When the going gets hard, I rely on top secret Walter Mitty-like dreams to get me through. Sometimes I win a Pulitzer. Sometimes Oprah is on the couch, crying, telling me that my book changed her life. Sometimes I am accepting an Oscar.

Come the holidays, there is only one dream that I have.

A few years ago the lovely Teresa – who reads here and whom I am privileged to call a friend – told me about the song “When Christmas Comes To Town” from Polar Express (you may want to listen to/download the song before you continue). Since then, my dream takes place around that song. I’ve never told her about the remarkable gift she’s given me, to offer up something that, when I close my eyes and think about, it takes me out of the deepest, blackest pits. I’m telling her now, just as I’m telling you of the secret fantasy I have that I think of every December now, and which lights a fire inside of me that chases out any hint of darkness. It’s cheesy. It’s cheesy cheese on cheese. But isn’t that what dreams are for – to be as dramatic or funny or, yes, cheesy all without the fear of being judged? Isn’t life about getting the chance to enjoy a little dairy in the privacy of your heart and mind?

Here is my unabashedly sentimental and secret dream for Christmas, and I am sharing it with you.

******************************************************

I am running late. I’m always running late, but this time I can’t run late. I chuck my briefcase into the trunk of the car, pushing aside John Lewis and Hamley’s bags in the meantime. It’s dark already and I smile to myself as I see the box of Christmas lights that I’ve just bought Nick. Even at the age of 7 he hasn’t outgrown his love of sparkly lights. A secret part of me hopes he never will.

I tuck myself into the seat, turning off Radio 1 and switching on the iPod, instantly filling the car with Christmas carols. I’m excited and breathless – once again we’re hosting Christmas and the house looks like Santa Claus exploded in it. If you can’t land an airplane in our garden and if the living room doesn’t look like Vegas then we haven’t done it right.

“Buddy the Elf, what’s your favorite color?” goes my phone, which is my text message notification. It’s Alastair saying he’s already bagged us seats. I text him back a smiley face and put my high heeled foot down on the pedal, shivering a bit as the car is still cold.

I pull up to the school, hop out, and am greeted by other mums who know me by name.

“Shannon!” Leonie calls. “Heard that the Christmas variety is even better than usual this year!”

I walk over to her, smiling. We get on well, having served at the past two Sports Days as parent helpers. “You know, I have no idea. Nick and Nora haven’t said a word, I have no idea what’s going on.”

Leonie grins. “Amelia has told me. I think it’s going to be great.”

“Well you know more than I do. It’s top secret in our house!” I grin. I like Leonie. Moreover, I like having a friend in Leonie, it’s something I never thought I’d have – an in to the parent crowd. But it’s more than that, it’s that I have a friend who is local who I meet sometimes at the pub when we need to vent…not something I ever saw for myself.

We head inside the auditorium. I’m so thrilled that we got two spots at this, our local school. It’s named after an author that I adore who is from this village and it’s an old and ancient building of several hundred years that the forbidding Headmistress fought for and won to keep, instead of having it knocked down and replaced by something modern with PVC windows. The stage is dressed with fairy lights on the red velvet curtains, and I see a familiar face three rows from the front, amongst the hubbub of parents and siblings and grandparents. I bid Leonie goodbye and head over.

“Hello Handsome,” I say, kissing Alastair quickly. “How was your day?”

“The vendor is such an arrogant ass, but you know how it is. The meeting otherwise went off without a hitch. How was yours?”

“Not bad, I got the budget approved!”

“Well done you!”

“Thank you,” I beam. I smile at him. “Thanks for bringing the camera, I forgot it this morning.”

He smiles smugly. “Well, I am here to make sure everything is ship shape.”

The lights go down and the Headmistress introduces the evening. We all sit silently and not fidget when she comes on, just in case. Authority figures still hold their sway on us.

The reception class comes on and sings Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, complete with a poor little chappie who has a battery powered red light on his nose. At least two of the little ones break into tears and several others stand there, frozen, but there are a good dozen who sing with gusto, if not any hope of tone. In spite of ourselves I and everyone else in the audience is grinning stupidly, unable to resist their lovely voices.

The Year One students come on and present the nativity, complete with costume. I am a little bewildered by it all though, and luckily I’m not alone.

“Is that a….Brussels sprout?” Alastair whispers to me.

“I think so,” I reply with wonder. “Luckily, the Brussels sprout in question is offering the gift of myrrh so it really is a most helpful vegetable.”

“Well it needs to be,” Alastair replies. “I’m fairly sure that the other Wise Man, who is elegantly played by what I think is a kid dressed like a blender, is not willing to give up his gift. The Baby Jesus is not going to be pleased.”

“That’s not a blender, it’s Ziggy Stardust.”

“Oh right.”

The surreal nativity ends and the Headmistress comes out. “The next act will be two of our students in Year Two,” she says smiling. “They’ve been working hard at this, I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.” She looks at Alastair and I.

“Did she just look at us?” Alastair whispers.

“I was just about to ask you the same thing!”

