Santaphobic no more....

There hasn’t really been much chat about Santa in our house over the last few weeks until the weekend. Then bam! – out come the catalogues. Bam! – foot long lists. Bam! – Santa may put his head between his legs and kiss his ass goodbye because he is either going bankrupt or he’s going to have to organise a huge overdraft facility with the nice people at the bank (Hi there Brid!).
We had PSPs, Ninetento DS’, Lightning McQueen DVD and TV sets, expresso machines, ice-cream makers, wide-screen TVs, vacuum cleaners with personalities and stupid names like Henrietta. I was half way down the list before I realised the kids had been consulting the Curry’s catalogue instead of the usual Argos one. If I hadn’t have rectified the situation Santa’s sleigh would have groaning under the weight of several tons of electrical equipment with smiley faces and a ridiculous amount of pointless white kitchen goods.
I remember the days when our two boys were severely Santaphobic. Every year my comedy shopping mall Santa photographs take pride of place on the mantelpiece alongside the nativity scene. I have several good shots of Daniel’s tonsils, one of Santa trying to flee from a raging Caolan, two or three of the husband and I sitting alongside Santa, smiling pathetically whilst trying to restrain a child and one of Santa holding his face after Caolan clawed his skin while trying to make good an escape over his shoulder and out the window.
The past few years have been a little better. The photos a tad more civilised – no assaults, no screaming, no drama.
They now know that the big man in the red suit really is a good guy. Yes he’s a strange and mysterious bearded man who breaks into our house in the middle of the night. Yes he sneaks around and eats our food but hey, he also leaves some really good stuff.
And this year Caolan, our middle son – the one who loved to run into walls with the wash basket on his head and breaks everything he touches – will actually star as Santa in the school play. This is a big thing for us. Since the child has only been in the school for four months I’m not sure they actually know what they’ve gotten themselves into. I suggest that the front row wear crash helmets and St John’s ambulance are on standby. Also I shall request a few extra fire extinguishers be available, or maybe I might call ahead to the fire station and tell them that the school will probably be on fire at around 10.15am next Wednesday.
After what was probably the worst year in living Breslin family history this Christmas will be a strange one but we’ll make the very best of it for our kids.
All the family will be here. My husband and I will fall out over who makes the best stuffing, my sister and brothers will drink too much home-made mulled wine and have to retire conveniently early before the dishes are done. We’ll all wear stupid party hats and fight over the remote control. The kids will scream, we will shout, but we shall be thankful for our blessings – for our beautiful and wonderful family, the great times we shared with our Dad over the years, and the good times that are still to come for us, for our health and the love we all have for each other.