Every time the credits roll on another movie, I sit back with a contented sigh and think, It’ll be OK—because of Christmas spirit! But then I consider the facts, and my optimism fades away. It’s all very well when you’re in a picturesque New England town and you can rely on snow to fall at exactly the right moment. In actual England the snow never falls, except at a totally crap moment like when you’re about to drive on the A3. Nor are we all planning to gather at the caroling party or log-splitting contest, so how are we supposed to reconcile and hug one another in Christmas sweaters and say, “We’ve all learned something here”?
Stupid real life. Why isn’t it like a Christmas movie?
I had thought Minnie’s Nativity play might be a nice meeting point…but my parents can’t even come, because Dad has a foot appointment. So much for that bright idea. Hmph.
I’m sitting in the kitchen, finishing my breakfast coffee, while Minnie sings “Hark dah Herald Angel King,” at the top of her voice. (I’ve tried correcting her, but she’s adamant it’s “king.” She’s quite stubborn, my daughter.) She woke up at five o’clock this morning and came running into our room, yelling, “Nativity! Nativiteeee!”
“Are you excited?” I give her a hug. “I’m so excited! I can’t wait till this afternoon.”
I can’t stop admiring her costume, all ready on its hanger. It nearly killed me making it, and I don’t want to boast—but it’s fantastic. The silk hangs down in gorgeous ripples and the sequins are sumptuous, and if Minnie doesn’t get Best King, then there’s something wrong with the world. (OK, I know there isn’t really Best King. But in my head.)
“Well,” says Luke, striding in. “The house looks great, Christmas tree up, we’re all set.”
“Except no one’s talking to each other,” I point out.
“Oh, that’ll blow over,” says Luke dismissively, and I feel a prickle of resentment. He doesn’t ever go on WhatsApp, so what does he know?
“What if it doesn’t?” I object.
“It will.”
“But what if it doesn’t? God, I wish life were like a Christmas movie, don’t you?” I add with a gusty sigh.
“Hmm,” says Luke carefully. “In what sense?”
“In every sense!” I say in astonishment.
In what possible sense could you not want life to be like a Christmas movie?
“Every sense?” Luke barks with laughter. “In the saccharine, manufactured, and totally unrealistic sense?”
I glare at him. He needs to watch more Hallmark Channel, that’s his problem. If he was in a Christmas movie, he wouldn’t laugh; he’d say, “Oh, honey, let me pour you some hot apple cider.”
“OK,” Luke relents. “What would happen in a Christmas movie?”
“Everyone would get together at some lovely festive event, and they’d all wear Christmas sweaters, and they’d hug each other, suddenly realizing that the Christmas spirit is more important than—” I break off, inspired. “Wait! That’s it! Luke, we need a festive event!”
“We have a festive event,” he says, looking baffled. “It’s called ‘Christmas.’ ”
“A pre-Christmas event! Where everyone can come together and wear Christmas sweaters and feel the Christmas spirit and make up. I’m organizing one,” I add firmly. “And we won’t ask Flo.”
I can see Luke opening his mouth to make some objection, but I ignore him, because whatever he’s going to say, I’m right. This is the answer. Not a caroling party, because none of us can sing. Not log-splitting, because…really? Not a sleigh ride, because we’re not in Vermont.
Then, as I’m arriving at school with Minnie, the answer comes to me. We’ll make gingerbread houses! It’ll be fun, and it doesn’t matter if they’re crap, because everyone can just eat the gingerbread.
“Minnie,” I say, “shall we have a gingerbread-house-making party?”
“Yes!” says Minnie enthusiastically, and I beam down at her. At last I feel as though I’m taking control. I have a plan.
When we get to the classroom, there’s a buzzy group of parents bringing in costumes, and their children are saying, “Look at mine, look at mine!” to Miss Lucas.
“Yes!” she’s saying, beaming round at the faces. “Marvelous! Oh, Zack, look at your donkey mask!”
Ha. Midnight-blue silk and sequins beats a donkey mask any day. For the first time ever, I feel like I’m the one with the really great craft project. I’m the one who went the extra mile. I can see Wilfie’s and Clemmie’s coats on their pegs, which means Suze has already been and gone—a shame, because I was looking forward to showing