The Dark Side of Christmas

Christmas, that day when that plump old man in the red suit has flown around the world, putting smiles on the faces of kids far and wide; and some adults too. It’s the fairytale day, before-which parents anticipate their child(ren)'s beaming face from the minute they catch a glimpse of what is under the tree. They’ll scream with glee as they unwrap each present, they’ll sit and play lovingly as they choose which will accompany them to dinner, and they’ll regale interested family members of the wonders that arrived that day. It's much more than a mere day too; it’s a magical period. The excitement of the buildup, the decorations, the advent calendar, the Christmas films, the enchanting trips to Santa, Elf on the Shelf, and plenty more besides. As a father of two girls under five however, I’m here to say that it is not all as it seems; because of what I like to call… the dark side of Christmas.

Let’s go back to the beginning of the holidays, as the decorations are stuck up, hung, and placed around the house. The girls will put out a dec or two from the few that my Christmas time OCD wife allows them; following such they’ll be running around and getting under our feet as we put the lights around the tree. Then the inevitable crash will sound from behind us, meaning that one or two baubles will not be making it. Then our littlest girl will turn her attention to the model village, threatening to break the trees off or halt the moving train, while the little girl will play with the singing Santa so much, I’ll want to throttle the big man himself. Unavoidably, halfway through, they’ll get bored and want us to stop, usually at the most inopportune moment, to play games. Theres’s always bedtime to finish it off, though.

Then there is the advent calendar; harmless, right? Well, not quite. This is a tradition that traces back to Germany in the 1900s, where one door, flap, button or whatever else is opened per day; corresponding to whatever day we find ourselves in within December. Try explaining that to two young girls though, particularly a three year old experiencing it with understanding for the first time (or at least the understanding that behind the doors is chocolate!). Both ask for extra in the morning (which sometimes leads to them partaking in more tooth-rotting treats before 8am) and the youngest will pick it up and bring it to me multiple times a day; often when I’m trying to get on with some work or important house task!

Now picture the scene. You walk through log doors full of warmth, to a large fellow, beard of white, waiting with a smile on his face; smirking elves stand either side of him and soft Christmas music plays in the background as the children walk in; awe on their face. Not quite, in our experience. They run around like dogs ready for a walk, when you can’t keep them still long enough to get the lead on; and getting a picture once they’re still can only be compared to scraping through ice with a spoon (you’ll get there eventually, but you’ll be exhausted by the end of it). Following this, the five-year-old will ask the question that will make you want the floor to open up, “do you have any presents for me?” it isn’t just now that they’re older either: the eldest puked all over Santa’s grotto and put it out of commission for three hours during her first ever visit, while on her only previous trip (COVID derailed her first chance), the littlest girl ran straight out of the room.

Christmas films provide some of the most wholesome experiences, right? The family sat, covered up on a winter’s night, watching their pick of light-hearted entertainment. Not over here. The film will have been on all-but 10 minutes before the littlest is up and about the place, emptying every toy in sight. OK, at three, I would hardly expect her to sit through the whole thing; but 10 minutes? And does she have to make the room look as though a bomb has hit it? Five minutes later, the little girl is asking for her tablet to watch something stupid on YouTube (OK, this is almost all our fault), leaving me and the Mrs watching it alone, albeit not in the intimate atmosphere that we used to. That’s if the five-year-old doesn’t have us playing one of the games she’s made up, or filming her for her fake YouTube channel (she’s not quite ready for a real one in our humble opinion, much to her disdain).

Elf on the Shelf is something that I start to get excited about (or at least eagerly anticipate) at the start of November. For those that don’t know (how is that even possible?), Elf on the Shelf is a relatively new Christmas convention that starts on the 1st December each year, whereby an elf puppet ‘visits’ children in the night and plays tricks, sends massages, and brings presents. I always promise myself I am going to come up with 24 ideas for the elves beforehand (they go back to the North Pole on Christmas day), but I tend to get sidetracked and that never happens. Typical examples of what the elf gets up to include toilet roll around the Christmas tree, spreading peas around the toys and spelling out ‘I pead myself’ and flour snow angels, but coming up with 24 can be trying, especially when things get more tiresome towards the big day. Although the most frustrating thing is when the elf buys the children a toy, and they complain because they have not done anything funny!

On to the captivating day itself, which is certainly as described in the first paragraph, for around five minutes. Their joy is clear as they run towards the tree, without even spotting Santa’s footprints in caster sugar on the floor (we were out of flour, thanks to the elf!). Big sister will take charge, grabbing one gift for herself then one for her sister (so far, so good), and they each get about unwrapping; which is where their paths diverge. The eldest, having barely taken a second glance at the one she’s just opened, will be on to the next one without even looking at the tag, while the youngest will immediately ask us to open the box, ignoring the rest of their gifts. Because of this, eventually, the five-year-old begins to start unwrapping her sister’s gifts and shoving them at her in an animated fashion. We spend half the morning trying to slow one down as we attempt to set the other one up with whatever they have.

Once all is said and done, and we have more paper than floor (despite my best efforts to organise it into piles), it’s play time. Oh, but not for mummy and daddy; no, we spend half the time building the little presents they’ve received (and worse, sticking the copious amounts of stickers onto them). This is after spending half of Christmas eve building the big present once they’re in bed (this year, a Barbie Dreamhouse), and organising the gifts with the military-like precision that the wife demands. They don’t just play with the one toy either, they bounce from one to another; leaving so many boxes on the floor to replace the paper we’d just cleared up. Then when it comes to going out, they’ve picked up a suitcase-full of toys to take with them and have to be talked out of bringing many of them. There is still far too many to almost fit into a room filled with the dining room table moved to accommodate the amount of guests at nana’s house, though (it takes a village, after all)! Don’t get me started on the effort that goes into getting them ready either (it’s hard enough when they’ve not got a plethora of new toys scattered around them!).

As they get there, the excitement takes hold of the terrible twosome and we can’t keep hold of them for any longer than half ‘n’ hour to eat their tea. They exhume so much energy they get grouchy and develop such an attitude towards the end of the day (especially the three-year-old), before almost kicking off when it’s time to go home and get in bed. No matter what, though; when it’s done and we bring in the new year, it’s generally only the better memories that remain. Especially when you look at all of the posts on Facebook.

By Calum Dewsbury