Hurrah for Christmas is here, the season of goodwill, mince pies and too much Haribo. Oh, and little white lies:
Millie: Is Father Christmas real?
Millie: But how can he get round the whole world in one night?
Millie: But how can he get in my house?
Me: The chimney.
Millie: But the chimney is blocked, I have checked.
Me: Through the cat flap then.
Millie: He is too fat. Does he make himself thin and invisible?
Millie: So he is a ghost then?
Me: Yes, have another sweet and go and play with your monkey.
But the tables have been turned. Fuelled by sugar, and the lure of Grease on DVD, Millie has cottoned on to the white lie:
Me: Go back to bed, it is late, and I am watching the news.
Millie: Why are they singing “wella wella wella uh” on the news?
Me: Um. It is American news.
Millie: But I can’t sleep. There are too many cars going past.
Me: We live in the middle of nowhere. There are no cars.
Millie: It is the wolves also. They are howling.
Me: That is Tinkerbell. She is not wolf. She is irritating sheepdog. Go to bed.
Millie: But I am stressed.
Me: You are five, you have no stress.
Millie: I do. I am worried about Father Christmas’s ghost getting stuck in the cat flap.
Maybe it is time for the truth after all. Or maybe next year…