Santa

“Mum, my friends at school told me Santa died,” Cade said to me the other day, looking upset.

“Who?!”

“Everyone.”

“Well if they don’t believe in him then they won’t get any presents. Do you believe in him?”

“Yes,” he looked relieved.

I refused to believe the rumours floating around primary school myself until it was broken to me at the age of nine. I was gutted but cheekily went on putting my oversize pillowcase “stocking” at the end of my bed every Christmas Eve. This carried on right through the teenage years until I’d come home from Uni, delve into the cupboard and leave it out before going out on the town.

Then one year I woke (or came home?) to find it empty - the disappointment was beyond belief.

I’m not sure my children’s Santa will be quite so generous but, determined to exploit the innocence while it lasts, I thought Cade would be stoked with his call from Santa. I’d set it up so the phone rang in five minutes and, when the call came, got him to answer it.

I watched as he put the phone to his ear and a frown began to form.

“Who is this?” he demanded. “Mum, I think it’s Santa.

“Santa!” he began to shout, growing more and more frustrated.

Finally he slammed the phone down in disgust.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“I think that was Santa but he wouldn’t stop talking and listen to me!”

Later, I listened to the call and discovered the reason for his frustration.

My god, that Santa could talk! On and on he prattled not stopping for breath.

Some weeks later the kids received another message from Santa, this time via email.

I lined them up in front of the computer to watch their individual messages which had been personalised by their aunty.

It was fantastic. The kids sat transfixed listening and watching Santa and his elves use graphics of themselves at milestone moments throughout the year. Jai was asked to start using the toilet, Jayla to remember to pick up her toys and Cade to be nice to his brother and sister. Finally the moment came where Santa’s special machine decided whether they were deserving of receiving the gift they’d wished for and everyone held their breath.

When the green light came on (as opposed the red) they all cheered and clapped.

“Hurray, that means I’m getting Smurfs,” announced Cade gleefully.

I froze. I happened to know that their Santa presents had already been sorted and Smurfs were not included.

I also happened to know that Master Five’s Smurf collection, passed down from the grandparents, did not include the much-longed for Smurfette, who I think he may just be in love with, just quietly.

Apart from in a McDonald’s happy meal, I’m yet to find where to purchase Smurfs and the elusive Smurfette so I passed the problem back onto the Aunty who’d sent the email in the first place.

She was on the ball and ordered some online.

So tonight we’re all set for Santa. We’ll be leaving out the cookies and beer, water for the reindeers and maybe, just maybe, they’ll leave some powdery footprints on the lawn.

Yes, Santa is definitely alive and kicking around these parts.

* It may be too late to “barter” with but you can make personalised messages at www.portablenorthpole.tv/home