Julie Jay: The Big Man always comes up trumps despite his workload 

Bringing the children to see Santa was a truly magical experience, and the fact we managed to get through a family afternoon without killing each other proves miracles can happen

'One of the best parts of being a mammy is having Santa back in my life.' Picture: iStock 

For the week that’s in it, we decided to pay Santa a visit. The man certainly needs to have a chat with himself in relation to his lack of work-life balance, but other than that, it’s safe to say we had a jolly old time.

Because the Big Man is second only to Michael Bublé in terms of how in demand he is this time of year, we booked this rendezvous way in advance. It goes without saying that Mammy booked everything, because if you know how heterosexual couples work, you will know that Mammy is the one who makes memories happen. 

Of course, daddies are there also, and marvel at how it has all come together so effortlessly.

Before anyone comes at me to protest it isn’t always the woman organising Christmas, you would be right, because in lesbian relationships, two women are making it all come off with aplomb.

For the purposes of this meeting, Santa was ensconced in a castle, a perfect choice for a man who is risking gout with his taste for the finer things and his refusal to reduce his mince pie intake. 

The whole experience was truly magical, and not just because we managed to find parking straight away. Between bumping into the Grinch (quite the looker in real life), chatting to Mrs Claus (burning the candle at both wicks), we really got a sense of the place, and will definitely broaden our house search to Santa’s village, should we ever get the mortgage approval raised to the half a mill mark.

Santa was great, and like all other HSE professionals, he had a waiting room jam-packed with crying children, stressed parents, and ubiquitous snotty noses. The sense we all had entered a fleece-covered petri-dish was compounded by an incongruously toasty temperature of 220C — a serious jump scare to the system given the frosty conditions outside the thatched cottage.

All of these factors, no doubt, ensure the souvenir we will all be taking away from this day is a touch of bronchitis with a sprinkling of pleurisy, because it’s the season for dispensing antibiotics.

Making it to see the Big Man, we were all a bit overcome. For me, one of the best parts of being a mammy is having Santa back in my life. He is one of those magical people who always come through for you, as a child, no matter what. 

And the fact he is still keeping the show on the road in this era of iPads, robots, and slimy things is a testament to his ability to evolve, much like Madonna, and with far more success.

As Santa started going through his Christmas ‘naughty or nice’ list, I could see Number One beginning to sweat. We have had a couple of testing moments of late, when none of us were our best selves, least of all Mammy, who has been raising her voice of late more often than she would like to admit. 

But, of course, Santa got to the good news before our five-year-old really had time to fret, announcing he and his little brother were, in fact, top of the list, which, of course, was never in doubt, as my children are angels.

Santa now comes armed with a ringlight, because in the Year of our Lord 2025, it’s safe to say the only thing worse than a lump of coal on Christmas morning is a photograph of geriatric parents in glaring 40-watt glare. At the end, we purchased the official photo despite the fact Mammy’s eyes were closed, the first time she’s had any shut eye in what feels like a month.

All the way home, Christmas FM blared above the sound of the rain pounding the windscreen. We managed to squeeze in dinner at the Devon Inn in Templeglantine, where we miraculously experienced only two milk spillages. By our standards, this can only mean one thing: the kids are officially ready for the tasting menu in any Michelin-starred restaurant on earth.

Landing in the door, the new cosy pyjamas were on quicker than you could say: "Let’s just try them on before we take the tags off in case Mammy needs to return." 

After many giggles, a little arguing, and a touch of bribery, we finally got the boys down, the excitement of having spent the afternoon with the man of the moment waning enough to let slumber come.

Just when I think today couldn’t have gone better, I walk downstairs and spot a familiar face peeking out of one of our bags for life, and I am filled with a particular kind of December dread. My old enemy, Elf On The Shelf, who has driven me demented for approximately three years in a row, is back.

Somehow, we have managed to come home with an elf in tow, but he has promised me no mischief this year, and if there’s one thing I like to believe, it is that people can change. However, my previous lived experience from my days as a single woman about town would suggest otherwise. To be honest, it would be nothing short of a miracle. Still, I live in hope, and so I make a silent plea to this elf that he’ll go easy on us this year.

After all, today is the day we met Santa, and managed to get through a family afternoon without killing each other, so if miracles can happen, today is one of those days when they do.