A mum's confession about the magic and madness of a modern Christmas

The festive season has transformed one mum into a frazzled Christmas co-ordinator juggling teacher gifts, costume requirements while fielding questions about the impossible logistics of Santa's global mission

Elves in underwear. Picture: AI generated

I’ve got elves in my knickers and one of my eyes is twitching like a blinking fairy light on a Christmas tree – it must be December.

Anyone else drowning in festive cheer?

It starts with a quiet hum of carols in the supermarket and ratchets up to Elton John’s Step into Christmas before hitting a screeching note the queen of Christmas, Mariah Carey wishes she could hit.

First, there’s the present list – ensuring you don’t miss anyone.

Making sure your gift doesn’t clash with the big man’s and is current.

Children have a way of changing their minds mid-December and requesting an entirely different “must have” that’s way too late to order online.

Last year I begged strangers on social media for a Puppy Surprise, resulting in meeting a woman outside Corio Kmart in a scene that resembled a drug deal.

A stranger wearing sunnies indoors handing over a black garbage bag for cash.

Then there are the teachers’ gifts.

Bless the mums who get in early and organise those group presents – they are angels sent from heaven.

But how much do you give? You don’t want to be a tight-arse or a suck-up.

What’s the perfect amount that says “I appreciate you” while also bribing … I mean saying, “please be nice to my next child if you become their teacher”?

Nothing beats that feeling when the perfectly dressed mum hands over a thoughtful handmade gift to your teacher (on top of the group gift) as you burst through the door to announce the library book your child borrowed in February is gone.

Then there are the Christmas parties – the work one, your partner’s work one, the kids’ one, the sporting club ones all complete with Secret Santas.

They all sound fun until the day when you consider faking your own death and moving to Barbados to avoid them.

And the elves.

Ours appeared in our clean washing this week – tangled in my undies.

The kids loved it. I was not as amused.

Those elves keep me up at night. 3am in a cold sweat: WHERE ARE THOSE TINY BASTARDS?

There’s the tree to decorate, lights to hang outside, blow-up 10-foot Santas to tie down.

The cute and perfectly curated beach Santa photo that’s been cancelled twice due to rain, only to be rescheduled for 33 degrees with flies and squinting eyes.

Me breaking land speed records to arrive on time from work, the kids dressed by dad … not the look I had in my mind.

Some mums keep a change of clothes in the car or picnic rugs, not me, I keep emergency Santa hats in the boot so I’m ready to be festive at any forgotten calendar date.

That reminds me – the Advent calendar – which remains a constant source of confusion – do you start at 1 for December first, or 25 and count down to one sleep?

There are end-of-year concerts requiring costumes while you jostle other parents to get the perfect video for the grandparents’ group chat.

School early finishes that destroy your work schedule.

Nutrition goes out the window – I haven’t seen a vegetable in weeks.

It’s all meals on the run between events, candy canes and Diet Coke (that delicious mix of caffeine and chemicals is doing a lot of heavy lifting).

The constant questions about the logistics of Santa’s incredible feat – how does that jolly red man do it???

Thankfully I am not on Christmas lunch duty (no one wants that) but I am in charge of the Christmas pudding, boiled for 6 hours – because I have heaps of spare time.

No one talks about the Christmas movies – I’ve seen them all, twice.

As the month goes on I get more emotionally strung out, I find myself reaching for Love Actually so I can legitimise the tears (you know the part – when Emma Thompson’s character discovers her husband is having an affair).

But all this said … I wouldn’t trade it for a million dollars.

On December 24 I’m over everything – wrapping and assembling past midnight.

But when I hear those squeals at 5am on Christmas morning (two hours after I went to bed), it’s all worth it.

Excited faces, real joy, all the family together wondering how Santa pulled it off.

It’s pure magic – and I remind myself to cherish these years with my young children.

The Christmas chaos is a privilege and I can’t wait to do it all over again next year.

Originally published as A mum's confession about the magic and madness of a modern Christmas