Recent events involving my youngest has had me review what we as parents put ourselves through and it is with this in mind that I refer to this blog entry as Santa-Gate.

It all started back in November. A dear friend and sister in Christ came to my local city to visit us and drop off presents. I had placed the presents behind the sofa in the hope that said child would not notice them until I could find a better hiding place.

Alas I was wrong.

Instead, he came from school and promptly peered behind the sofa.

“What’s that, mummy?”came the curious question we all dread.

“It’s mine.” was all that I could come back with having been caught off guard with the question and chiding myself that I did not remove the bag of gifts before he got home.

What came after, was a triumphant punch and hop in the air followed by, “I knew there was no such thing as Father Christmas! It was you all along Mummy!”

I felt bad that a little bit of childhood innocence had disappeared but I played it down and mentioned that it wasn’t just me but people who love my son very much who have worked really hard to give him a good Christmas. I also capitalised on the moment to remind him of the Gospel and so I asked him who ultimately provides him with these presents. I was greeted with a confused look. I then pointed at the bag of gifts and said, “where do you think these presents come from, son?”

After a thoughtful consideration he piped up, “Asda!”

So after that face-palm moment I mentioned to my son that there are still children who believe in Santa Claus and so he must be wise and considerate and not say to them that he doesn’t exist. Of course totally bypassing any regard for the feelings of other children in his class, he went about getting into heated Santa debates with his class (likening to Brexit) and was a little put out when his cohort would not entertain the fact that there was no Santa.

But that day? That was the day that Santa “died” in our house.

Or so I thought!

Just this past Sunday, I popped into Tescos after church with the little one in tow and as we were leaving there was a man who was dressed up as Father Christmas just by the entrance of the store. From quite a distance my son spotted the bloke and had his eyes fixed on him. As we walked past him, Santa motioned his hand so that my son could give him a high five. My son had this smile on his face as if to say that he ‘knew’ that the man was not the real Father Christmas but nonetheless he slapped a high five onto the open hand and continued walking.

As we walked to the car, little man began to skip and the smile on his face was golden.

“Do you believe in Father Christmas now then, son?” I asked

I got a giggle and a very positive nod.

So at some point in the future, I will cross that bridge again when I come to it, in terms of having that chat again about Father Christmas

But for now I am milking this while I can.