Amusement I didn't raise no elf

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Amusement Words from Your Birth Year

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Sep 25, 2014
Or is it a leprechaun.

Except it seems I did.

Sprog's seasonal job, working the carriages on a Santa train in E Lancashire.

The one on the far left.

'Do we believe in Father Christmas?' she asks the children.

'Yes', they shout happily.

'NO,' shouts one woman. 'Load of shit.'

Children look downcast.

'Well you're on the naughty list anyway', says sprog, 'so it doesn't matter what you say about Santa.'

Ahhh for the SPIRIT of Christmas...

Krampus lurking for the the loo.....

Ariane at work.jpg
I applaud the woman. I'm deeply uncomfortable with the lies I tell my children.

Ten minutes ago...

"Daddy, Daddy, and the tooth fairy, is she real too?"

"Why yes, of course."

"What does she do with all the teeth?"

"Well, she uses them to build fairy houses."

"Really? So, so, all the fairy houses are made of teeth?"

"That's right."

And tomorrow, when he makes his little brother cry and then denies it, I'll tell him off for lying.


Philip Pullman has said (here and in other places) that he is opposed to the sentimental view of childhood. I rather think he has a point. But my kids will still leave out the brandy and mince pies for Santa this year.

#fakenews #confusedparent #whydontkidscomewithmanuals
So am I @Rich. , but my older ones say that it was magic and wouldn't change a thing. And when they found out, they never thought of it as being "lies", they just loved that we would have held that space and bubble of mystery and delight for them to believe in. Christmas was and is magic and, sure, it's all a bit of fun anyway :)

#enjoychristmaswhiletheyaresmallbecauseapartfromtheexpenseastheygetoldertheemotionalandmentalsomersaultsyouhavetoaccomplishisapaininthearseandyouwillfindteensareworsethantoddlersattimes...waaaaahhhhhh !!!

(^^^things no parent of toddlers want to hear, I know, I know)
They're not lies though, but metaphors or poetic truths. The stuff we are dealing with. Our stock in trade. The lady wasn't on an ordinary train. She opted in. I wouldn't go into a church to yell there was no God. It's a matter of yes...just holding a space that says I don't know everything, nor do I always know best, about anything.
It 's a complicated can of worms. What are poor children to think who don't get anything and they weren't naughty. Well, who would like them to believe there are no miracles possible in life? Father Christmas came to see us at primary school. I sat on his knee and I was almost sure it was Mr Hutchinson the caretaker.
But not 100%....just that little bit of room to wonder.

I used to tell mine Santa was the spirit of Christmas, a bright star, the wonder of a new baby and goodwill to all men.

But we still put little mince pies out for the reindeer.

Who always ATE them by next morning o_O
Fairies, Santa, imaginary friends, angels, unexplainables... they are all a series of fluid "wonderings" in our house, all mystery and wonder and possibility. We don't delve too deeply into it all, giving it a wide enough berth to allow it to *be*, definitely poetic and metaphoric, lol :)

I would like to know, though, who the heck puts those giant sooty footprints beside the stove every year, and yes, eats the mincepies and drinks the whiskey too...
#enjoychristmaswhiletheyaresmallbecauseapartfromtheexpenseastheygetoldertheemotionalandmentalsomersaultsyouhavetoaccomplishisapaininthearseandyouwillfindteensareworsethantoddlersattimes...waaaaahhhhhh !!!
#thanksforthat #bracedforimpact

I've been told by those more experienced than me that the details change but the parental angst never diminishes. So that's a happy thought. :)

They're not lies though, but metaphors or poetic truths. The stuff we are dealing with. Our stock in trade. The lady wasn't on an ordinary train. She opted in. I wouldn't go into a church to yell there was no God. It's a matter of yes...just holding a space that says I don't know everything, nor do I always know best, about anything.
I wouldn't either, the train thing or the church. But the thought makes me laugh even as it makes me cringe. Feeling uncomfortable while laughing, offended as one giggles, aren't these the stuff that satire is made of?

And may I (with a twinkle in my eye and magic at my fingertips) remind you that my chosen genre to write in is fantasy? ;):)

But all joking aside, I know nothing at all, which is why being a dad is so frightening. And so wonderful.
As someone who was told by a teacher that Santa, the Easter Bunny and all the rest aren't real, I would have happily enjoyed the fantasy for a few more years until I eventually cottoned on. #keepthemagicalive
Speaking as one who donned the superhero costume of Father Christmas, I noticed a number of comforting and slightly disturbing things about how people viewed me.

