What a week!
Disappointment and confusion, followed by illness, sobbing, blankets and hot water bottles for one; unconfined joy and chatteriness for the other.
Firstly, child one. (*Parental advisory: do not allow young children to read this blog post. The reasons why will be clear in just a moment*)
The C-word came up last weekend – no, not that one, I mean Christmas.
This is because the Argos catalogue has arrived at Howarth Towers, so there will be endless thumbing of pages for the next few weeks before the list for Santa is written.
But therein lies the rub: the letter for Santa. Dort is 11 and in senior school (read last week’s posting). On Sunday, she sidled into the kitchen – thankfully away from her younger brother – and asked the question I’ve been dreading: “Mum, does Father Christmas really exist?”
I couldn’t keep up the pretence any longer and the truth spilled out. I couldn’t bear the thought of the ribbing she would get from older pupils if she mentioned Santa.
She looked confused. “But who did we see when we went to Lapland last year? I thought it was Father Christmas.”
We had a whispered chat and she accepted it all in very good faith – although she was told that if she said ANYTHING to her younger brother, all her festive activities and presents would be cancelled. Full stop. She nodded gravely. She understood alright.
I’m sure the two things aren’t related, but she went downhill quite quickly afterwards – it was almost like she was Tinkerbell and someone said they no longer believed in fairies anymore (oh, the tooth fairy thing was also tackled).
There was nausea, stomach cramps and headaches. Two days off school and a very slow recovery. Being Cruella de Ville in disguise, I sent her to school, but was called by the school nurse within two hours to fetch her. Apparently, children are dropping like flies with this bug.
But there was some good news; good news for son (8) anyway. Not so much for the rest of us in the house. He has secured the instrument he wanted for music lessons at school: a trumpet. I painted on a smile as he babbled happily about his good fortune and I couldn’t help but wonder how many eggs we would have to eat in the next three weeks so that we could use the boxes to sound-proof his room.
If all else fails in his life, at least he could become a rag and bone man, trumpet in hand to sound his arrival. “Aaaaaany old iron!”
Could be worse - he could be learning to play the drums!
ReplyDeleteI'm hoping it will be a few years before the 'Santa' subject props up in our household but I already know what I' going to tell my kids. I'm going to tell them that while there may not be a jolly old man who jiggles his belly like a bowlful of jelly dropping down our chimney every year, I beleive in Father Christmas as I beleive in God. After all Saint Nikolas was a real person as was Jesus and he did leave gifts for people, but in the very same way I very much doubt Jesus actually healed lepers and walked on water, its not the physical manifestaion of the man, its the spirit that keeps hope alive in so many people across the world and the world is an ugly enough place, I do not want to kill my childrens hope.
I'm glad your daughter wasnt too disappointed though - I think by that age they 'know' anyway, they just need the affirmation. (On our recent trip to Disneyland we had to contend with the 7 year old trying to tell the 5 year old the charcters were just people in costumes and weren't real - our reply was 'well if Cinderella isnt real how did she wave at you?!!)
Hope she gets over her bug as well :)