Last week it was FC#1’s school nativity. I like my son’s school for many reasons, but I particularly like the fact that they do a proper old-fashioned nativity. None of this weird “holiday lobster/zebra/hamster” shit. I am not remotely religious (far from it), but at this time of year you just can’t beat a good old sing-song at the local church and having a discrete weep at the overwhelming cuteness of little kids dressed as shepherds and angels.
As well as finding a little tear or two in my eye, I inevitably piss myself laughing at the hilarity that is little kids on stage. This year we had a panicked Mary who lost her cape halfway through a song, and didn’t know quite what to do, so bobbed up and down undecided as to whether or not to pick it up. We also had a tripping Wise Man (not on drugs – he tripped over. Although that really would have been hilarious). There was an X-Factor wannabe singing angel who put more enthusiasm into her singing than the rest of the kids put together, a wayward halo and a shepherd who practically hurled his lamb at Jesus. There were at least two nose-pickers and a scattering of bum-scratchers. And of course, loads of waving and “hi Mum!”. It was gorgeous.
My son, naturally, was not Joseph, or the Star of Bethlehem. Nor was he the Angel Gabriel – he’s nowhere near angelic enough for that. But he made a very fine “villager”, did a great job of saying “His ears are too long” (don’t ask), and despite not knowing all the words to all of the songs, my little star smiled a beaming smile all the way through. And that, my friends, is all the Christmas magic I need.
(I’m allowed an Alpha Mummy moment once in a while, aren’t I?!)