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We are living in a material world. And my son is a material…nutbag.

  • Writer: Jenny Wynter
    Jenny Wynter
  • Nov 14, 2008
  • 1 min read

So we do this thing in our household where every birthday, Christmas or donation-of-hand-me-downs-from-friends that comes around, I rally up the pint-sized troops to clear out their own collection. Whereupon, we motor on down to our local charity bin, dump the lot, Mummy feels a lot better about moving in the clutter-free direction and toasts a champagne to her awesomeness.


Miss Six is a dream at this, so completely un-materialistic in fact, that her specific instructions to me this week were exactly this: “I pretty much don’t want anything of mine. Except my babies.” So, while my daughter had no qualms donating nine tenths of her entire toy stash, Mister Four spent the entire mission thumping fists, burning flags and singing various national anthems in protest. THIS: after donating a grand total of three – yes, that’s right, three toys. And they were crappy.

Aye me. Capitalism sure hits them young.

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I acknowledge the Gubbi Gubbi, Wakka Wakka and Butchulla peoples, the First Nation Traditional Owners of Country, and custodians of the land and waters on which I live and work, and all the peoples who have welcomed me on Country. I pay respects to all Elders past and present and acknowledge the young leaders who are working beside Elders in our cultural industries in the continuation of cultural, spiritual and educational practices. I recognise all First Nation peoples as the original storytellers of these lands and acknowledge the important role they continue to play in our community.

Jenny Wynter

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