Every December the scene repeats itself in every house: the catalogs arrive, the little ones tell us a lot of things they want, and then it's up to us to start looking for what appears in the letter so that nothing is missing under the tree.
What's more, there are years when a particular toy becomes fashionable and so many kids ask for it that it sells out. And then the madness begins. I remember when my eldest was little, Mickey Mouse Clubhouse became all the rage. It sold out in every store, and on eBay you could buy it for double or even triple the price.
To what extent do we have to achieve everything in the letter? What if that very fact—that it lacks nothing—is the problem?
I don't think I'm revealing anything groundbreaking if I say that we're victims of emotional consumption: we buy them things to compensate for the time we don't spend with them. And, without realizing it, we fill their rooms… leaving empty the space that truly matters and that we should be occupying: the space of connection.
This post is an invitation to reflect on this. To slow down. To rediscover simplicity, free play, and to write together a different kind of letter to the Three Kings, one that won't be forgotten over time.
🎁 When more isn't better: too many toys and its consequences
It's true that we have wonderful memories of childhood toys that filled us with joy when we received them. This was because most of us didn't have many toys, and those we did have were often hand-me-downs from older siblings or shared.
We therefore believe that more toys mean more happiness, but this isn't true. There comes a point when, if they have too many, they value and care for them less , the joy of receiving them diminishes, and overall, they are more unhappy.
And yet, every year we repeat the scene: packages and more packages, entire afternoons spent wrapping them, so much enthusiasm on our part, only to realize that their enthusiasm isn't what we expected. Because they end up getting overwhelmed. Because overstimulation leads to frustration, distraction, and often, disinterest.
Mind you, it's not that they don't value what they receive: it's that nobody can fully enjoy excess .
In fact, science confirms it. A study from the University of Toledo (2017) observed a group of children playing in two different environments: one with only 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 environment was full of options, play was more superficial and interrupted more frequently.
Educator and author Nancy Carlson-Paige sums it up this way: “Free and creative play is the language of childhood. When we fill it with things, we interrupt their 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 can't only be applied to children; it's also valid for adults: "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, especially at this time of year when we confuse happiness with accumulation . Because toys aren't the end goal; they're the means. They should be a channel for play, because that's what children need: time, calm, and freedom to explore and develop their creativity and imagination.
In other words: they need fewer things and more indoor space to create their own games and stories.
🎅Why we keep buying so many Christmas gifts: parents' emotional consumption
Take a stroll through the big stores these days and observe: you'll see shopping carts overflowing with toys. Completely full. You might think that family has several children. And perhaps you're right, but it's not the most likely scenario. Most of us carry a wound that's been misdiagnosed and, consequently, poorly treated.
Looking back on our childhood, many of us think it wasn't bad, but it could have been better. That something was missing. That we had a void we couldn't explain. And we still can't explain it now, because we believe we lacked things, when what we really lacked was connection and time with our parents. Playtime with Mom and Dad.
Thus, we want to try to prevent history from repeating itself, to prevent them from growing up with that void, and from the diagnostic error, we believe that the toys, clothes, money or sneakers of the moment will prevent them from feeling that way again.
And then, when our children say they are bored, or unhappy, or unhappy, we respond almost automatically: “With everything you have, you have no reason to complain. I wish I had the same as you .”
Without realizing it, we repeat the pattern of absent fatherhood that hurt us so much. We didn't have fathers who played with us, and unintentionally, we're once again trying to compensate for that absence with gifts.
We work non-stop so we can buy them things, and when we're at home we try to disconnect from the hustle and bustle by scrolling through screens, binge-watching series, going for a run or doing sports (very necessary and healthy)... and we end up, too often, without time to play with them.
And the data confirms it. The #PlayWithThem study, conducted in Spain with more than 500 families, showed that almost 70% of parents play with their children for less than two hours during the week, and that half also play for less than two hours on weekends. Furthermore, almost one in two admits they don't play with their children enough and cites work as the main obstacle.
Another AIJU study on playtime in childhood in Spain revealed that only 10% of children mention their parents as regular playmates , even though most say they want more time to play.
They don't need more toys. They need you. And it's not that you spend little time with them because of a lack of love. It's out of habit. Because of a model that taught us that giving love is, to a large extent, about buying , and not about sharing time.
