Or “As it happens, it’s not her first time on the Santa steam train express.” This was unfortunate for the lovely (and I mean that, because they’re always wonderful) volunteers on the train, as she has very fixed ideas about what is and is not supposed to happen.
It’s that time of year again, and because it went so well last year, when our fae child asked to see Santa on the train again, we readily agreed. I mean, this is actually a great idea if you have a child like ours that will not queue, will not stay still and can not for the love of anything wait patiently. Once you have your little cherub contained on the train and it is in fact moving, there is very little for them to find that they shouldn’t do, to do. We’ve tested this, she tried and she did find some things (which is why I’m writing this) but she couldn’t run off (the carriages are manned and the doors locked), she doesn’t have to queue (Santa makes his way down the train to each child in turn) and she doesn’t have to sit still – there are activities and and things to do whilst we move, and songs to sing. I also bought the contents of a standard supermarket snack aisle in a bag, so if all else failed I could stuff her with food.
Her grandparents also came with us, which was excellent, as they had never been before so it afforded her the chance to play tour guide. It doesn’t matter that we have never been to this particular station before, she’s been on a train, therefore she knows best, obviously. She dutifully had her letter to Santa with her, (I hope he’s fluent in hieroglyphics) and handed it to him. She wouldn’t put it in the post box with all the others, she has to hand it directly to the big man himself, despite him being right there talking to her. So he took it, and put it in the box himself. She told him what she wanted (a giraffe) to which he blinked and looked at us to make sure he heard correctly. When he questioned where she would put a giraffe, she clarified she meant a baby giraffe, with a bottle and a nappy. To which Santa seemed entirely confused and said he would see what he could do, while we tried not to break rib containing the laughter. Perhaps we should try to explain that she should specify when she means a plush toy rather than an actual animal.
As we started to near the station where the journey ended, it was announced that we were to sing the ‘12 days of Christmas’. Our daughter perked up, she knows all the words to the 12 days of Christmas – and she can sign it as well. Unfortunately, the train people in their infinite wisdom had their own set of words, and were hoping to get everyone to sing their version. That’s all very well, but our fae knows how it’s supposed to go and she isn’t shy. The volunteer leading our carriage didn’t stand a chance. It didn’t matter that she had a bag of props and a costume, everyone was following the 6 year old fae child who belted out the correct words at the top of her lungs whilst signing along. Of course, this is the sort of behaviour that we actively encourage, as do her grandparents, and between gasps of laughter so did the rest of the carriage. We were loud enough to drown out any singing from anywhere else. The costumed volunteers gave up and sat down and let her get on with it.
I was crying. I’ve never seen that many disheartened elves and Victorian matrons.
So, same time next year?
Raising the Modern Fae 