Santa stories

Ok it’s that time of year again when we cannot avoid mentioning the man in the big red coat and hair all white.

Yes that right a week today Santa will be coming to visit us all.

Now I love Christmas but with two teenagers and two pre-teens the magical essence is beginning to wear off slightly.

In fact the horrible creatures are actually spoiling it for me.

It seems its uncool to sing carols anymore.

It is super uncool to wear tinsel in your hair and when I suggested a visit to Santa’s grotto they pretty much wet themselves. Did I mention they were horrid children!

So it’s back to my memories I go to my very first Santa visit with my first born. To be honest she was only 6 months old and I may have been just a little presumptuous taking her but visiting the local city and checking out the fantastic grottos of John Lewis and Rackhems. I had some of my most special childhood memories made there and of course like any loving mother ( yeah I know sick bucket required) I was desperate for my child to feel that magic and have wonderful memories of their own.


So there he was Santa dressed in all his Christmas finery open armed to receive on to his lap this beautiful chubby six month old angel. He is holding her close posing for the perfect photo, all the parents in line gushing about how cute she looks when disaster strikes, that cute adorable little girl takes hold of Santa’s beard and with a vice like grip yanks that beard with all her might. Letting the whole world, ok maybe just the line of waiting children know that Santa is in fact a clean shaved twenty something year old.

Oh my the shame, the tears, the tears. A line of children sobbing into their parents arms “Santa isn’t real” “Santa isn’t old”, “mommy that isn’t “Santa”.

It was certainly one of those moments when you want the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

I also wish the whole episode ended there but the adorable six month angel/devil refused to let go of Santa’s beard for at least 5 minutes more and eventually had to be bribed with chocolate buttons (bad mother i know)

And as she reached for those buttons I’m ashamed to say she did so with a handful of white pretend beard hair.

Oh the joys of parenthood.

Anyway please tell me I’m not the only one who has experience grotto nightmares.

I mean two years ago my youngest when asked by Santa what she wanted for Christmas replied “you know what Santa I don’t think you are real but my friends and I are going to play along for our moms ok”.

My 2nd oldest once informed the man in the red coat she was just covering all the bases. And that she had also asked Santa for something that wasn’t on her list, if she got it then she would know he was real if not oh well.

The joys of Christmas

As for dodgy looking Santa’s check my hubby stepping in to play the role when our own Father Christmas got stuck in a snow drift.


I love Christmas

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