So remember: children don't need a mountain of toys, but a few that become tools for play, preferably shared play.
💕Christmas gifts that truly matter: connection, presence, and family time
If we stop to think about it, if we dedicate some time to this exercise of looking back to the past and try to recall what was most valuable in our childhood, it certainly wasn't material gifts.
I'm sure you remember the moments those toys gave you with much more fondness, and I'd go even further: I'm sure it was the shared moments , many of them without toys . Summers at the campsite or in the village, with the children we only saw once a year. Christmases at home, with family. When they took us to see the Christmas lights, to the rides during the town festival…
We don't remember what the Three Kings brought us in 1992, but we do remember how the breakfast cake smelled, how Mom 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 aren't usually displayed on shelves . They're the ones you experience. And they're within your reach: a rainy afternoon playing cards or board games, a hike in the woods, cooking together, reading a bedtime story. You don't need grand plans, just the intention.
In the end, children won't feel more loved if they receive more things. I've seen children who reminded me of Harry Potter's cousin, Dudley, for behaving the same way: "36 presents? Last year it was 37!" They won't love you more for giving them more things if all those gifts aren't accompanied by afternoons spent together.
Because children measure love in presence, not in things … even though we sometimes confuse them so much that they believe more gifts will make them happier. How could they not be, if 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 built.
🤗The letter to the Three Wise Men that your children will remember: fewer toys, more experiences
This year, I suggest we do something different: write your letter to the Three Kings from the heart , not from a catalog. We can include, of course, a material gift that will delight them. But we can also open the door to something much more valuable: wishes that don't need wrapping, wishes that never expire, wishes that create lasting memories.
Because sometimes children don't need to list toys. Sometimes they just need to write:
- “Family time.”
- "I want Mom to read with me again before bed."
- “To travel somewhere beautiful.”
- “Let Dad play with me in the park.”
And if you want to be more specific, that's fine too: a trip to the woods, baking cookies on a Sunday, sleeping in a tent in the living room, watching a movie cuddled up under a blanket, reading a book in chapters, writing a letter to your grandparents, or setting aside a screen-free day to observe the world without rushing.
What matters is not the plan, but the presence . It's not the place, but who you're with.
Perhaps the letter could include a phrase like this:
“Dear Three Wise Men, this year I want time, hugs and lots of laughs with my family.”
Because deep down, children know it before adults: the best gifts aren't bought, they're experienced.
🙌 Less stuff, more connection: the Christmas gift children really need
Childhood doesn't need a room that looks like a toy store, nor meticulously planned days filled with structured activities. Childhood needs love, attention, and calm. It needs moments of gazing at the sky, comforting hands, listening voices, moments of solitude and boredom. Yes, boredom: to kick-start the engine room of creativity.
Children won't remember if they had the most expensive toy, but they will remember if Mom or Dad (or their other mom) were there when they needed them most. They'll remember the smell of toast, the laughter in the car, the words we said to them when they cried, or the hug that comforted them after a difficult day. These 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 losing his home: “We do have a home. What we don’t have now is a house.” A simple phrase, but so luminous it almost hurts. Children understand: home isn’t a place, it’s a bond.
And yet, the figures tell a very different story. In the UK, a study of 10-year-olds found that the average child owns around 238 toys , but only truly plays with about a dozen on a daily basis. In the US, data from the toy industry indicates that the average child receives around 70 new toys each year . We're mistaken.
In other words, in many Western homes children grow up surrounded by hundreds of toys, while what they need most—time, presence, connection—is not always as readily available as we would like, as they would like. As they need.
And no, I'm not saying we shouldn't give them gifts, or that we should eliminate toys altogether. It's about giving them meaning. About choosing fewer, but better ones. About reducing the quantity and increasing the intention. About choosing carefully, opting for sustainable materials, for toys that encourage free play, and for objects with soul that don't replace the bond, but rather complement it.
Because in the end, what remains isn't the things themselves, but the experiences that become family history. Toys sometimes break, get lost, go out of style… but the memories built together never break or fade. And as I often say: “If you want to be in their future memories, you have to be in their present experiences.”
Armando Bastida - Pediatric Nurse
