Last year we didn’t even make it to the nursery Christmas fair. MiniM#2 was only a couple of months old and we were probably visiting relatives or something. This year I was determined we would at least show our faces on Saturday. The girls were older and it was ‘all for a good cause’.
I had been in Paris during the week on a work trip (DaddyM took time off work and coped ridiculously well in my absence). I felt twinges of guilt at emails coming through from the nursery asking if we had something we could donate to the fair: either prizes for the tombola or simply our time to help with organizing it, or to run a stall.
My mind was too busy juggling work and the girls and I only got back from France on Friday night. I toyed with the idea of bringing a bottle of aged Rum from La Martinique which an Italian company had given to me after winning a category in an awards event on the Thursday night, because it wouldn’t fit in their carry-on luggage and I was travelling by Eurostar. But then again, it would be handy to offer to guests over the Christmas period, and presumably the tombola prizes had already got their raffle tickets on them. Hopefully us just being there would be enough.
We walked into the nursery and I was surprised to find myself face-to-face with L, a Swedish guy I hadn’t seen working together in London 7 years ago, and his two year old son. L was manning a little stall with an inflatable plastic reindeer with hoops that need to be thrown over the antlers behind a line marked ‘please stand here’.
“That’s very near to the reindeer, this should be easy” I laughed, paying my 50p and positioning myself toe to the line.
Then it dawned on me. “Oh it’s for the kids isn’t it?” L gave a nervous laugh. “Yes”. I hurriedly gave 2 hoops to MiniM#2 who promptly shoved them in her mouth and the other 2 to MiniM#1 who ran off with them in her hand.
“It’s very good of you to do this.” I ventured to L, nodding at the stall, while Daddy M tried in vain to prise the hoops away from MiniM#2’s iron jaw clamp. “Oh I’m just doing my bit for the nursery,” he shrugged. “Yes, yes, of course…” I said blushing, feeling a bit like Julia from Motherland.
Next we bought 5 tombola tickets for £3 and somewhat embarrassingly won 2 bottles of wine. I wished I’d donated that Rum.
I paid for the girls to decorate Christmas cards, but ended up decorating them myself while the girls watched, dipping their fingers in paint pots as they started to get bored. “They look pretty, well done!” said a mum who had generously given up her time to help out on the Christmas card decorating stall. “Thank you,” I mumbled awkwardly, realising the remark was meant for the girls.
The key attraction was Santa’s grotto and MiniM#1 was particularly excited about meeting him. After waiting dutifully in the queue, the door finally opened and we were beckoned inside.
MiniM#2 took one look at the chap dressed as Father Christmas and began to SCREAM at the top of her lungs. To such an extent that her older sister began to look uncertain and her upper lip began to wobble too. “Don’t cry,” said Santa. “I remember meeting you both last year…”
At which point I quickly interjected “Oh no we weren’t here last year, we missed the fair.”
“Yes but I came to your home on 24th December,” the guy dressed as Santa replied.
“Oh no, I don’t think you did. Maybe you’re confusing us with someone else,” I added helpfully.
“I definitely did. I came to your home on the night of 24th December to bring presents.” Santa insisted.
“I really don’t think you did, because we were away in France last year…”
The nursery helper gave me a dig in the ribs “Santa did come – to give presents to the girls, right? Like he does with all children on 24th December?”
“Ohhhh…. Yes! Of course! Yes, you came to France didn’t you. Sorry Santa..”
I needn’t have worried. Both girls were howling in horror at Santa. DaddyM was trying to stop them running out the door. And I was sitting at Santa’s feet ready to smile for the photographer.
And so it was, that I was the only person in the family photo shoot with Santa…
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Calamitous Mummy 