A Very (Cute) Important Star That Stands On The Stage

In good old Blighty (the UK)....

<Stands>

... Odds are, if you have a terror child in reception (first year of primary school) they will be doing The Nativity.

The Nativity being the story of Christmas three kings geohashing the housing shortage of 0BC/0AD Bethlehem the birth of Christ. 

Great story, happy ending, especially like all the animals lowing.

I did The Nativity when I was young, so did Mrs. Amazing.

Team Parents ooo'ed and ahhh'ed and wept (not me) at Boy8's nativity.

Today it was Miss4's turn.

Whether or not you agree with schools doing the Nativity doesn't matter for now. It doesn't.

Just ignore any religious leanings you have for this tale. Pop it to the side for a few minutes. You can pick it back up on your way out. Please make sure you remember where you left it though, and make sure you don't grab anyone else's. We had a few people do that last time... it got shouty... very quickly...

I normally leave a little light sabre with my name on next to mine.

But if the Nativity was removed... What would you replace it with?

Really. If you ditch the Nativity from schools, what do you replace it with?

There is a very clear, and serious need for a simple, well known, play to be done by four to five year old's, near Christmas time. 

Parents, IMHO, need it badly, to keep us going. It's like a quick reminder of what all the hard work is for. Basically... Cuteness.

And the Nativity fits that bills pretty darn well. It's short, well know, and has a few good numbers attached to it.

The only other story / play that even comes close, that I can think of, is 'The Muppets Christmas Carol'.

Think about it. 

Agree? Yes of course you do. It's Muppeting brilliant.

It was written by Dickens and it's got Michael Caine in it!!! MICHAEL BLOODY CAINE!

What more do you want?

'You were only meant to blow the bloody stable doors off!'

It would be the perfect replacement, as any Muppet could tell you.

(Michael is unhappy to be caught on camera getting Kermit's autograph...)

Anyhoo... back to Miss4...

Miss4 was 'Very important star that stands on the stage'.

She was one of three.

She didn't have any lines or anything. Lines went to children that had shown clear Thespian abilities already at school (I guess). You gotta remember we are talking about children aged 4-5. You find one that can talk loud and clear in front of a lot of adults, without crying, or wetting themselves, you stick them centre stage and give them all the lines you can. Singing skill doesn't really matter.

At that age they all sound utter crap cute anyway.

Each child got chose their role.

Miss4 went with Star. Miss4's mate choose Sheep. Both were cute as.

I would guess that key roles were 'presented' to the more talented children and the more background roles were suggested to the less talented. But considering there were three Marys, a few Josephs and a surprising large amount of donkey / camels. I don't think there was a hard limit.

Everyone got to be what they wanted to be (within reason, no Hulks, or Lady Death Strikes).

Which is a good thing.

HOWEVER...

Did you know this would be the only primary school Nativity Miss4 does?

Coz I bloody didn't. Nor did another Dad I spoke to. 

And if he didn't know, then I am absolved also. They need to make a point of telling Dads this stuff, they really do.

How has this information passed me by?

How did I not get this when Boy8 did his Nativity. I took time off work and attended. But no one said 'Make the most of it, it's all you get'.

Had that been the case... well... I wouldn't have done that much different. I would have still been there. I still would have still giggled all the way through. But maybe I would have engaged Brainzilla a bit better, put the old girl firmly in 'LIFE MEMORIES' mode. Really absorb the situation and drama.

I think I'm more shocked I didn't know.

'Can you take the Xth off for Miss4's nativity?'

Done and done!

'Oh! You've already done it?'

No... But I will

'Oh. Good'

Do I need to take time off for Boy8's nativity?

'He's eight!'

Are they doing Scrooged (starring Bill Murray) instead?

<Crosses fingers>

So?

'He doesn't do a nativity'

But he was so cute as a star! <Weeps a little>

'Was...' <Gives me knowing look>

True...

What?

Boy 8 is too old for cute? Shows over, he's over the hill, no one wants to see eight year old's doing the nativity because that would be crap? Really? Seems a bit harsh. He's got some cute in there I am sure somewhere deep, deep down, under all the attitude and ganglyness.

Four or five only. Full stop. 

Bouncer (?): 'Sorry mate, you're too old'

Bouncer: 'It's project based assemblies for you...'

'Noooooo!!!'

(Can stop you entering a club...)

Who decided that?

I was looking forward to Boy8 walking on stage dressed in a stupid star costume. Or as a donkey again. It would have really made me smile and mock him.

Miss4's Nativity started at 9:30.

My plan was to get there at 9:25. Five minutes is plenty of time to get a seat. Or so I thought.

Mrs. Amazing's plan was to start queueing up for the Nativity at 8:45. Just after we dropped Miss4 off.

Guess who was very wrong, and hadn't thought it through to the nth degree?

