Purchase-induced paralysis

I contemplate the purchase of a train set.

Nowadays, there is no such thing as a spontaneous purchase on an otherwise mundane mooch around Mothercare. A lengthy and extensive consultation period is required.

So I decide to seek counsel from those fonts of all toy-related wisdom: Other Mums.

'Oh! A train set, eh? Riiiiiiiiight...'

Yikes, I think.

'Well, for God's sake, make sure it's B-R-I-O C-O-M-P-A-T-I-B-L-E!'

'Brio Compatible?' I ask, puzzled.

'Brio is the best make of train set, but it is more expensive. However, if you're not actually buying a Brio set - if, for instance, you're buying an [sharp intake of breath] unbranded train set - if it's compatible with the Brio make, then you can still buy extra parts from Brio.'

'Oookay,' I reply, wondering whether I should be taking notes.

I casually mention to another friend that I have seen a train set on sale in Asda.

She arches an eyebrow: 'Well, you could get it from Asda, but I'm pretty sure it isn't Brio compatible. However, the Tesco train set on the other hand is Brio compatible.'

Lawks.

Tesco is not my normal choice of supermarket but I am coming to understand that the purchase of a train set is up there with the purchase of your first car, flat, yacht etc., so I look out my A-Z and draw a ten mile radius around our house before Googling to find all the Tesco stores in the vicinity.

As luck would have it, there is a Tesco not so far from my house, so I head out there at the first opportunity.

The basic set has sold out. The teenager staffer I approach has 'no idea' if or when they will be getting any more, so I skulk home, my heart heavy in the knowledge that TS and TD will have to suffer yet more train set-free days (which will probably lead to all sorts of mental health problems in later life).

I check another branch of Tesco, but it is not a Premium store, so there is no toy section.

Despair sets in...

*******

Then one day my mother calls.

'Just thought I'd let you know that I've bought TS and TD's birthday present. I've got them a train set,' she says, casually.

'A train set? Oh...' I mutter.

'What's the matter? Do they have one already?' she inquires.

'No, no. It's just that it's very complicated. It's got to be a certain type, you see,' I ramble.

'Well, it was on offer at Toys R Us...'

'I don't suppose you know the make?'

'Um, not sure...'

Oh God.

'I think it begins with 'B'...'

Praise be! The dark cloud of social pariahhood hanging over my childrens' heads has been lifted!

Premature world weariness

It's mid-afternoon and we are in the midst of a banana pancake cookathon of epic proportions.

There is a loud rat-a-tat-tat at the door.

'Daddy!', squeal TS and TD in unison.

'I don't think it's Daddy unless he's bunking off work...', I reply.

My enthusiastic knocker is a salesman who wants to sell me a broadband connection.

'Did you receive one of these through the door?', he asks, waving a leaflet in my face.

'No...um, maybe, can't remember...'

I can smell burning bananas.

'Do you have a computer?'

'Yes...'

I can hear the scrambling of little knees on kitchen table.

'Because with our broadband service...'

'Sorry! Don't want it! My kids! The stove! Pancakes! Gotta go! Sorry!'

And off I dash.

Once resettled in their chairs, TD enquires hopefully: 'Daddy?'

'No, darling. Not Daddy,' I respond apologetically.

'Oh, people,' she sighs wistfully, casting her eyes heavenwards.

Yes, people.

[How many years did I say until teenagerhood?]

The short road to monosyllabism

Despite being a clear decade away from teenagerhood, The Daughter has already mastered the art of The Minimalist Response To Parental Questioning.

Her instructions to me today went like this:

[In bed.]
Me: Hello, darling! Did you sleep OK? Do you want to get up?
Her: Milky.

Me: OK. You stay there. I'll go and get your milky and bring it up here.
Her: Downstairs!

[In kitchen.]
Me: Right, let's get your milky.
Her: Nice'n'warm.

Me: There you go! Milky - nice and warm!
Her: Living room.

[In living room.]
Me: Do you want to sit on the sofa and watch Cbeebies?
Her: Blanket!

Yep, positively relishing the prospect of the teenage years.