gifts for wildly creative ten-year-old goofballs

For medievalists/miniaturists: a decorate-your-own castle blank, complete with inspiration, craft glue, and an assortment of craft paints and popsicle sticks (old egg cartons make especially good masonry). Add a working catapult kit for siege warfare re-enactments.

For painters: Akashiya watercolor brushes and a big ol' New SoHo SKETCH pad.

For creative writers: A fuzzy one-eyed creature journal, complete with padlock, for monstrously good drafts.

For sculptors: Wikki Stix (a magical melding of yarn and wax) to doodle in three dimensions.

For activists: The Pushcart War by Jean Merrill, which reveals (hilariously and metafictionally) words to live by —"don't be a truck"—and what it really takes to change the world.

For collectors: An earmarked ten-spot tucked inside a coin purse for treasure-seeking expeditions, jaunts to the candy shop, or bookstore adventures.

For recipe tinkerers: Extremely good cocoa, fluffy marshmallows, a whole can of real whipped cream, and Dutch chocolate sprinkles, for concocting the ultimate hot chocolate.

For composers: A pocket-sized Stylophone synthesizer for sonic noodling.

For the late-night button-pusher: A Snoopy Timex, complete with stopwatch and backlight.

For cuddlers: Fuzzy slippers with kitten ears in pink or brown.

For the hoarder of Jellycats: A Raindrop.

For all: Kiosk's "noisemaker from hell", because the holidays come but once a year (and because, despite its fearsome appearance, it only makes a subdued squeak, haha).

prime number / gifts some 47-year-olds might enjoy

A hat from Wombhouse Books (Jamaica Kincaid forever and ever).

Grayson Perry's magical thinking tote, decorated with assorted delusions (reason, capitalism, the internet, etc.)

Eyes ex-voto, because "eyes can be a gentle protest against the moral and emotional blindness in the world. We see you."

Uusi's latest tarot deck, inspired by winter light.

Golden kicks, for chasing step goals.

New work from an ever-vital poet, age 87.

A box of rocks. 

A lovely twisted wood shoe horn by Emura Woodworking Studio, because I might finally, finally be old enough to stop stomping in the heels of my shoes when I put them on.

Garnet bows. 

A 19th-century French architectural model of spinning doors, because every birthday is a revolution.

flowers for mothers (not medals)

A piece of art you make by tracing flower shadows.

Pansies for thoughts: Anntian g-mallows t-shirt.

A blank journal by IDEA, with photographs of Shozo Sato's ikebana scattered throughout to encourage words to bloom, or a book about finding flowers (a favorite).

Nonfiction "Open Arms" perfume, "an interpretation of a healing moment, nurtured with elements of nature’s vitality and caring gestures. Ripe fruits, sweet flower blossoms, fresh green leaves from nascent branches, and crushed peels are condensed to create a fresh, bittersweet essence." (A fresh, bittersweet essence is exactly how I'd describe motherhood.)

Garden notecards by Jane Ormes at Bari Zaki.

John Julian x Sarah Lucas classical mug, for coffee flavored with whimsy.

A length of floral embroidered ribbon from Minnieolga, to tie in her hair or use as a bookmark.

A long basket by kaaterskill market and a pair of snips, for bringing home bouquets. 

Clogs green as grass.

A tea towel that looks like a meal of flowers or actual petals to eat (The Quiet Botanist's matcha rose chocolate bar). 

Spiritual Objects golden flower necklace, for everyone and anyone called to mother, in whatever form that takes.

*

(This is the medal I am talking about; absolutely repugnant.)

*

Related posts: choosing motherhood / what's possible / true colors

Other gifts some mothers may enjoy: 2017 / 2018 / 2019 / 2020 / 2021 / 2022 / 2023 / 2024

gifts that warm

Nippon Kodo's porcelain animal incense burner, for wafting scents. (In addition to this dreaming rabbit, there is also an extremely charming cat.)

Twelve pieces of Grasmere gingerbread, plus a jar of rum butter, for gentle heat.

Handmade and reusable Mino Washi paper snowflakes, to make any day a snow day. (Photo found here; also available via the Cooper Hewitt shop.)

A draft-proof lantern, for a steady glow. 

A basket-making kit from Underwater Weaving Studio, because handcrafts counteract doomscrolling's chill.

Sheepskin slipper boots, for toasty toes. 

A mug by Bjarni Viðar Sigurðsson with a micro-milled stir-in mix for the coziest drink.

Amente's blanket coat, for bundling up, and Nishiguchi Kutsushita alpaca leg/wrist-warmers, to block drafts.

Kinto's Aqua Cuture vases, because a glimpse of green and growing things is always a light.

The Details of Our Escape, a roleplaying game that encourages players to think about communities and possible futures as they guide a caravan of 2,000 people searching for a new home. (Discovered thanks to Karissa's newsletter.)

A paper fireplace with sea-salt chocolate logs, to keep the home fires burning.

assorted gifts of varying opulence

Polspotten's brass candelabra, as twisted as an old apple tree.

Bridie Hall's intaglio soaps, for getting into a (classical) lather.

A golden gown by Simone Rocha, for sitting for your official portrait.

Delectable almond cookies, packed in a keep-forever tin.

Weiner Time's exuberant cushion, for decadent lounging.

Buly matches, scented with violet and rose.

A diamond-shaped tin of marzipan sweets, because marzipan always feels fancy.

Lelet's bobby pins decked with chain bows (best worn by the dozen).

A POJ Studio kintsugui kit, for making repairs in gold.

A Hogarth Press first edition of Virginia Woolf's Monday or Tuesday, with plates by her sister, Vanessa Bell.

Aris Geldis' heavy bracelet of gilded fringe (or Gogo's acorn earrings of baroque pearl).

Bookmarks fit for royalty, designed by Ark Colour Design in Scotland.

A truly luxe hot-water-bottle cover, made by Samantha Holmes of ethically sourced alpaca and wool.

Smart shoes are always a treat—these are Tibi's Randolph flats in zebra-print pony hair.

A bottle of tears—could anything be more precious?

*

One more indulgence: These funny gift guides are an annual delight to compile for all of you anonymous folks out there. I don't make any money from them—no affiliate links, no placements, nada! I'm an online renegade!—but if they have brought you joy or amusement, please consider making a donation to Doctors Without Borders. I'm donating what I can, too, and holding the people of Palestine, Ukraine, and Sudan in my heart. Thank you.