Let’s do this together
Another epic parenting fail this week and one The Dark Lord will never, ever, let me forget.
I was so busy chuckling at my clever joke about writing a special Advent calendar for my daughter, that I completely forgot to actually buy her a real one.
Now I know this doesn’t matter in the scheme of things – we’re in the middle of a pandemic, yada yada – but you try explaining that to a hormonal tweenager who thinks the whole world hates her and now has irrefutable proof.
We were in the car on the way back from school, when she said: “It’s the first of December tomorrow, Mum, remember?” and my blood ran cold. I paused too long and was sunk. “You haven’t got me a calendar, have you?” she said, accusingly. “What sort of mother are you?”
“A very bad one clearly, which I have never denied. But actually, I’d decided to let you choose the one you want this time,” I gabbled, playing for time. She narrowed her eyes, and I realised I’d trapped myself.
I’d better pull something out of the bag, or I would be hearing about this on my deathbed, which was likely to be a lot sooner than I had imagined. Pulling up outside a giant supermarket, I rushed in to scour the Christmas section for a calendar.
While I ran around like a headless chicken, unable to find where the store had hidden them, Jesse had the sense to find a member of staff. “No I’m sorry,” she said, “We’ve completely sold out.”
“Damn!” I muttered, “This is going to cost me a fortune in guilt bribes.”
It was the same story in three more supermarkets, so in desperation, I texted Jesse’s aunties on our WhatsApp group: “Anyone got a spare calendar?” I begged.
“Yes, I’ve got one for Jesse,” replied Aunty Try Hard, which is what the kids teasingly call her, but frankly, she saved Christmas this year, so she’s Aunty Claus to me.
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