You wanna get there when?

'Straight after we drop Miss4 off, to queue!'

TO QUEUE! For a NATIVITY?... Queue for thirty minutes? Really?

'Yes, so we get good seats'

OK... Which are the 'good' seats then?

'Centre aisle, near the front, best for photos'

Sounds a bit nuts

Is this one of those moments where I should shut up and just agree with you?

'If you want to live, yes'

'As opposed to... When? <Does very wide arms>

'It's your choice' <Eye twitches just a little>

<Salutes> Ma'am

As normal Mrs. Amazing was right damn it, damn it! WHY?!!!.

Queueing was a good idea. 

Mrs. Amazing may will deny it, but I am pretty sure whilst we waited she was visualising how she would dart for her seat once we got inside. I imagine her plan was to get two seats, but I suspect that if one persons seat was to sacrificed to ensure getting one better. I'd be sat on floor.

Now as you would expect for Britain, the queue was very orderly and polite. But with a clear invisible positional structure and obv. no cutting.

HEY HEY! THERE'S A QUEUE! YOU @$%^&*()er!

'Teacher! I'm a teacher, I have the keys to let you in'

Papers?

<Is scared> 'H-H-Here'

<Pulls out U.V. scanner>

<Scans>

And you... are... <Hits scanner> going...

to...

[Bing!] 

<Scan completes> ... LIVE!

<Is disappointed>

<Shouts>Let her through... Teacher coming through...

[Parents part]

(Where are the parents In the what?... The walls? They are everywhere?)

They opened the doors at 9:10!

It's lucky we were there early! What a good idea of Mrs. Amazings mine.

It was all quite civil as we entered the school. Everyone politely chatting. Whilst there was no options, or shorter ways to get to a seat, decorum and manners were maintained. 

Quite right too.

However once the space of the hall and the golden front row chairs were in sight...

There was a marked, yet still very British, increase in pace, spacial analysis, spacial calculations, and a overwhelming desire to sit. Each parent as they entered the hall evaluating the seats gone, the seats to be taken by those ahead, and which path would get to the best seat they could claim, fastest.

And of course whether or not knocking the old dear out of the way would be worth the better seat.

So worth it.

How did we do?

3rd row back (boo!), but aisle seats (yay). That's a win in our book. Clear view, good photos, no one had to be decked or shoved by "accident".

A clear Team Parents (yay!) win.

And of course Miss4 was brilliant and adorable.

She did her actions to each song with gusto, she sparkled and twinkled just like a very important star standing on the stage should do. 

She refrained from too much nose picking on stage, but did yawn every other minute as her sleeping the night before had been crapo. We were / are very proud. 

At times it was heart poppingly cute, others times just plain hilarious as tiny voices strained to reach those high notes, and missed.

Twenty lovely minutes of parental indulgence in our children, organised by adults whose job it is teaching our children, for the parents of those children. Weird. Indulgent. 
But great fun.

Mrs. Amazing cried at least three times from cuteness overload. I cried on the inside manned it out and grinned with fatherly pride from start to finish.

Miss4 was brilliant.

She is brilliant.

Football Tears (Not Mine)...

Boy8 didn't make the football team.

Gutted.

(This all happened a while back, didn't want it to be topical at all, so don't worry, all wounds have been healed and forgotten).

Oh and by football, I mean soccer, not rugby with padding american football.

They had try-outs at school and he didn't get picked.

He had practised and everything. He had his England kit on. Surely, surely? Wearing the England kit can only bring you luck and success? Surely?

But it didn't and he was gutted, big man tears, gutted.

Proper, I just dropped my phone down the toilet, and flushed, gutted.

I was at work when the guttingness (real word) happened, obv. that’s where I always am.

Mrs. Amazing told me that Boy8 had man-tears rolling down his face, as he stood there, frozen, letting it go, soaked to the bone, in his football kit he loves so much. Explaining to his Mum how today, actually, wasn't a try-out like he'd thought it was.

The team had been picked last week.

And he wasn't on it. Today was just for fun.

Apparently.

(Are you sure that boy is only 8? He looks small..)

Mrs. Amazing had a word with the utter idiot, football man.

Not to complain that Boy8 didn't get on the team. I assure you. Team parents (yay!) accept that not everyone can be on a 7-aside eight year old primary school team.

Even if they really, really, want to.

Mrs. Amazing had a word because the team selector was blind because Boy8 turned up and played, thinking there was a chance he would get on the team.

When there wasn't a chance he was going to get on the team. It had already been decided. Just no one had told Boy8, or he hadn't been listening.

Although I suppose in fairness had Boy8 rocked on that pitch and scored 15 conversions, took a few wickets and then winked out for victory (that's footie right?) he might have got on the team. Although if he could do that, I'd be out in the cold watching my retirement plan him.

