Meditations on a festive theme

Hermaphrodite Mum
Three kids and a single mum

My children still believe in Father Christmas - even the eldest one, aged 12. It amazes me that I have managed to hoodwink them this long, without inadvertently spilling the beans. To be honest, it's killing me. I just want to shout: "HE DOESN'T EXIST!" It's me - my darlings - your dear, old mama, who excels in wish-fulfilment. 

When to put up the tree?

But, of course, I can't. There is magic and excitement to be maintained. If I told them it was Mummy filling their stockings each year, their little eyes would roll over with disappointment and ennui. 

Instead, I adopt the psychology of a serial adulterer, secretly hoping to be found out one day. I use the same wrapping paper for the stockings fillers as I do for the 'main' presents around the tree, in the hope that they will rumble me. I even leave price labels on sometimes. Last year, Middle Child idly remarked, "Oh look, Father Christmas shops at John Lewis. Isn't that funny?"

Friendship 'trumps' politics

Many of us will remember where we were last Wednesday. The day a borderline racist and a man who thinks nothing of mocking the disabled became the leader of the free world. I actually cried in my kitchen when I heard that Donald J. Trump would become the next president of the United States.

Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with our American friends

These seismic events were all the more poignant because one of my dearest friends - an American - happened to be staying with us at the time, along with her two children. We all struggled to comprehend that Trump was to succeed President Obama, a man who by contrast exemplifies everything that is great about America.