Ever since Halloween ended, houses on our estate have been gleefully assembling their Christmas displays. I’m no humbug (at least not anymore, I used to be, but that’s a story for another post) but November 1st does seem ridiculously early to put up enough lights to drain the Eastern seaboard and cause seizures in the vulnerable. It also has sent my fae daughter into paroxysms of excitement every time we enter or leave the area.
The shops, too, have had their Christmas wares in full display since September. I have been grumbling about being attacked with green and red glitter whilst looking for pumpkins for even longer than I’ve been bitching about the lights.
That said, last week, in an excursion that will go down in history as one of our more notable miscalculations, we decided to take our daughter clothes shopping after school. This trip was prompted by picking her up, and once again being informed that she had managed to soak her ‘waterproof’ school boots. And despite the staff’s best efforts they were still a bit damp. Fine, we thought, we’ll go to a cheap clothing outlet (starts with ‘M’ and ends with ‘atalan’) and buy her some wellies that can be left in school for when the urge to jump in puddles takes her.
All this, we explained to her whilst we sat in a coffee shop, whilst she chowed down on a mixture of crisps, chocolate cake and marshmallows. (Follow me for more great recipes!) She approved of the idea, so off we trotted.
Upon entering the store, her eyes became saucers at the sheer amount of sparkly clothes, the Christmas music, and the matching pjs that came in sizes for her and us. We realised that we had made a terrible mistake when she took in the wheeled basket that was just the right height for her to push as a mini-trolley. With a squeal of delight she was off, and the only criteria for her choices seemed to be ”Does it fit me? And if not, will it fit one of my stuffed toys?” We were putting things back on the rack as fast as she was trying to take them off, in her own version of Supermarket Sweep. By the time we reached the footwear section, she still had found a set of pjs with eye-mask; a princess top; and a Christmas jumper – all of which were somehow essential to her mental health. So £60 later we finally managed to crowbar her out the shop we’d gone into for some cheap wellies.
That night, she cheerfully changed into her new pyjamas and donned the mask.. and something magical happened. Within minutes, she was asleep. Seriously! This child who views unconsciousness as her mortal enemy, one to fight with her last breath was … asleep. She was so exhausted by her lifelong battle against slumber that just being forced to have her eyes shut was enough for her to drift into the arms of Morpheus!
Not only that: because the mask was thick, she didn’t care which lights were on. The same thing has happened every night since. This thing is amazing!
I wish I’d known years ago that all it would take to get her to sleep was a set of pyjamas with a matching mask. Not only that: now she will wear the mask while the Pjs are in the wash. So that’s £60 well spent as far as we’re concerned.
I went back today and got another set that was a size or two bigger, just in case she grows again: no way am I losing this miracle any time soon!
Raising the Modern Fae 