I was asked to become Santa, as the man who normally did it at the community centre I helped to run had recently undergone knee surgery and picked up an MRSA while in hospital. I hadn't realised that I was sufficiently aged, portly or trustworthy to play Father Christmas, but apparently it was so. The community centre hosted a kindergarten, so I'd be entertaining the toddlers there, as well as occupying a grotto created in a capacious school hall. I agreed to visit another playschool at Looe, six miles away.

To add to the realism of my appearance, I bought a pair of round-lensed spectacles at a charity shop for 50p, which showed me that I really needed reading glasses, as print suddenly jumped into focus. The red and white costume was in man-made fibre and rather warm to wear with ordinary clothing underneath. To add to my discomfort, I wore the tickly cotton wool clip-on beard, as my own facial hair wasn't bushy or white enough. A pillow stuffed under the jacket gave me a trustworthy belly. I clumped around in black Wellingtons.

The school hall was always rather cold, but the caretaker adjusted the heating bringing the temperature up to 80F. Sitting in my grotto wearing that getup, I started to get rather hot. I had the thought of how strange it was that we caution our children not to talk to strangers or take gifts from them, but that's exactly what we encourage once a year with Santa. Some toddlers were delighted to see me, and I was handing out gifts which helped, but others were plainly terrified crying their eyes out and ignoring their parents' pleas to approach me. I'm not surprised, as I was starting to look like pervy Santa with my glasses steaming up!

Child protection laws meant that I wasn't supposed to have children sit on my lap, though many tried to. Also, parents weren't supposed to take photographs, not without completing permission forms, but try stopping them.

Visiting the playschool on the coast, I drove my banger of a Ford Mondeo down winding lanes, getting many a cheery wave from other motorists. The same thing happened as I walked from the car-park to the playschool, with people stopping to shake my hand and pose for photographs. At least, I didn't make any adults cry!

To my great surprise, several women appeared to be turned on by Father Christmas, giving me their phone numbers and email addresses.

The whole experience made me realise the truth of the assertion that, "With great power comes great responsibility", for in imitating a legendary figure I represented all of the traits of Father Christmas...his hard work, generosity and good humour.



  • christmaspaul.jpg
    27.7 KB · Views: 0 IS funny. I mostly find bad behaviour funny. Unless there's malice. The lady 'brought' it and the sprog responded in kind. I shared it because I thought it was quite funny, and then the conversation went a diff direction.

What a rubbish teacher, @Nmlee Lumpen use of language. March hares aren't real either, are they not? Nature IS the magic and seasons have their reasons and Santa, if you are not coming from a theological perspective, is a symbol for a solstice and a season. Some crave space to move in, some crave boundaries to feel in control of and then other people have to agree those boundaries too. It's easier to close things down, isn't it? Much more demanding of nervous and intellectual energy, leaving doors ajar, and some go -slam! All tidy now!

I'll never applaud it, though I thought it was a funny exchange, in the instance of the train, and one understands it might sometimes proceed from a place of personal sadness and disappointment. is scary. They're people and a person is a world entire. Does it get less scary? Well, it's ghastly, the times you can't protect them, and fledging is the ciritical time, I found, almost more than the teens. But they rise more and more into their own unique strength, hopefully, and that's what a parent can try and help them to do. I love the word encourage. En- courage. To strengthen their arm and feed their courage.

Mine are 32 and 23. The one who didn't make it would now be 25. It's hard to believe that sometimes, never mind totally real Easter bunnies :)
We will be judged by our children and no matter what you do @Rich. and you are clearly an utterly devoted parent, sometime you will get it WRONG. You will either be feeble and inadequate or the bully baddie, and that'll essentially be the choice, oh joy.

I have got it wrong. You bet. Every parent gets it wrong sometime; that's our place, in the wrong, no shirking it, and when they're older, maybe they'll forgive us for the times we didn't get it right, because they can now see, as they couldn't when they were little, we're people too, and if we're lucky, and because we love them so much, and they know it, they'll decide they actually like these people they are now looking at with adult eyes.
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She is quite elfy....bit of IBS now and then. She had an acting job as Tinkerbelle the other week, in Lancaster, traipsing through the city centre in a green flouncy dress, green shoes and a group of druggy men (her description) asked her, are you broccoli?

F*ck off! said Tinkerbelle.

But broccoli is quite healthy. Elfy.
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Amusement Words from Your Birth Year