The Twelve Stages Of Christmas

Last Updated on Saturday, 20 March 2010 17:28 Written by Administrator

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A Fathers Perspective

As a father of young children, my Christmases have changed unrecognisably in the last few years. Not much of a revelation that, perhaps, but it has only just dawned on me, now that I have three little ‘angels’.

In fact I really can’t remember what I did before children. I have a feeling that it involved pleasing myself, pretty much, and of course travelling home to my parents for doses of I-now-remember-why-I-couldn’t-possibly-live-at-home-with-these-people-anymore family interaction.

There are some distinct stages to a Father’s Festive process:

One. Time off Work

Ah yes. This always appears (especially a couple of months before, in anticipation) as a wonderful thing. A period of quiet rest and relaxation. ‘Quality’ family time, if you will.

It’s not really like that, of course, but nevertheless it appears so from a distance. It’s amazing how the illusion doesn’t shatter, right up to the last minute.

Two. Planning Presents

Well, I have to confess, in common with most men I seem to know, to loathe all forms of shopping that are not for me, and to tolerate anything that actually is. I cannot say that I ever ‘like’ shopping. (I did remind myself of this fact with a trip to Ikea recently. Even in mid afternoon on a weekday it was purgatory.) Thank goodness pretty much everything (that I care for) is available from the comfort of a PC’s browser these days.

I know, I know, I really “should” spend a few days trawling around a shopping centre listening to canned music and feeding the kids artificially sweetened lard, but I just can’t do it without sulking for days. Sorry. Call it a genetic weakness.

The ritual of seeing Santa in his grotto (at our school, as it happens) is something that I had forgotten all about until recent years. Fortunately, Hollywood has solved the problem for us, of why there are so many different Santas around just before Christmas and why some of them appear to be a teacher or ‘someone’s Dad in a wig’.

(Apparently they are all ‘helpers’ and there’s only one real one. Phew! )

Three. Wrapping

Wrapping paper. Hmm. Not much positive to say here. In an age where women wrappers have set the standards to which we must aspire (do they actually iron the paper once it’s on the present, I wonder?), I conform to the ‘massed ball of paper’ wrapping technique. True, I do use rather more than is strictly needed, but it does have the great advantage that since no-one’s wrapping is quite like mine, I don’t have to write who it’s from on any of them. In fact the kids can easily pick out ‘the one that Daddy wrapped’. (It may also be because there aren’t very many, of course.) When in doubt, I use excessive tape and this prolongs the unwrapping, more of which later.

Anyway, I am quite convinced that men are not designed for wrapping. We just don’t see how you can have pride in it, just to have someone rip it all up in seconds (unless you have taken the ‘excessive tape’ precautions, that is).

Four. The Tree

Ah yes. Now this bit I do enjoy, as it happens. Actually getting the thing from our local garden centre is a great trip. It can perhaps be a little undermined if the children spot the ‘Santa’s train’ ride and yearn (noisily and incessantly) for a go. But the act of sourcing and then putting up a tree is wonderful. I’m not sure that the half an hour in the garden sawing off the base is always excellent, especially if the weather’s a bit off, but it’s one of those little steps that makes it all worthwhile.

However, in the last few years witnessing little eyes on a new tree, clichéd as it is, is as wonderful a thing as I ever see. Some days I even think I’ll let the kids stay in the house until they grow up!

Wears off in the morning, of course

Five. Eating

Much has recently been written about the fact that by 2050 half of the UK population will be obese. So eating your bodyweight in high calorie roast turkey with all the trimmings will have a rather hollower feel this Christmas. Such is the campaign’s visibility that even people with no weight issue at all (which I am lucky enough to be) are having animated discussion about it. Worse, I have even been caught up in all-male-in-the-office conversations on the topic of what we eat and how much. Good grief. Are the Sticky Toffee Pudding, Jam Roly Poly and Spotted Dick endangered?

I doubt they can kill off Christmas pudding, fortunately. Especially since it indulges any father’s natural aptitude for pyromania. I reserve my right to play with fire at every opportunity. Food is fair game.

Six. Drinking

It’s great to see the press presently tying themselves in knots over how many units of alcohol you really should drink to be safe. Apparently the weekly guidance numbers were pretty much ‘made up’ and personal disposition to disease/ genetic makeup is a far larger factor. In fact one report suggests that until you drink 62 units of alcohol a week you have no greater risk of damaging yourself than a teetotaller, and 20-30 units a week improve your health.

