No good parent

I just cannot behave like a parent. The type of jubilant and happy parent required by Christmas. We need a type who does not growl, nor mutter under alcoholic breath as stinky as a dog's backside, Bah! Humbug!

No. At this dark time of year we need a type who springs out of bed each public-holiday morning, strewing spirited toy joy in gift-wrapped sparkle for their adorable young offspring who, incidentally, may be blue-eyed, blond haired, and not arguing.

I really hope this parent exists, the Christmas variety. If they do not, then they are simply the advertising constructs of a marketing director's brain. I may then have been deceived by that image so completely that were I to discover the truth - that there are other stinkyfoulmisery parents like me - then this knowledge would be like so much horrible torture I would have to lock myself in the bathroom, inject drugs, and not come out until Christmas is all over.

So I want you to exist, you happy 6am parents bouncing down the stairs delighting in your children's faces on discovering they possess the latest Destroyer Commando Death game. Please exist and, better still, declare yourselves, so that you can inspire me to carry on. One day, I can always hope, I may be like you.

But there are, of course, certain problems given by a morose and melancholy temperament that I would have to overcome.

First, the antisocial tendencies. I have a reason for choosing any one course of action. Usually, it is the opposite of what everyone else is doing. So if you all want cherry pie for tea, I'll have blackcurrant. And Christmas is no different. Here I am, sensing that there is one acceptably social way to enjoy this turkey-present-singsong-party fest. So sod that.

Worse, we are not religious. I have read the gritlets the nativity story from the children's Bible, and we fell about bemused. What did the shepherds do with those sheep? Did they leave them in the fields while they followed the star? Or did they take the sheep with them? Didn't anyone stop them, wandering off to Bethlehem with all the village sheep? We never get answers to stuff like that.

And then there's Santa. Now we have never told Shark, Squirrel and Tiger that a fat man dressed in red enters the house and leaves presents. Sorry. I never got over my mother's cruel betrayal. And I know some will say I am snatching away the lives of children. You should be happy then that when Squirrel, Tiger and Shark are smacked out on coke cocaine and hanging on street corners I will blame myself, not Santa.

So that gets me to family. Most of the Grit and Dig family have decayed, shrivelled, dropped off and died. The ones who are left are disturbed or dysfunctional, what with living in the attic or flogging harps and evangelism and all, so understandably we tend to steer clear. Aunty Dee will come round in a couple of days. It will be lovely to see her, but we don't need Christmas as an excuse.

I have a lot to overcome, right?

But there's still the turkey. Shit. We blew that too. We're vegetarian. On Christmas day we do baked potatoes. Every year. Either that or baked beans.

And we don't do armfuls of presents. Quite frankly, Shark, Squirrel and Tiger have enough stuff. They are constantly having their rooms restocked, resources refreshed. Come on, you home educators, isn't this a problem for you too? Here we are, equipping three gritlets with Playmobil, plasticine, material for a flower arranging project, resources for art projects, jigsaws, dressing up clothes, audio equipment, something, every week, every month, all year round. Because this is how we do home ed. It's Christmas every day, isn't it?

Now I have kicked out the religious stuff, family rituals, food and consumer stuff, there's nothing left but a long holiday. Here we are all expected to do nothing. Except loll around in front of the TV. Which bores me rigid.

That's a lot of anti-Christmas sentiment to overcome. It may be too much. I am lost forever. I can only pretend to be that happy Christmas parent.

But in my defence, I'd like to say that I melt a bit inside when I see Squirrel quietly sat at the table dressed as a fairy in a paper tiara she made herself, slowly writing out words from a magazine to practise her spelling. I am soft and foolishly smiling when Shark becomes suddenly motherly and offers round the apple juice and frets that Tiger hasn't had enough. And then I fall in love all over again when Tiger smiles her shy, shy, smile when we smiled. She didn't scream or hurl plates, she just realised that she said stack when it should have been stuck, and where once this moment would have made a monumental change in emphasis in this household, from happy gathering round the dinner table to uncontrollable fury while hanging from the stairs, today Tiger simply shyly smiles and it is beautiful.

And those moments happen all year round, and not just at Christmas.