The Bloke: Ever had that feeling Santa is disappointed in you?

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Oh dear. They said it would happen and sure enough it has.

We are now deep in the middle (or at least I hope it’s the middle) of the Poo Phase.

This is the stage of their ‘development’ where our children - and our son in particular - become obsessed with everything toilet-related.

We’ve already had a taste (wrong word, awful image) of it when he went through a period of asking us, and anyone else who happened to visit our home, if they’d done a “wee wee or poo”.

Now it’s developed into a full-blown obsession with poo, which has manifested itself in some interesting - and deeply embarrassing - ways.

There we were the other day, for instance, waiting patiently and excitedly for the pair of them to meet Father Christmas, when I suddenly got a feeling of dread.

Sure enough, when Santa asked my son what he wanted for Christmas there was a simple three-letter answer. “Poo”.

“Sorry?” said a disbelieving Father Christmas (there’s some irony there), “what was that?”

“Poo,” repeated my son, more emphatically this time. “Poo!”

At this point Father Christmas and his elf both looked up at me for some kind of explanation. I couldn’t provide them with one.

“You’d also like Big Jill for Christmas though, wouldn’t you?” I said to my son, desperately trying to salvage what was meant to be a magical, once a year moment.

“Big Jill?” asked Father Christmas, raising one eyebrow. “Who’s she?”

“Oh!” I laughed nervously, “that’s what he calls the big drill he plays with at play group.”

“I see,” said Santa, though I’m not entirely sure he did. “Well, I’ll see what I can do.”

It was at this moment that my son piped up again. “Going to leave carrot out for Rudolph,” he told Santa. “Rudolph like carrots.”

This was more like it. Father Christmas responded with a relieved smile. “And what are you going to leave out for me?” he asked.

“POO!” shouted my son triumphantly.

Have you ever had the feeling that Father Christmas is disappointed in you? Trust me, it’s not nice.

But it gets worse. My children have now built on the poo theme and turned it into an entire story that involves them going to the “poo shop”, buying lots of poo and then returning home to deposit on “daddy’s head”.

I’ve registered my disapproval of this plan, but the pair of them seem quite set on it. We’ll see what the new year brings.

Anyway, here’s wishing you a very merry Christmas. One that most definitely isn’t poo.


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