If nativities are not the point of being a parent, I don’t know what is. Never mind the wondrous day of their birth, their first steps, their first words – the day I first saw my child dressed as a lamb mouthing ‘Away in A Manger’ was the day I knew I’d made it. I was a Mum.
“I thought it was Friday”
So, nativity time, which is this week for most schools, is the highlight of the parental calendar. Except, it seems it didn’t make it into my husband’s diary. I know I’m not alone on this. I’ve heard all sorts of diary, and therefore marital, clashes – that “must-go” client lunch, that deal-closing meeting, and even, incredibly, a dentist appointment. I’m not singling out dads particularly here – it’s really hard to juggle everyone’s commitments, and I often lose track myself – but this one is a real tear-jerker of a diary clash. Yes, the child won’t remember, yes he will be so excited by it all he won’t really mind who is in the audience, yes there will be many more years of this, but “don’t you want to see our son in his first nativity?” It’s the classic “define your priorities” moment.
What to Wear: Dressing For the Head
Diarygate aside, what do you wear to your kid’s nativity? Why, it doesn’t matter a jot! Right? Of course not, really. But – think about who’s there: other mums, other dads, the teachers and…wait for it, The Headteacher! Is it just me, or do you feel like you’re back at school when the Head’s around – even if you suspect it is quite possible you are older than them (I’m not there yet but it’s not that far off). It’s a cross between dressing for church and dressing for an interview, with a bit of dressing to impress thrown in. I’m not (obviously!) trying to cast my hat at any of the dads, but one likes to be presentable in mixed company, and of course, women dress for women. Given the time of year, it doesn’t really matter what you’re wearing, because you will probably remain in your outdoor clothes. For me, like many mums, this means an anorak. Therefore, I have been preparing a case for The Nativity Coat. It will only be worn once a year – but every year for the next 18 years! That’s a compelling cost-per-wear. Not compelling enough for this year though – I wore my Christmas jumper and took off my anorak before I went in.
Prepare for a No-Show
I don’t think either of my boys has sung an audible word in their nativities so far. Last year, my middle son, the lambkin, was so overawed he refused to even go and stand with the other junior sheep, and sat cowering on my lap without looking up for the whole performance. My husband, who, bless him, had done some hefty rearranging to be there, took this with amazing grace. While some mums may crave the heady heights of Mary or the Angel Gabriel for their child, I was unbelievably chuffed that my eldest was given one line this year, as one of the three wise men. He would have had me at the costume, but he actually delivered his line today as clear as a precious little bell. Oh, weep! I guess this is how it feels when your child starts to grow up.
All the Best Bits of Being a Parent, in One
Whether they sing or not, I love nativities, because you get to see the best bits of your kids – all, crucially, while they’re under someone else’s care. So, you get their cuteness (multiplied by 100 in their little costumes), you get their good behaviour, you get the culmination of their talents in singing, acting (or doing actions for the littlies) and remembering (the words), and you get them living the mother’s dream: listening quietly and sitting still. All thanks to the teacher sitting on a child’s chair to the side, singing his or her heart of gold out.
Even if you end up going alone and in your filthiest jeans, there is something about the atmosphere of a nativity that soothes the soul. The muted excitement as the little ones shuffle in, the stifled giggles at the first sight of the frankly hilarious costumes, the exaggerated waving, smiling and thumbs-upping at your little star, the first sweet piping of “Little Donkey”, the very slight, pleasant boredom as the cutefest proceeds. It is enough to make all worldly resentments go away. At least for 20 minutes.
I love it! My kids are now way past the age of these, but I well remember the days. None of mine ever made it to a Mary or Joseph role either, and still you swell with pride. Now, when they are older, it’s hard not to be a little more jaded. Nowadays my husband doesn’t even resort to diarygate, he just plain says he doesn’t feel like going to another recital. Flute in the house yay, but at the recital (where one has to listen to an hours worth of scratchy tones coming out of various instruments or mouths) not so much.
Thanks Sine! I look forward to the day mine start learning instruments! Hope you had a great Christmas.