The curtains part and it’s a big open set. There are no pieces of furniture, no fittings, just a dark blackdrop which shows twinkling lights as stars in the back. There’s no one on the stage. Soft music is played from the speakers located across the theatre. Then a high voice from the side comes – it’s pure and perfect, the sound of a young child, unmarred by time or adolescence.

La, la, la, la, la, la, la…la la la la la….

And I can’t believe it – my cheeky son walks calmly to center stage, his voice high and unbroken, his face more earnest than when he faces his favorite lights. He is dressed in a dark blue robe, his pajama bottoms and slippers peeking out from the bottom. He continues, looking over the audience with a quiet calm.

I’m wishing on a star
And trying to believe
That even though it’s far
He’ll find me Christmas Eve

I guess that Santa’s busy
Cause he’s never come around
I think of him
When Christmas Comes to Town

I am conscious of putting my hand over my mouth and staring at him with wonder. The camera is forgotten on my lap. Everything is forgotten but my beautiful boy. Then from the side of the stage comes:

The best time of the year
When everyone comes home
With all this Christmas cheer
It’s hard to be alone

And my daughter, dressed in her soft pink dressing gown, comes out singing. Beneath the hem of the robe I see her favorite pajamas, the cornflower blue ones with the rosebuds. She’s wearing the slippers she loves, the ones with a fairy princess on the top. Her voice is a soft, gentle soprano, and she’s smiling as she sings. She misses a note and I am absolutely charmed by it.

Putting up the Christmas tree
With friends who come around
It’s so much fun
When Christmas Comes to Town

Presents for the children
Wrapped in red and green she sings, walking to Nick’s side.

All the things I’ve heard about
But never really seen Nick counters.

They reach out without looking and take each other’s hands, just as they always did when they were little. “Take Sisi’s hand! Hold Dada’s hand!” we’d call to them as they’d unsteadily toddle into nursery. Later they held hands and ran into reception class. And now they stand on the edge of stage center, holding hands as they sing together. Our lives together tear through my mind – injections. Ultrasounds. Difficult birth. Colic. Laughing as they walked. Cuddles. Chicken pox. Nick and his lights. Nora and her books. Every single moment slams into me and I can’t breathe for the size of it all.

No one will be sleeping on
The night of Christmas Eve
Hoping Santa’s on his way

They both hit the high, sweet notes with absolute perfection and I am crying like a child, my heart having exploded at that moment. Large tears pour down my face as I watch my two children sing a song I’ve loved for years. I don’t know how they came to be able to inherit the singing gene that both Alastair and I lack but I know I will listen for it for the rest of my life. I exhale, having just realized I’ve been holding my breath.

Fake snow starts to drift from the ceiling over the stage, and I watch as pieces of it light in my son’s blond hair, lodge in my daughter’s long dark ponytail. The spotlight hits errant snowflakes and they illuminate like silver stars. I am the happiest woman in the history of the world.

When Santa’s sleigh bells ring
I listen all around
The herald angels sing
I never hear a sound

When all the dreams of children
Once lost will all be found
That’s all I want
When Christmas Comes to Town

That’s all I want
When Christmas Comes to Town

They finish together, holding the last note like little robins and I am covered with goosebumps.

As the music fades out, the stand there and grin. The audience applauds, and I find myself shooting to my feet, applauding them madly.

The Headmistress comes out and announces an intermission and I practically plow people down to get backstage. I don’t even pick up my purse or the camera or check to see if Alastair is with me, I just run for it. I look around in the hallway backstage, and see Nick and Nora immediately.

“Mummy!” they shriek, seeing me. They come flying at me, then stop uncertainly.

“Mummy, why are you crying?” Nick asks uncertainly.

“Didn’t you like it?” Nora asks nervously. “We really wanted to surprise you!”

I drop to my knees in front of them and grab one of each of their hands. Tears continue to pour from my face.

“I am crying because I am the luckiest mum in the whole wide world, ever,” I say, smiling, “because I get to call myself your mum. I am so, so proud of you. You are the most wonderful babies, I am so very happy and I am your mum,” I say stupidly, stating the bleeding obvious. “I am your mum and it is the best thing in the world!” I grab them to me and squeeze until they shriek with laughter. “I love you, my babies. Thank you for such a lovely surprise.”

Alastair comes up behind me and engulfs Nick and Nora. He kisses the side of their heads and smiles broadly. “I think this calls for a curry, don’t you think?”

“Yes!” shouts Nick, punching the air with victory. “And naan? And pappadoms?”

“Is it a curry without those things?”

“Can we eat it there, instead of takeaway?”

“We can do if you’d like,” he replies.

Alastair, holding the camera and my bag in one hand, takes Nora’s hand. Nora takes Nick’s hand. Nick takes mine. And we walk down that hallway and into the night, to curry, to Christmas.

“Mum?” Nora asks as we leave the building. “Can we watch Elf again tonight?”

“Darling,” I reply, laughing into the cold night air, “I thought you’d never ask.”

-S.