Our issue is that Boy8 thought he had a chance. When he didn't.

The utter plumb football man could have saved Boy8 a lot tears.

By explaining stuff better like.

I blame me a lot too and Mrs. Amazing.

As sport was never really my thing. I liked hockey (sticks), shinty (big sticks), lacrosse (stick with nets), anything with a stick really. But 'like' and 'has skill at' are not the same things. For example: everyone in Westlife likes singing.

For me getting onto sport teams, pretty much throughout school, was either due to an enforced player rotation system, everyone got a go, or because no one else was available, by default and carefully poisoning.

Good old default and poison.

Genetically Boy8 needed to sidestep Team Parents (yay!) sporting genes.

There's sporting greatness down the generations, a bit left, and a few suspect marriages along, but it's there. Waiting to be unleashed once again like a beast in the dark, awaiting its moment to strike. Stirring in its cold cave, as the first rays of sunlight for over thirty years pierce its underground prison. The light bouncing down tunnels made my rabbits. Oh the fluffy irony...

Still... me and Mrs. Amazing do have other skills that work well in adult life. I can juggle (true story), Mrs. Amazing can do a triple back-flip one hand cartwheel (less true), I can do this dance...

<does awesome dance>

… see! we got skills.

And it's pretty rare that other adults ask to see my football skills. It’s more beer drinking ability. Or name that car (stupid game). Or share your property plans (Zzz).  

Ironically the only person that ever asks me to play football and see my football skills, is Boy8.

He thinks I've got hella skills!

‘Young fool... '
'Only now, at the end eight, do you understand..., '
'That actually I suck at Footingball’'

('Dad no kicking hard...')

Team Parents (yay!) like a good moral so we made sure we passed on a good message about this all to Boy8.

Bad luck. Try again next time. More practise, don't feel down, you've no idea what the entry criteria was, they were all the coaches family, bribes / brides were involved.

Which he seems to have taken on board.

Still I thought some special Dad love and care would help him out a bit...

<Boy8 is sat watching tele before bed>

'Sup

‘'Sup’

Heard what happened

'Yeah'

You OK?

'Yeah… Bit disappointed' <A few tears escape, but most are manfully held back>

Yeah...

Don’t worry I know what to do (I do), I'm a modern Dad.

I know that secretly he is reaching out to me for a bit of support. He is being all tough to copy me, but really he wants me to connect with me, and it's up to me to make that connection, or this moment will pass. I have to somehow show him how that it is OK to a bit teary and soft, whilst being manly and tough. Shiiiit

It's now or never come hold me close.

Luckily I know what to do (lords knows how).

<Lays on top of Boy8, flattening him totally>

'Oh man you're heavy'

Can you breath?

'J..ust'

Just counts as a yes

See! Told you I knew what to do.

Me and Boy8 just lay there chatting, one of us being flattened.

I tell him about my sporting failures, so he knows it's OK to not get in the team. I point out he is going to miss lots of cold wet mornings outside. He agrees and goes to laugh, but is finding it hard to breath with me laid on top of him.

Maybe there was some magic in the air, maybe it was the force, maybe our father-son connection worked better than it ever had before, maybe being flattened really focuses the mind, but I felt I really got through to him. I totally held his attention and he listened to my every word.

Good times. 

Good flattening times.

Elf Wars: Shelf or Kind

Have you heard of 'Elf on a Shelf'?

Yes? Good. This is not that.

This is about the 'Kindness Elf' which came from this lovely page.

It is not the same as 'Elf on a Shelf’. It's, well, kinder and less George Orwell 1984 (Big Brother) about the whole Christmas thing.

I don’t want to get into a whole 'Shelf' Vs 'Kindness' pitch Elf battle, that rages on for years and the death toll is huge and the world never really recovers from.

Instead just accept that in our house the ‘Kindness Elf’ visits and sits wherever she damn well pleases, and there’s no reporting back, or brand name toy.

Can't we be visited by the Chocolate Elf instead? He'd go round the house leaving chocolate everywhere! He’d be awesome!

'You're thinking of Easter’

‘And no'

Beer Elf? (Notes that Belf is a great word)

'No'

Ooo a money Elf would be good...

'Yesssss... but no, our Elf is kindness'

<Shakes fist at me> 'KINDNESS'

A Lingerie Elf would be awesome

<Gets slapped> ‘Don’t be a twat, think it through…’

<Thinks>... hmmm might be a bit weird with the kids...

'You think?'

Sometimes

The ‘Kindness Elf’ rocks up at the start of December, probably the first, welcome letter in mitts and magically appears in your house.

Said ‘Kindness Elf’ is likely to be named something Christmasy. Like Holly or Mistletoe, Brandy, Crapgift, Work Pissup, Overindulgance, CostsAFortune.

