I love my kids. Deeply. Unconditionally. With my whole heart.
But they are also agents of chaos who treat clothing like it’s disposable and interiors like they’re optional.
Which is why I’m deeply, profoundly grateful that I don’t pay full price for anything anymore.
Because if I did, I’d be in prison.
Let’s start with my son.
Lovely child. Kind heart. Zero spatial awareness.
At some point, he decided the best place to hang his Ralph Lauren t-shirts was on a nail sticking out of the wall. Not a hook. Not a hanger. A nail. Just casually protruding like it was begging to ruin fabric.
The result?
A neat little hole straight through the front of the shirt.
Not subtle.
Not repairable.
Not “only noticeable if you look closely.”
A full, confident hole.
Did he see the problem?
No.
Did he think this was an odd storage choice?
Also no.
This is the same child who would absolutely do it again.
And this — this exact moment — is why I will never pay £40 for a t-shirt again.
Then there’s my daughter.
Creative. Imaginative. Crafty.
Dangerous.
She does not see clothing as clothing. She sees it as potential craft supplies.
Socks?
Perfect for puppets.
T-shirts?
Excellent raw material.
Jumpers?
A suggestion, really.
I’ve walked into rooms to find garments mid-surgery. No warning. No permission. Just scissors and confidence. Entire outfits sacrificed so a sock can have googly eyes and “express feelings”.
Do I admire her creativity?
Yes.
Do I mourn the clothing?
Also yes.
But because I didn’t pay full price, the grief is manageable.
And then there’s my youngest.
The most feral of the bunch.
This child does not walk through the garden — he digs. With his hands. Like a Victorian chimney sweep who’s lost his job and found soil.
Shoes? Covered in mud.
Trousers? Knees destroyed.
Best outfit? Absolutely the one he chooses for hole-digging activities.
He emerges from the earth like a tiny goblin, covered head to toe in dirt, smiling proudly like he’s achieved something.
And to be fair — he has.
He’s found worms.
He’s found rocks.
He’s found new ways to permanently stain fabric.
If I paid full price for their clothes, every one of these moments would send me into a spiral.
But because I don’t?
I laugh.
I sigh.
I throw it in the wash.
I move on.
I buy second-hand.
I buy bargains.
I buy knowing full well that whatever I bring into this house has a limited life expectancy.
Clothes in this family are not heirlooms.
They are temporary.
Like peace and quiet.
People love to talk about “looking after things”, and yes — my kids are grateful. They say thank you. They appreciate what they’re given.
They just also live at full volume with absolutely no regard for durability.
And that’s fine.
Because childhood is messy.
And mud washes out easier than regret over an £80 jumper.
The money-saving tips that actually work (because chaos is inevitable)
After learning all of this the hard way, here’s how I save money on kids’ clothes without losing my mind.
First: Vinted is elite, but only if you use it properly. Don’t just scroll and hope. Look for bundles. Parents clearing out whole wardrobes are your people. Five tops for a fiver? Yes please. School clothes, play clothes, “I don’t care if this gets wrecked” clothes — bundles save serious money and stop last-minute panic buying.
I search by size and condition, save those searches, and wait. The bargains always come. And if someone’s selling multiple items you like, message them and ask about a bundle price. Worst case they say no. Best case you’ve just halved your spend.
Second: Facebook Marketplace is chaos — but useful chaos.
Search locally for “kids clothes bundle”, “boys clothes job lot”, “girls clothes bundle”. You’ll find parents who just want the stuff gone. No posting fees. No pretending anything is “like new”. Just tired adults meeting in supermarket car parks, exchanging bags of clothes and mutual understanding.
Third: charity shops are not just for ‘nice’ outfits.
Stop going in looking for perfection. Go in looking for play clothes. Mud clothes. Nursery clothes. “They will ruin this” clothes. Kids grow so fast that half the stuff still has loads of life left — and if it doesn’t survive long, at least it cost £2.
And here’s the mindset shift that saves the most money of all:
Stop buying clothes for the fantasy version of parenting.
Buy for the reality.
The reality where
shirts meet nails,
socks become puppets,
knees get wrecked,
and small humans dig trenches in their best outfits with their bare hands.
When you buy knowing that, everything gets easier.
You stop getting annoyed.
You stop feeling guilty.
You stop overspending.
And you start laughing instead.
Want more ways to save money without sucking the joy out of family life?
👉 Click here for more money-saving tips that actually work
I stopped buying for the version of parenting I thought I should be doing — the one with tidy children and intact clothing — and started buying for the life I’m actually living.
I’d rather save the money and let them be kids than stress over price tags they’ll never notice.
Because everything will get ruined eventually.
And I’m glad I didn’t pay full price for it.
If this post made you laugh or feel seen, share it with another parent who’s currently mourning a ruined outfit.
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