|picture credit: schoolethos.ie|
I may have mentioned our Tarmac Tin before. It is a savings tin that has taken up residence under the kitchen sink.
Initially we were all hugely enthusiastic and put our spare one and two euro coins into it.
The boys called it their Tarmac Tin because they wanted the front of the house to have a nice driveway on which they could ride their bikes and draw on with chalks.
I did explain we would need many such tins to be filled in order to save enough dosh to pave over our driveway.
Not to discourage them in their savings plan but to point out the practicalities of their venture.
And as time passed, three years give or take a season or two, the euro coins were replaced with the copper ones.
But, good news.
The day finally arrived when the money wouldn’t go into the tin anymore because there was no room left. The tin was full.
Almost immediately the boys went into list mode. The prospect of Christmas, a mere few weeks away, didn’t rouse anywhere near the same levels of excitement in the lads as a full Bart Simpson tin can.
I stepped in quickly.
I wanted my own share out of the spoils; a little over two hundred and fifty euros worth.
That would fetch me a nice pair of winter boots and maybe a party frock for the silly season to boot. Ahem.
And then Pedantic Practical Pants stepped in whispering the immortal words, “what about Santy. You could get loads of Santy's out of two hundred and fifty euros.”
If the lads sighed when I stepped in to curtail their virtual spending spree, my face and heart fell when I heard PPP.
But they were wise whisperings.
I had to listen to them.
A quick online meeting with Argos saw me reserve a couple of items, after which we packed the kids into the car and off we went, to pay a visit to Ireland’s largest shopping precinct; Dundrum Shopping Centre.
The lying began almost as soon as we got there.
If I was at all religious, I would be convinced I am on the train straight to hell.
Of course, if I was at all religious, I would not lie to my kids in the first place and tell them whoppers about who the boxes from Argos are for.
“They’re for someone else. I don’t know what’s in them.”
“No, you can’t look. They are not our presents.”
“It’s not Lego. Because I just know that’s why.”
“Maybe they’re for Grandad.”
“No! Don’t touch it! It’s a bomb! It’ll explode!”
None of the above worked, indeed it just made them all the more curious to see what was inside the bags.
Then I was a feared I would retire for the night and forget about everything left in the car.
Christmas shopping; you’d want nerves of steel, a handy repertoire of lies at your disposal and no conscience.
Which reminds me; I must go and ring Michelle to make sure she will lie for me too when the boys ask her did she get her presents from Argos.