Every December the same scene plays out in homes everywhere: the catalogues arrive, our little ones rattle off a long list of things they want, and it falls to us to start hunting down everything on their letter so that nothing is missing under the tree.
What's more, some years a particular toy becomes so fashionable and so many children ask for it that it sells out. And then the madness begins. I remember that when my eldest was small, Mickey Mouse Clubhouse was all the rage. It sold out in every shop, and on eBay it was going for double or even triple the price.
How far do we really have to go to get everything on the list? And what if that very thing, making sure they have everything, were the problem?
I don't think I'm revealing anything new when I say that we are victims of emotional spending: we buy them things to make up for the time we don't give them. And, without realising it, we fill their bedrooms… while leaving empty the space that really matters, the one we ought to be filling: the space for connection.
This post is an invitation to think about it. To slow down. To get back to simplicity and free play, and to write together a different kind of letter to the Three Kings, one that won't be forgotten as the years go by.
📑 In this article
🎁 When more isn't better: too many toys and what it leads to
It's true that we have wonderful memories of childhood toys that filled us with happiness when we received them. That was because most of us didn't have many toys, and the ones we did have were often handed down from older brothers and sisters, or shared.
So we believe that more toys mean more happiness, but it isn't true. There comes a point where, if they have too many, they value them and look after them less, the joy of receiving them fades and, all things considered, they are less happy.
And yet every year we repeat the scene: parcels upon parcels, whole afternoons spent wrapping them, great excitement on our part, only to realise that their excitement isn't what we expected. Because they end up overwhelmed. Because overstimulation leads to frustration, scattered attention and, often, a lack of interest.
Mind you, it's not that they don't appreciate what they receive: it's that nobody can fully enjoy excess.
In fact, research backs this up. A study by the University of Toledo (2017) observed a group of children playing in two different settings: one with just four toys, and another with sixteen.
The result was clear: when they had fewer toys, they played for longer, used their imagination and engaged more creatively and deeply. When the setting was full of options, play was more superficial and was interrupted more often.
The educator and author Nancy Carlson-Paige sums it up like this: "Free, creative play is the language of childhood. When we fill it with things, we interrupt children's natural ability to imagine, invent and connect with the world."
And there's a quote from the psychologist and philosopher Erich Fromm that I love, because it applies not only to children but to adults as well: "If you are not happy with what you have, you won't be happy with what you lack either."
It's a phrase I always keep in mind, and I think we could all apply it to ourselves, especially at this time of year when we confuse happiness with accumulation. The toy isn't the end: it's the means. It should be a channel for play, because that's what children need: time, calm and the freedom to explore and develop their creativity and imagination.
In other words: they need fewer things and more inner space to create their own games and stories.
🎅 Why we keep buying so many Christmas presents: parents' emotional spending
Take a walk around the big shopping centres at this time of year and look closely: you'll see trolleys full of toys. Piled to the top. You might think that family has several children. And you might be right, but it's not the most likely explanation. Most of us carry a wound that has been misdiagnosed and, as a result, never properly healed.
If we look back at our own childhood, many of us feel it wasn't bad, but it could have been better. That something was missing. That there was an emptiness we couldn't explain. And we still can't explain it now, because we believe what we lacked was things, when what we actually lacked was connection and time with our parents. Moments of play with mum and dad.
So we try to stop history repeating itself, so they don't grow up with that emptiness, and, starting from the wrong diagnosis, we believe that toys, clothes, money or the latest trainers will keep them from ever feeling that way.
And then, when our children say they're bored, or not content, or not happy, we reply almost automatically: "With everything you've got, you've no reason to complain. I wish I'd had what you have."
Without realising it, we repeat the pattern of absent parenting that hurt us so much. We didn't have parents who played with us, and without meaning to, we once again replace presence with presents.
We work non-stop so we can buy them things, and when we're at home we try to switch off from the hustle and bustle by scrolling on a screen, binge-watching series, going for a run or doing sport (very necessary and healthy)…, and far too often we end up with no time to play with them.
And the data confirm it. The #JuegaConEllos study, carried out in Spain with more than 500 families, showed that almost 70% of mums and dads play with their children for less than two hours on weekdays, and that half also play for less than two hours at the weekend. What's more, almost one in two admit that they don't play enough and point to work as the main barrier.
Another piece of research by AIJU on children's playtime in Spain found that only 10% of children mention their parents as regular playmates, even though most say they would like more time to play.
