Father Christmas - Deception Part 1

I have never been very good at properly deceiving the children so far as Father Christmas is concerned. I am not sure what lengths other people go to, certainly it had to be pointed out to me that it was a good idea to use different wrapping paper for Father Christmas’ presents, one that the children had not seen lying around the house.

All families have their different traditions and in our house the rubbish stocking fillers come from Santa and we parents take the credit for the good gifts, which are under the tree from us. Santa is not going to take the glory for those.

I don’t take off all the packaging for the stocking presents so that it doesn’t say Boots, Millets, or more often than not, Factory Shop, though it occurred to me that I should. I have never tried to hide which shop it came from, even though it rather puts pay to the myth that all toys are made by elves in Santa’s workshop. I do take the prices off. However they have never questioned this.

I was quite annoyed before Christmas, as Mark unpacked my Tesco shop and put all the Moshi Monster and Mr Matey Bubble Bath, I had bought for their stockings, on display in the bathroom. I knew, after the kids had seen them, I couldn’t then get away with wrapping them up.

I have discovered though, you can get away with a lot. The children need and want to believe in Father Christmas so much, that they refuse to logic it out. Unless you are Ben, he is 11 now, but I think he has suspected for years.  He has never voiced disbelief and wouldn’t, in case his presents suddenly dried up. He has certainly never let on to the other children. In fact, I am only assuming he doesn’t believe, since he doubts the existence of God, I think Santa and the Tooth Fairy, might be a stretch too far.

I was nearly caught out in 2010 by Emilia. I wrapped up for Rachel, a soft toy polar bear which had come free with a new duvet we bought. I had lost it for a time, but came across it on Christmas Eve and put it in her stocking. Later in the morning of Christmas Day, Emilia said;

“Mummy? Are you sure Father Christmas brought that polar bear of Rachel’s , because I saw it under your bed a few days ago?”

Whoops! Not sure how I got out of that one.

Emilia tripped me up again this year. She was skipping cheerfully along beside me as we wandered into Dorking, “where are we going first, Mummy?” she asked.

“I want to go into the Boot Hole to change my wallet” I said.

“But Mummy,” she said “didn’t Father Christmas bring you that?”

“Oh, did he?” I said vaguely, knowing perfectly well, all my presents from Mark were in my stocking, “perhaps he did, I am not sure.”

“Well, you haven’t got a receipt for it, have you? 

"Well no." I admitted.

"You can’t just go into a shop and say Santa brought me this, but can I have a different one, can you?”

She had a point there.

“I suppose not,” I agreed. “Shall we go to Sainsbury’s?”