On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me .....
Posted on
... a guest post about a nativity so nutty!
Donna is a slightly crazy Geordie, living in Scotland with her Lancastrian husband and their two sons who were born in Jersey. Confused? So is she most of the time. You can check out her ramblings at http://www.mummycentral.com
Yes, it's that time of year again, when you pay for the privilege of seeing your own child, dressed as a donkey, sing Christmas carols out of tune and totally NOT in time with the music. But still we all roll up, oohing and ahhing, applauding overenthusiastically and trying to take pictures/footage before we get rugby-tackled by the paedophile police. (Because of course, every pervert's dream is an image of a five-year-old, draped in a sheet with a tea-towel on his head!)
Don't you just love a nativity?
I do and I'm not the only one. Asda announced last week it was giving its staff "nativity leave" over the festive season, so no parent had to miss their child's performance. Having experienced two playgroup shows, where both my boys were Wise Men, and two primary school shows, where my eldest was a donkey and a camel respectively (insert obvious "getting the hump" joke here), I have to say I'm warming to the tradition. And I've noticed certain similarities in all the nativities I've been to - not just in the Christmas story itself (obviously!), but in the types of people I've seen there.
Maybe you've seen one or two yourself. Let me introduce you to them.
Zombie child
No matter how upbeat and encouraging the teachers are, and how hopeful the faces of the parents in the audience, there's always one kid who would rather chew off their right arm than stand on stage and perform. So they go through the motions, opening and closing their mouth to the music but not uttering the words, totally dead inside. Years from now, you imagine a therapist listening to this tortured individual saying "The feelings of complete and utter despair all started at my school's nativity show"
The "I can do better" mum
She goes that little bit further with her child's costume. Because she can do better - and quite frankly in her opinion, her child is better.
All the other mums have put a teatowel on their child's head, secured with a rubber band, as requested by the school for the shepherds. But not this mum. She's stayed up all night, fashioning a head-dress from gold material, which makes her little darling look more like a rich Sheik than a poor sheep-herder. But she doesn't care, as she punches the air and whoops loudly, while other parents look on in wonder, rolling their eyes and blustering at the fact their little ones have been upstaged.
The crying baby
There’s always a crying baby/toddler in the audience, with a mum sporting a fixed grin and bobbing the infant up and down on her hip, pleading through clenched teeth for the noise to stop. She paid for her ticket too, and endured weeks of listening to her little one practising her songs. She's damned if she's going to miss her daughter's big debut as an angel, despite all the tuts and glares from the rest of the audience.
There’s always a crying baby/toddler in the audience, with a mum sporting a fixed grin and bobbing the infant up and down on her hip, pleading through clenched teeth for the noise to stop. She paid for her ticket too, and endured weeks of listening to her little one practising her songs. She's damned if she's going to miss her daughter's big debut as an angel, despite all the tuts and glares from the rest of the audience.
Jazz hands
Through countless football lessons, swimming clubs and karate demos, he's been looking for his niche - which he's finally found at the school nativity. While zombie kid tries to disappear in the back row, little Master Jazz Hands does all of the actions in an exaggerated fashion, enunciating his words to full effect. He may not be in a starring role, but he steals the show with his enthusiasm. It's like putting Pavarotti in a karaoke competition. He stands out like a sore thumb. While his mum fishes in her handbag for her iPhone, to look up the website for their nearest stage school, his father wonders if he can get his money back on the personalised Man Utd strip he's bought his son for Christmas.
Screecher teacher
She's put the kids through weeks of rehearsals, practised the songs until she's singing them in her dreams, and Goddammit she's going to have a perfect opening night - or she might just lose her shit and throw the baby Jesus doll through a window. You can see her rushing around in the background, teeth clenched into the fakest smile you've ever witnessed, screeching at the sound person, making sure the prompt cards are waved in the right direction, and hissing at the kids to start singing on cue. Just one mistake will tip this woman over the edge, and you can't help but pray that one of the kids messes up big style so you can watch the ensuing fireworks.
Notice anyone familiar?
