You could say that, in this house, we’re rather big fans of Christmas. In years gone by I would never have been one for even thinking about mulled wine and mince pies until December was well into its second half. All that changed with marrying a man with a great propensity for silliness and a childlike love of all things merry, and becoming mother to a girl who thinks July is a perfectly appropriate time to don a Santa hat and belt out Jingle Bells at high volume.
As soon as Mr Mavis’s birthday in mid-November has passed (35 now, ha ha), it’s time, in our house, to start getting festive. While this year, sheer volumes of work and other commitments have stalled the merry making so far to just a Pinterest board of present ideas, a school Xmas fair and a few jars of Christmas spiced apple chutney maturing in the larder cupboard, that unmistakable Christmassy feeling is beginning to surface. When The Fairy Tale of New York or Last Christmas pops up on iTunes shuffle, I’m no longer irritably trying to switch to something less festive. Embracing the jingle.
Our village does Christmas very well indeed. Parties-a-plenty, lantern parades, carols and barrel-loads of mulled wine and, if we’re lucky with the weather, a crisp beach walk or two. It’s a wonderful place to be at this time of year. Christmas here is about having fun with friends and family. Lots and lots of fun. Lots and lots of wine.
The Beep is already supercharged with Christmas spirit. In her world, Father Christmas has been living in the lighthouse since at least the first week of October, watching over the coast from his offshore turret to ensure every child in the village is being very good (even if that doesn’t always include her…). She’s practising her songs and her ‘line’ for the Nativity play on an hourly basis and, today, wouldn’t leave the house without reindeer antlers, a red nose and a bell. It would be fair to say that where the festive fizz is concerned, the girl is certainly feeling it.
The magic of Christmas is not lost on The Beep. She positively lives for it. And now Orange is nearly three I’ve found myself wondering how can we help him feel the magic too?
I remember with almost time warp like clarity my younger brother, himself just three, freshly laundered Christmas shirt and chinos on, smart side parting in play (sorry bro), stepping into the living room wide eyed and sparkly on Christmas morning and declaring triumphantly ‘It’s CHRISTMAS!’ The delight and wonder in his tiny voice was a perfect moment.
More than anything I want Orange to feel that wonder. To experience the anticipation of counting down the days until Christmas, and the excitement of leaving a mince pie and a glass of whisky out on Christmas Eve. To go to bed dreaming of Father Christmas fleeting through the night sky with sacks full of gifts and cheery, snow-dappled reindeer. At nearly three, children of Orange’s age would typically be jumping into the Christmas spirit with both feet.
But Orange can’t jump and neither do we know what he understands, if anything at all, about Christmas.
It would be easy to let Christmas become synonymous with everything that Orange can’t do or say. It’s such a marker of time, after all. A point to which every year returns. Comparisons are drawn, tales of Christmases gone by are told and plans for the future made. I have often found myself thinking ‘maybe by next Christmas Orange will be able to feed himself his Christmas dinner…maybe by next year he’ll be able to open a present, or sing along to Jingle Bells with his sister, even if it’s in July…maybe by next year he’ll understand what Christmas is all about.’ Or, maybe, he won’t.
This will be Orange’s third Christmas and for the first time, instead of clinging on to maybe’s and what if’s, I’m letting go a little of hoping for normality. After all, I could be waiting a long time, perhaps forever, for Orange to understand Christmas. And it would be too unbearable to think of him not experiencing a magical Christmas because we’ve failed to adapt to his way of being.
In many ways, I realised that really all that’s required is for us to think about Christmas in a different way and to appreciate that Orange can enjoy the magic of Christmas in his own way. A few carefully planned activities is all it takes to make sure he feels included, and can take as full a part in the Christmas experience as the rest of us.
While Orange may not understand who Father Christmas is, he’ll sure as hell enjoy story time with the elves in the Yurt at Eden and have a good old grab at a white beard or two. He’ll watch wide-eyed as the lantern procession weaves up the coast road through the darkness and listen with wonder to Carols from Kings (forever known as Carols and Kings in this house, thanks to the Beep). No doubt the boy will wolf down his goose and roast veg on Christmas Day, (even if mashed to a microscopic degree) and chuckle along to a Christmas film or two while Mr Mavis nurses a Boxing Day ‘beerache’ (another Beepism).
He may not understand Christmas, or be able to get excited about it, but I know now that he will feel the magic in his own way.
So instead of feeling sad, and a little guilty, that only Beep could partake in the daily December delight of picking open little cardboard doors with a fingernail and tearing away silver foil for a pre-breakfast chocolatey treat, we’ve decided to do Advent a little differently too.
Last year, one of my fellow swan mums came up with a fabulous idea to do a sensory advent calendar for her little boy. Like Orange, Freddie can’t chew so chocolate is off the agenda, and Advent seemed like the ideal opportunity to indulge in a little sensory play. Children with difficulties like Orange struggle to make sense of their world. Taste, touch, sight, sound, smell, can all be hugely overwhelming, or thuddingly underwhelming, so exposure to a variety of sensory experiences is vital therapy. Of course Christmas, sparkly, music-filled, cinnamon-scented Christmas, is almost the perfect sensory playground.
So today, The Beep and I have raided discount-stores for tinselly, glittery tat, kneaded gingerbread play-dough, filled bags of rice with vanilla and peppermint, stuck clove faces on oranges, covered boxes in Christmas paper and selected stories and Christmassy instruments (jingle bells, of course) to go in a Sensory Advent Box for Orange.
Each morning until Christmas, she’ll help me to pick an item for Orange to squidge, shake, listen to, smell, touch and (if we’re lucky), taste. And you know it was fun. Heaps of fun. I can’t wait to see Orange’s sparkly little eyes light up each morning as Beep hops up and down helping him partake in his Advent activities.
Beats the hell out of a Cadbury calendar, don’t you think?