When the Proof's in the Pudding

My ten-year-old is a rock-chick, but she still wants to believe in Santa. I field her technical enquiries with carefully-worded half-truths, but something still troubles her.

'Why,' she asks, 'does Santa forget some children?' I consider reference to the Human Poverty Index then grab my stock response to her profounder theological questions: 'Some mysteries are beyond our understanding!'

Her brother intervenes: 'If Santa exists why didn't he eat the mince pies we left out?' Damn! I hate mince pies. Then I'm inspired. 'Because Santa prefers chocolate,' I reply. 'This year leave a brownie and I guarantee it'll be gone by Christmas morning!'




This photo is the prompt for the latest 100-Word-Challenge and as usual Julia timed it perfectly!

Comments

  1. Older Single Mum4 December 2012 at 22:50

    I guess the photo is the prompt? It's great. I do enjoy these.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Adventures of a Middle-aged Matron5 December 2012 at 09:36

      Thanks, yes! Julia's prompt always ties into our family sagas!

      Delete
  2. Jazzbumpa4 December 2012 at 23:41

    Well played!

    Cheers!
    JzB

    ReplyDelete
  3. H.L. Pauff5 December 2012 at 01:12

    Now that is a smart parent.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Anonymous5 December 2012 at 05:37

    Been there!! But you did it better :-)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Adventures of a Middle-aged Matron5 December 2012 at 09:38

      No, I copped out. Should have come clean and explained that we are a fortunate wealthy minority but am desperate to cling to the lasts wisps of her childhood as she embraces adolescence.

      Delete
  5. Rachel Selby5 December 2012 at 08:29

    Who did she mean that Santa misses out? Good use of chocolate - Santa is already obese so better he it than us eh?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Adventures of a Middle-aged Matron5 December 2012 at 09:39

      We'd been buying presents to fill shoe boxes that a charity distributes to children in poverty who don't get anything at Christmas and she wondered why Santa was so remiss, at which point I should have told her the world is a cruel and unfair place, but couldn't quite bring myself to extinguish her waning belief in Christmas magic.

      Delete
  6. fivegoblogging5 December 2012 at 09:36

    Very clever and I shall be using that one on Christmas eve :-)

    ReplyDelete
  7. Older Mum5 December 2012 at 15:11

    Oh you are such a witty lady. Why leave out a mince pie, when you can leave a box of chocolates! :o).

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Adventures of a Middle-aged Matron5 December 2012 at 16:27

      Can't think why I never thought of it before. When my father's not with us on Christmas Eve there's no adult prepared to toil through a mince pie at night.

      Delete
  8. AlwaysARedhead5 December 2012 at 17:22

    Santa has eaten far too many cookies & has had to drink milk (yuck).

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Adventures of a Middle-aged Matron5 December 2012 at 18:26

      What, in your house? We still give him Harveys Bristol Cream in the vicarage. Pure class us!

      Delete
  9. Bibsey Mama5 December 2012 at 19:42

    In total agreement about chocolate over mince pies. Lucky Santa eh?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Adventures of a Middle-aged Matron5 December 2012 at 20:03

      Isn't he just. Do you think I should leave something irresistible out for his breakfast too?

      Delete
  10. Molly6 December 2012 at 08:28

    Feel free to chuck any mince pies you've going my way. I love them - especially with a dash of brandy butter. Mmmmmmmmmm...

    ReplyDelete
  11. Anonymous6 December 2012 at 12:17

    LOL. Santa is going to be happy this year. Nicely done.

    ReplyDelete
  12. Iota 6 December 2012 at 20:31

    We always leave Santa a mince pie and a glass of whisky, which seems to do the trick.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Adventures of a Middle-aged Matron6 December 2012 at 21:19

      Probably it's your mince pie that's filled him up by the time he reaches us.

      Delete
  13. northernmum6 December 2012 at 23:49

    my kids are asking all those qyestions! *heads desk*

    ReplyDelete
  14. Adventures of a Middle-aged Matron7 December 2012 at 10:04

    You know what I think - we don't want to take the easy option and tell them the truth because while they still believe in Father Christmas we can kid ourselves that we do too!

    ReplyDelete
  15. Anonymous9 December 2012 at 09:33

    Ah but the brownie has to be baked - more work!
    Very clever :-)

    ReplyDelete
  16. Anonymous10 December 2012 at 21:39

    After all, mothers know everything, including Santa's favorite food! Good story.

    ReplyDelete
  17. Anonymous16 December 2012 at 15:42

    Too sweet! ~Lynda

    ReplyDelete
  18. Isobe Ltin27 June 2018 at 17:44

    Some mysteries are beyond our understanding.
    compare Manchester airport parking

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Daily Mail Columnists Should Wear Burkas

Daily Mail columnist Liz Jones has provoked the ire of Twitter with by declaring that mummy bloggers are blinkered dimwits whose lives are spiced by Napisan. I'm afraid I have to sympathise with her, for all of her prejudices echo my own: Writing about my life has pretty much ruined it. Supper last night was an elderly carrot glued to the fridge shelf by a pool of brown mucus and the floor was flooded when I left the bath taps running because Blogger has diverted me from domestic essentials. I've had to shut the children in front of the television when a new post has assailed me and some family members no longer speak to me because Twitter interactions leave me no time to reach the telephone. But there is a big part of me that thinks writing should be hard: you should cringe whenever you press that 'publish' button. Artists – and I'm sorry, I do consider myself an artist – have to wrench the dirtiest, most disgusting part of their inner soul and show it t...
Read more

The Various Uses of Rubber

I have ordered a new pair of wellies from Amazon for the daily walk to school. My current hardly-at-all-old pair has developed a fissure along one toe. I only noticed this when I was wading along the stream that flows brownly past bobbing Argos bags en route to the afternoon pick up, and I was not pleased. They are a glamorous pair with pink spots and white swirls, bought to ease my daughter's pain in ackowledging a wellie-wearing, stream-paddling mother in public. I now distrust wellies with spots and swirls, so order a safe-looking green pair. Better to be waterproof than glamorous. Royal Mail gets them as far as my door, thrusts through a 'Sorry you were out' card, and promptly loses them. Amazon is sympathetic and dispatches a replacement pair. This also makes it to my door and again a card is left. This time I decide to pick them up in person from the Royal Mail depot. The man behind the glass screen makes off with my delivery card and probably has a cup of tea and...
Read more

A DIY Guide to the Middle-Classes

I wonder sometimes what I am. I have lived the last decade on an inner city council estate, amid Oxford academia, in a remote country town and in London suburbia. In the first we were, with our relentless consonants and sagging bookshelves, regarded as aristocrats. In the second, as the 'squeezed middle'. In the third, as city sophisticates and now, sometimes, isolated in my tweed amid the Ralph Lauren and the hoodies, I feel myself a bumpkin. Class should no longer matter. Nowadays, for most of us, it's more a question of perception than birth. But the perception matters. My daughter battles to adjust speech, habits and dress to blend in with each new environment; the political parties compete to woo the amorphous throng they deem Middle England and Melvyn Bragg has started a television series on class and culture. The British, he decides, no longer define themselves by class, but by the music they listen to, the books they read. I listen to Dolly Parton and Beethoven....
Read more