Un-seasonal musings from Boys #1 and #2

At dinner this evening:

Boy #1:  "Do you think the Easter Bunny is real, Boy #2?"

Boy #2 narrows his eyes.  "Well.  I think that he is in certain parts of the world, but I think that here in Russia people put their own eggs out."

I look hard at Boy #1.  If his brother still believes, let the myth continue for a little longer, I think.  But there's no need to worry - Boy #1 agrees with his younger sibling.

Boy #1:  "And the Tooth Fairy?"

Boy #2:  "Oh, the Tooth Fairy is DEFINITELY real.  But I was talking to J (one of his best mates) the other day, and apparently, in Belgium, the Tooth Fairy is not a fairy but a little mouse with wings that wears a tutu and leaves sparkles behind it..."

There is a pause, whilst they both consider this and I puzzle over the fact that up until this conversation started I would have bet good money that there was no way my older son still believed the 50 rubles he gets per tooth comes from a winged sprite.  Then...

Boy #2: " ... but that is clearly ridiculous!  Imagine if the Tooth Fairies had a party, and the Belgian tooth fairy couldn't come, one of them would have to dress up as a mouse and throw glitter around!!"

Both Boys fall about laughing at the thought of a fairy dressed as a mouse.  Because, a group of fairies having a party is one thing, but a mouse with wings dressed in a skirt pushes the limits of credulity even for them.

Boy #1:  "Yes, that is ridiculous!"

Boy #2:  "But - what about Father Christmas?  Does he exist?  I think if you asked a teenager they might believe in him 20%, and my friend L in class says she doesn't; she's almost sure that it's her parents who leave the presents out.  Almost..."

I keep schtum at this point.  Best not say anything; after all, they are 9 and 11 years old - surely they can work out for themselves the likelihood of the Big Man being reality?

Boy #1, with an air of great sincerity:  "No, she's wrong.  Father Christmas definitely exists.  When we were at Gran & Grandad's last Christmas I hunted all over the house on Christmas Eve.  I looked EVERYWHERE, and I couldn't find a single present.  Not ONE!  And yet, on Christmas morning, there they were."

Me (somewhat amazed):  "I didn't know you did that, Boy #1!"

Boy #1:  "Well, I did.  But I was very quiet about it.  And I didn't find anything."

Boy #2 nods thoughtfully: "I thought so.  Yes, that proves it.  Father Christmas does exist.  Good. 100% it is, then."

All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth...

Well.  Not really.  Although Santa-Baby, whilst we're on the subject, an American smile might be nice...

Christmas is coming, dahlinks, and the goose is getting fat.  (As are the rest of us on all this festive fare and drink.  Not that I care right now, having taken an oath recently to cut out dieting because of the appalling mood it puts me in and the bad example it sets my sons.  Plus, you know, the chocolate.)

Anyway, the end of term is fast approaching, and the seasonal tension is rising.  'Are you Ready?'  That's the question that I seem to hear here there and everywhere when I visit the school to collect the boys at the end of the day.  I smile in a relaxed style and say 'Oh yes.  Just a few presents left to buy.' I'm surprised that my tongue hasn't turned black and fallen out of my head given the amount of times I've trotted out that lie.

Ready?  Am I READY?

Um - no.  Yes, the tree is up, and family and grandparents have been informed of present ideas for the little cherubs.  And Husband and I have had vague conversations about what each of us might like from the other.  But *whispers* really - that's about it.  I would love to say this lack of readiness is a temporary aberration but I cannot tell a(nother) lie - I have previous form in this area.  Pre-kids I actually prided myself on doing all my gift buying on Christmas Eve.  Oh, sweet innocence of youth!  Obviously, now that I have children of my own, that devil-may-care attitude is a distant memory, but I'm not above leaving it until - oh, about now, really - and spending a happy evening going through the internet clicking on whatever is still available in the bargain basement section of the John Lewis 'click & collect' service, particularly when I'm buying stuff to put on the end of the bed on behalf of the big man in red.