Ours is called Mistletoe.

Mistletoe likes to hide and needs to be found each morning, often in a funny location, doing something funny. And maybe bringing a message of don't be annoying smeggers moral guidance over Christmas.

She was found, this morning, eating some of the house chocolate. Poor show, Miss. Elf, poor show. It feels cheeky to me. She just helped himself. Kind or not, she is walking a thin line.

Boy8 and Miss4 found Mistletoe head first into a bag of chocolate stars. 

I bloody love chocolate stars.

(The messy, chocolate stealing swine)

Of course, according to Clement Clarke Moore in a “A Visit from St. Nicholas”, FC himself is an Elf.

A super powerful special Elf that all the other Elves work for, but hey that’s cool, think ants. It’s still a lot better than the patriarchal figurehead Coca-Cola would love us to believe in.

So depending which side of the Elf wars you fall, 'Shelf' or 'Kind', your house Elf is either there to encourage you kindly with hugs and kisses, or it’s there taking notes and reporting everything back to FC about your moral fibre.

It feels like an easy choice to me.

Bizarrely, despite their enormous magical abilities, Elves do have some limitations.

They don’t move at all during the day, the lazy sods. If they did, it would be all over the news. No no. Elves only move during the night when everyone is asleep. Of course.

It's a common magical requirement.

To be honest Elf on a shelf is still a new one on me.

I don't remember any Elves visiting during my childhood. It could have been location, location, location. But I don't recall any mates mentioning a magical Elf that stole chocolate playful ran amok through their houses. However we did have three violent cats around that time.

So maybe they ate him. Har har!

I do tend to get a bit suspicious when new traditions appears out of the blue.

Some are obviously money making scams and luckily they tend to die very quickly. Good.

Others are money making scams, but come with free mince pies, and luckily seem to stay. Others are just fun and they stay too. There's probably a moral in here somewhere. Something about money and evil vs. fun and happiness and mince pies.

It's probably that mince pies are good for you, which is obvious really. The clue is in the name. Pie = good for you.

(A Christmas salad)

Boy8 and Miss 4 love Mistletoe.

For them Mistletoe is start of weird brilliant crap stuff happening daily as we gear up to the 25th. BabyBoy1 however does not care at all about Mistletoe.

To him it's a toy out of reach he cannot have, or one he cannot see as it's too high up.

Obviously, Mistletoe is a very real and magical Elf.

That visits us every year and for that we know we are lucky, as a quick Google or time on FaceBook will show. Because there are plenty of other Team Parents (yay!) out there that have to fake the whole Elf experience with a doll.

Poor, poor, probably knackered and brain dead from work but still having to be creative each night, them.

Apparently, if you are one of those parents afflicted by this problem, you can turn to Pinterest for support and sponsorship.

From making stuff up when bored extensive research I present a very short list of handy hints, ideas, and things not to do with an Elf that those poor afflicted parents talk about.

1. Don't get drunk and leave your Elf in a suggestive pose with a Barbie or Ken (or both). Explaining human biology and exotic positions when hungover, I hear, is horrible.

2. Before December starts sit down and discuss as Team Parents (yay!) whether or not the Elf will visit this year, before you commit both of you to a 24 day creative marathon. Lunch time on the 30th of November, some (not me) may consider too late to start 'thinking' about it.

3. Brain storm two or three backup Elf plans for those nights when you are knackered and can't be bothered to think magically...

I'm pooped... carry me to bed will ya?

'FOF No chance fat boy, you carry me'

Oh go on, I'd do it for you...

'Oh really?'

'a) you never have done, b) I doubt you're strong enough'

<Bit angry> WHAT! <Picks up Mrs. Amazing>

SEE! <Back hurts>

'Are you OK? Your face has gone bright red'

I'm... F... F... Fiiiiiiiii... Neeee.... built like an Ox!

<Pats self to demonstrate Oxness>

But now… it's your turn, you pick me up

'Won't I have to get down?'

No. Lift me here, and I’ll just keep on carrying you...

'Oh I see' <Picks me up, whilst I continue carrying Mrs. Amazing>

'Huh! You're surprisingly light!'

<Hides offence>

'.. but still too heavy... '

Here, I’ll carry you then... there <Picks up Mrs. Amazing, whilst Mrs. Amazing continues carrying me, and I continue carrying Mrs. Amazing>

'Isn't this one those classic surreal Goon Show jokes you bore tell me with about all the time?'

Yep, the very same

‘It’s quite nice...’

<Both make it finally to bed and lay down, ready to sleep>

'HOLLY XMAS BALLS!' <Sits up>  'ELF!'

<Pretends to be fast asleep> Zzz

See!

Go make a backup Elf plan… go on…I’ll wait.

<Does not wait>