They don't need more toys. They need you. And it's not that you spend little time with them for lack of love. It's habit. A model that taught us that giving love largely means buying, rather than sharing time.
So remember: children don't need a mountain of toys, just a few that become tools for play, ideally shared play.
💕 Christmas gifts that really matter: connection, presence and family time
If we stop and think. If we take some time for this exercise of going back to the past and try to rescue what was most valuable in our childhood, it surely wasn't the material gifts.
I'm sure you remember far more fondly the moments those toys gave you, and I'll go further: they were surely the moments you shared, many of them without any toys at all. Summers at the campsite or in the village, with the children we only saw from one year to the next. Christmas at home with the family. When they took us to see the lights, or to the fairground rides at the town festival…
We don't remember what the Three Kings brought us in 1992, but we do remember the smell of the sponge cake at breakfast, the way mum laughed when she tickled us, or the feeling of falling asleep in the car on the way home and dad carrying us in his arms to bed.
Because the best gifts can't usually be put on a shelf. They're the ones you live. And they're within your reach: a rainy afternoon playing cards or board games, a trip to the woods, cooking together, reading a story before bed. You don't need big plans, just intention.
In the end, children won't feel more loved because they receive more things. I've seen children who reminded me of Harry Potter's cousin, Dudley, because they behaved just like him: "Thirty-six presents? Last year it was thirty-seven!" They won't love you more for giving them more things if all those presents don't come with afternoons spent together.
Because children measure love in presence, not in things… even though sometimes we confuse them so much that they believe more presents will make them happier. How could they not, when we believe it too? But no. It's presence. And it's in those moments, when we're with them, sharing meaningful time, that the most lasting memories are made.
🤗 The letter to the Three Kings your children will remember: fewer toys, more experiences
This year, I suggest doing something different: writing the letter to the Three Kings from the heart, not from the catalogue. Yes, we can include a material gift or two that they're excited about. But we can also open the door to something far more valuable: wishes that can't be wrapped, that never expire, that build memories.
Because sometimes children don't need to list toys. Sometimes they just need to write:
- "Family time".
- "For mum to read with me before bed again".
- "To travel somewhere beautiful".
- "For dad to play with me in the park".
And if they want to be specific, that's fine too: a trip to the woods, baking biscuits on a Sunday, sleeping in a tent in the living room, watching a film cuddled up under a blanket, reading a book chapter by chapter, writing a letter to their grandparents, or setting aside a screen-free day to look at the world without hurrying.
What matters isn't the plan, but the presence. It isn't the place, but who you're with.
Perhaps the letter could include a line like this:
"Dear Three Kings, this year I'd like time, hugs and lots of laughter with my family."
Because deep down, children know it before adults do: the best gifts aren't bought, they're lived.
🙌 Fewer things, more connection: the Christmas gift children really need
Childhood doesn't need a bedroom that looks like a toyshop, or days planned down to the minute and packed with structured activities. Childhood needs love, attention and calm. It needs little moments of gazing at the sky, hands that accompany, voices that listen, time alone and time to be bored. Yes, boredom: to get the engine room of creativity going.
Children won't remember whether they had the most expensive toy, but they will remember whether mum or dad (or their other mum) was there when they needed them most. They'll remember the smell of toast, the laughter in the car, the words we said when they cried, or the hug that held them after a hard day. Those moments build the kind of home that doesn't depend on material things, but on belonging.
As a child once said after losing his house in a fire, when asked about having lost his home: "We do have a home. What we don't have right now is a house." A simple sentence, but so luminous it almost hurts. Children are clear about it: home isn't a place, it's a bond.
And yet the figures tell a very different story. In the United Kingdom, a study of 10-year-olds found that the average child owns around 238 toys, but only really plays with a dozen of them day to day. In the United States, toy industry data indicate that the average child receives around 70 new toys every year. We're getting this wrong.
In other words, in many Western homes children grow up surrounded by hundreds of toys, while what they need most (time, presence, connection) isn't always as available as we would like, as they would like. As they need.
And no, I'm not saying we shouldn't give them presents, or that we should get rid of toys. It's about giving them meaning. About choosing fewer, but better. About reducing quantity and increasing intention. About choosing carefully, opting for gentle, sustainable materials, for toys that invite free play, and for objects with soul that don't replace connection, but go hand in hand with it.
Because in the end, what lasts isn't things, but the experiences that become family history. Toys sometimes break, get lost, go out of fashion… but the memories you build together don't break and aren't forgotten. And as I often say: "If you want to be in their memories of the future, you'll have to be in their experiences of the present."