Speaking of whom, there's another lie, m'lud.  Boy #1 is 11 and - ostensibly - still believes in Father Christmas.  And Sinterklaas.  And the Tooth Fairy.  And - probably - the Easter Bunny, although we don't need to deal with that issue until April, thank heavens.  Now, I'm not completely naive.  I think we all know that he doesn't REALLY believe in any of them, but is just playing along for the sake of his younger brother and in case admitting any doubt on this matter affects the number of presents he is given.  So he is careful to keep his mouth shut as Boy #2 asks difficult questions (at 8, he's surrounded by friends who are also questioning/unconvinced by the Santa Myth), and when I make my unconvincing replies which normally run along the lines of  'Well, if Santa doesn't put the presents there, who does?'  Boy #1 keeps schtum.

Smart boy.

As for me and my inveterate fibbing about the Potski state of readiness for Christmas (C minus 9 days and counting...  Christ, now I've typed that in black and white I am starting to panic, just a bit), luckily the school corridors are thinning out at pick-up time as the early-leavers sneak out of the country before the final bell rings.  (Just between us, I prefer to think of them as Rats Deserting A Sinking Ship as they leave the rest of us deal with the joy that is the Elementary School end of term party on the last afternoon).  And there are only 2 days of term left, so I don't have to keep the lies up for much longer.  Which is a good thing, really - as I don't want to end up on Santa's naughty list.

Just in case he IS real.  (Because, you know, the chocolate...)

Dear Tooth Fairy

Dear Tooth Fairy,

I know you're really busy - zipping around the world collecting tiny teeth has to be a full time job, I appreciate that - but I have a couple of questions it would really help me out with if you have moment.

1. How do you manage to sneak in to swap the tooth (under the pillow), for the cash without being caught? I mean, I thought Father Christmas had it tough, but at least he only has to dump and run (if you'll pardon the pun), leaving the stocking or pillow case at the end of the bed. Of course, in our case the switch was not helped by the fact that just as I was about to reach under Boy #1's pillow, a particularly loud fire work went off close-by (these Russians don't do 'subtle' when it comes to celebrations, even mid-week), and woke him up. It's lucky that I habitually check on him before going to bed each night otherwise my son might have suspected something. As it is he just sat up in bed and said "What? Is she here?" and somehow I don't think he was referring to me...

2. What's the going rate for a tooth these days? We started Boy #1 off with 50R (about £1.20), but on doing a little market research, I find that some children in this area are receiving 100R a tooth and for their first, 1000R. A THOUSAND RUBLES? That's - well, that's - a LOT of money. (Give me a break, it's still early). Lucky it's the school holidays or I would have to keep Boy #1 in isolation for the next few weeks in case he found out that the tooth fairy in our house is on more of budget than the one who visits his friends...

3. What do you do with the evidence? Am I supposed to keep them? ALL? At the moment there is a tiny tooth scudding around on the mug shelf (out of Boy #1's sightline), and it seems callous to throw it away. Something tells me though that the charm will wear off by the time I reach Tooth #3 and #4. (To be honest, it's sort of worn off already... But then again, I didn't keep the baby books up to date either, so I guess that shouldn't be a surprise)

Anyway, I must go because it's half past ten in the morning during the summer vacation and today's first showing of Ice Age* has just finished, so I need to go and put on my Butlins Red Coat and become camp organiser for the next scheduled activity...

Yours faithfully,

Potty Mummy

* Before you judge me on the Ice Age thing, we had a hairdresser visit this morning** to give the Boys their summer clip and putting on the tv is the only way to end up with an even fringe...

** And before you judge me on the hairdresser visiting the house thing, it's cheaper than going to a salon out here (or at least, to one where they speak English), and since she's accustomed to cutting the hair of expat's children there's the added bonus that they don't end up with the ubiquitous Russian mullet haircut (long at the back, short at the front) that so many boys wear here...