School play season...

My boy’s school play took place last week.
I had it written in the calendar, which is hidden behind the mountain of important letters, which are pinned behind the funny postcards on the notice board in our kitchen. How could I possibly have missed it?
On Wednesday morning my youngest son asked me where his ox costume was, that the school play started in an hour and he would much prefer to just wear it in instead of his school uniform.
I know that I promised that child that I would fashion him an ox costume, I remember nodding as he described how it should look, however the manifestation and materialisation of promises department in my brain let me down badly.
I stood and nodded again as the boy told me how nervous he was about his big performance and tried not to let him see me hyperventilate as he impressed upon me the need for a really good costume, not one fashioned from something stupid like, I don’t know, plastic bags. The boy may well have psychic abilities.
Now, I know how important these things are for any kid’s school cred and I also know that this express costume challenge is payback for the predicament I left my own mother on many a December morning back in the day.
In fairness my own mother was slightly less flamboyant in her Christmas play costume design. There was no faux fur or silky material wasted on us. Regardless of what role I was playing she fashioned my outfit from those striped flannelette bed sheets that were all the rage with Northern Irish housewives in the 60s.
‘You’re a donkey eh? Well you’re a donkey of the faded bed sheet variety that is common in Peru.
‘You’re a little star? Where are those bed sheets? You can be a washed out bed sheet star and we’ll give you a belt make from tinsel, that’s Christmassy eh?’
I suppose she had to get it spot on once, the year I was a shepherd. Well, everyone knows that the standard issue shepherd’s uniform consists of faded stripy bed sheet and tasselled tieback from the living room curtains.
I vowed to spare my son from rushed and ill-thought out Christmas play costume humiliation.
So I sent the boy upstairs to get in the zone and spent the next 30 minutes running around the house picking things up and putting them down, throwing stuff overhead out of cupboards and muttering maniacally.
Despite being half country girl (mum from Donegal) my eyes have never once gazed upon an ox of any description. Do they even exist in Ireland? Where do the teachers get these wacky ideas?
Yes. Well, apparently the Bible.
A quick search on Google revealed that the ox was, in fact, the main man to keep Baby Jesus warm in the Manger. All thoughts of using that Scooby Doo Halloween costume went straight out of my head. A giant, talking dog just wouldn’t have fitted in among all those deeply religious men that bore witness to the birth of Christ. This was a serious role and demanded a serious costume.
I decided that Caolan’s interpretation of this blessed ox would look shockingly like the sandy coloured fluffy faux fur throws I bought last week in a well-known fabric and furniture store to cover my sofa.
I sewed those throws like my life, and the reputation of my boy as a serious actor, depended on it. While Caolan got himself into the role I fashioned the best dog-gone ox costume I, or anyone else whose eyes fell upon it, had ever seen. We’re talking BBC props department stuff here. In fact I’d say there were a few parents in the front row on the day of the play feeling more than a little nervous about the inclusion of an actual live ox in the proceedings. It was that good.
My older son played an inn-keeper. Everyone knows inn-keepers circa 1AD sported washed out stripy bed sheets, much like their sheep shepherding pals. Daniel added to the effect by drawing a big bushy beard and elaborate curly moustache, using a permanent black pen. And, surprisingly, it was a good look for the boy. Good job too because it’ll be weeks before it comes off.
Daniel might just be the man to bring drawn on facial hair back into fashion in primary school age kids. You mark my words 2011 will be the year of the fake beard.