It’s also reassuring, though perhaps not exactly shocking, that in Australia they allow 35 units as ‘safe’ whilst in the UK its 21 (for men. This month.). Indeed every country not only has a different way of measuring it, they also have different guidance levels.

In the midst of this confusion there is only one sensible course of action. *Hic.*

I actually really like mulled wine and so Christmas is super for indulging that little pleasure.

Seven. Unwrapping

I have found that a tightly wrapped present, for example the sort that has far too much sellotape and takes an age (and possibly some scissors) to release can be an absolute godsend with toddling infants. They seem to delight in taking the paper off, usually moving straight past the contents to the next wrapper.
Simple fun and very economical. If only I could find a way of patenting it.

Sadly, as I have multiple offspring, the little one’s older siblings have already moved well past the what-a-fascinating-piece-of-paper-this-is and so shatter the illusion straight away by asking what the present actually is.

Hmmm. Maybe they’ll have to be forced to unwrap things in isolation this year.

Eight. Electronic Toys

..should be banned.

I mean, they have banned smoking and are doing a thoroughly good job of putting us off eating and drinking, but honestly, the aggravation effect of the same tune running for six or seven hours is extreme. And it’s not just any tune of course, it’s played at high volume through a speaker the size of your fingernail, so sounds like a strained cat.

The worst we have had so far was a horse. Not an entire horse, just a head on a stick. A fluffy sort of a head that neighed when you pressed it (can’t recall where exactly). It was ‘mislaid’ by Daddy in a wardrobe until forgotten. Call it a mercy killing!

Mind you, phones that ‘ring’ and talking books that stay running for hours on end, as well as keyboards that play themselves are on my list too (what do the factory workers in Guangdong province think we actually do with all these fake phones, for goodness sake?).

I feel I can be grumpy about some things. It’s a father’s prerogative.

I’d almost prefer a drum kit to electronic toys.
Almost.

I should point out that proper games consoles are absolutely not in this category. They are one of life’s essentials.

Nine. Building

Now building things around the house and leaving them part-finished is a man’s prerogative, indeed birthright. Having a rolling programme of house and garden schemes that never end is a natural state, in my view. Semi-finished projects are a natural brake to the commencement of further schemes, so serve a definite purpose.

But children do not respond to this unassailable logic. They want their toys (which always seem to be labelled as suitable for children two years older than they currently are) built right now!

(As a side note, I do wonder whether anyone has a child that isn’t some sort of prodigy. Plainly mine must be as grandparents always claim that “they’ll be fine with it. Honestly it’s labelled for a five year old, but she is soo advanced these days.” It’s a bit like he’ll-grow-into-it clothing.

It’s nonsense and destined to demand hours of interaction from Daddy who “really does enjoy jigsaws. Honest”.

I defy anyone to tell me that spending three and a half hours building a Playmobil Pirate ship (complete with requisite 267 small parts) is quality time. Half an hour’s building, even perhaps stretching to an hour is admissible if little cherubs are maintaining an interest and Daddy has had a glass of something ‘to keep out the cold’. But after an hour or so, I have found myself to be all alone building on a deserted kitchen table whilst the action has moved elsewhere. Periodically, though, a small face will appear and enquire with increasing impatience as to ‘why it isn’t finished yet?’. There is no greater motivator of male pride than the implied failure of not being able to complete something as trivial as a child’s toy.

Tip: Playmobil Pirate ship isn’t actually a child’s toy, it is far more sinister.
Best avoided. Bit like flat packed furniture.

Ten. Feeling Terrible

I call this the my-blood-feels-like-lead stage after overindulgence. It’s more debilitating than a plain hangover as it lasts longer. A few days of not eating and drinking like a horse fixes it, as does some good solid exercise (I tend to run) but however you get rid of it, it’s a natural part of the festive cycle.

Eleven. Repeating the whole process

As it happens, we have a Scandinavian side to the family (my in-laws). Tradition there says that we celebrate on Christmas Eve. The upshot of this is that we actually end up with two Christmases on consecutive days. For children this is quite marvellous, I am sure. For me, it’s certainly ..erm.. interesting. But then I don’t mind the presents either, really.. and if I actually do need some socks this Christmas.

One little tradition we have started now is to host grandparents at our home. It comes with time and ageing relatives. It makes for a hugely busy day (and when things are burning and kids are overstimulated and tetchy it has its “did we volunteer for this?” moments) but the kids have the freedom to play with the new presents and then we get to chill out at home, which is great.