Christmas is coming. Of course, as in many households, it’s been coming for months. Mum, can Santa get me this, can Santa get me that? The fridge is covered in notes – in everyone’s handwriting – of what Santa can bring. It’s as if Santa only delivers to our house.
I sit them down on the couch. “Girls, I’m going to ask each of you what you would like Santa to bring. This is it. The definitive list, OK?”
They nod solemnly. I realise they probably don’t know what solemnly means but are too overwhelmed by the apparent gravitas of the situation to dare ask. They probably don’t know what gravitas means either.
Chaos soon descends. I can’t keep up with the requests being fired at me. Fights break out; competitive claims and counter claims over who can ask for the most, the biggest, the trendiest, the sparkliest, the most wanted. “But I’ve always wanted one of those, for my whole life”, “well I asked first”, “but Sara has one and I already told her I was getting one from Santa”, “well I’ve already written to Santa”, “well I’ve been the goodest”.
I give up.
Today when I pick them up from school, they had had a music day.
“Mum, can Santa bring me a rock drum kit?”
“Mum, can Santa bring me a harp?”
“Mum, can Santa bring me a tuba?”
The mum of one of the girls’ friends who is walking just in front of us and must have overheard, turns and offers me her phone, “It’s Santa, he says he’s out of musical instruments – he’s happy to speak to him if you want to.”
“Agh is he, what a shame,” I say. “Tell him thanks very much for letting me know, I’ll contact him as soon as the list is finalised.”
The girls’ jaws are dragging on the floor. For four seconds there is complete silence. Then a three voice chorus of;
“Mum, can Santa bring me….”
Triple Trouble Tribe 