It’s Boy’s birthday, and he’s getting his first proper watch.
Now, when I was a kid, you had a choice of two watches, Timex or Noddy.
Things have moved on. Noddy’s had an upgrade courtesy of PBS. And, checking out The Watch Hut, I’m amazed at the variety of kids’ watches on offer. I fall in love with the super cool Ice Mini. And it’s available in a raft of rainbow colours, including Boy’s favourite, purple.
I have a white Ice Forever, my summer watch. Briefly, I have visions of mother and son matching watches, until OH brings me back to earth with a thud.
That’s ever so slightly weird, he points out. And this isn’t about you.
He’s right, of course. Purple it is. A watch wasn’t on Boy’s original wish list, and I’m counting on the colour and the funky design to sell it.
A watch is educational, a practical choice, we reason. And perhaps not the obvious gift for a boy who can’t quite tell the time yet. (We’re still having some big hand, small hand, seconds hand, issues.) But there’s no harm in being aspirational.
Like those, oh so expensive, room-to-grow, Start Rite school shoes, we reason that he’ll soon grow into it, ignoring the fact that he looks like a grey Ronald MacDonald.
And there’s the rub. A watch is our bright idea, not Boy’s.
Good things come in small boxes, I explain to a slightly crestfallen Birthday Boy. Maths isn’t his strong point, but he knows enough to clock the dimensions won’t accommodate his much coveted drum set.
I don’t add that giving a gift can be as good as receiving one. But I’m glad Boy is old enough now for a more grown-up present. I’m relieved too. There’ll be no more line-drying gargantuan teddy bears, too large for the washing machine, or squeezing myself into dusty gaps to look for missing bits of Lego.
Watches are quiet too, another plus. There’s something strangely reassuring about their soft repetitive tick. A sense of order and calm, which you just don’t get from an Early Learning Centre Karaoke deck or that robotic monkey with the New Jersey drawl.
Fortunately, Boy likes his watch. He loves the way it looks, but he also starts to see its myriad possibilities. And he’s not thinking bedtime. He’s head deep in TV Quik making sure he doesn’t miss another episode of Sorry I’ve Got No Head.
Later, when I’m engrossed in work (or, more likely, trying to snatch a few minutes to catch up on Crown of Thorns), Boy demands help to locate a missing DVD. (Unbeknown to him, the Smurfs have joined Mr Bananas, the talking chimp, relocated to a bin bag under the stairs).
I’ll be five minutes, I promise.
Do I actually mean five minutes? Well, not exactly. Who says five minutes and actually means five minutes?
Well, Boy apparently.
Where are you Mummy? You’ve had five minutes and thirty-five seconds.
Six minutes, he corrects, twenty-five seconds later.
I suddenly have the feeling that I’ll be hearing more time checks in the future. A lot.
First watch, like first tooth, is a sign Boy’s growing up, a bitter sweet rite of passage.
The Watch Hut are sponsoring the Best Writer Category in this year’s MAD awards. This is my entry for their competition, telling them about my favourite watch.
Really, it’s a joint favourite. However, Boy already has the Mini Ice. So, I’m opting for the purple Ice Solid, relieved that Boy is still young enough to tell his Mum that matching watches would be cool.
