.
Yes that’s two dolls for £2.50. “Twin Sisters”, it said on the packet - ideal for my two, I reckoned.
Even better it seemed, one was dressed in pink and the other in yellow - my daughters’ favourite colours.
I couldn’t resist this apparent bargain, imagining Emily and Melissa’s faces light up as I unwrapped their new toy. This latest offering would be a cheap and cheerful substitute for all that Barbie and Bratz malarkey. But their faces did not light up. Instead they dissolved into floods of tears.For as Emily took hold of yellow dolly, one of its legs fell off and as Melissa grabbed pink dolly, the whole of its bottom half came away in her hand.“It’s broken!,” wailed Emily. "Dolly’s poorly,” lamented Melissa.
All my attempts to fix the cheap flimsy plastic were in vain. What on earth had I expected? Still, I managed to rescue the situation saying the dollies could become the first patients at a special toyhospital - and made a mental note to buy a toddlers’ doctors set - from a reputable stockist of course.
This cautionary episode set me thinking - just how many of the toys we buy - cheap or expensive are really worth having?
As I wrote this Emily was busying herself by my side with a Biro and a piece of paper, drawing a fish, a flower and a dog for Mum. A container load of so-called “activity” toys stands ignored downstairs.
When I imagined life after childbirth, I pictured eager little hands and inquisitive minds exploring bright plastic toys, stacking bricks and banging pegs in to holes.
Then again I also believed my kids would never be given dummies or biscuits to keep them from crying or plonked in front of the telly or a video while I did the washing up.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
It seems everyone on the planet (except me) had always known younger children preferred the gaudy wrapping to the lovingly chosen present inside.
But now there has been a marked change in Emily and Melissa, whereas when they were younger I longed for them to actually play with their toys - now I am facing the dilemma of many a 21st century mum - I don’t actually like the toys they choose for themselves.
Despite an initial reluctance to give them anything blatantly “girly”, I had to give up on that years back - pretty much as soon as they began to show their alarming preference for all things domestic.
They loved their toy cooker. But I had drawn the line at a toy iron or a miniature vacuum cleaner.
Then I had to change my view, telling myself it was "really lovely" to see them playing at being caring, nurturing, tidy and organised.
That’s why the next weekend you could find me in our local toy superstore - searching out the most colourful mini Dyson I could find.
But the toy vacuum cleaners only lasted about a month. I couldn't bear the noise and they were carted off quick sharp to a charity shop.
Sorry girls but if your mum can get through life without vacuuming more than once in a blue moon, well so can you.
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