The truth about Christmas with teenagers

I’m finding my teenagers not entirely useless at this time of year. I have two of them. Well, two and a half technically; two men-children and a 12 year old ‘tween’ girl. The boys are both taller than me now which proves handy for getting the Christmas deckers down from the Suitcase Cupboard, and they do a lot of working out so that’s useful for manhandling the tree. They also eat everything – so no Christmas leftovers guilt in this house.   

The downside though to this handy height and growth, is that my back garden looks like a prison yard with full bench-press and weights set up to rival any grim gym, and my teeny utility space is taken over with barrel-sized tubs of Whey protein; hideous vanilla flavoured gunk that could happily re-grout the bathroom. I find it fascinating as I wasn’t even a member of a gym until I moved to London and had my first ‘proper’ job, they’re not even 18 yet spend half their time in the place. The odd thing is while they can “bench 80 keggers” they don’t seem to be able to lift a wet towel off the floor.  

While they can “bench 80 keggers” they don’t seem to be able to lift a wet towel off the floor.  

On the back of that, Christmas lists for them were easy enough this year, a mix of Gym+Coffee, McSport and Protein Zone. While herself was not too tricky either – if it spritzes, blends or can be dusted on your face, she’ll love it. Her bedroom currently looks like Francis Bacon’s studio, there are so many pots, brushes, unctions and lotions. She knows what she’s doing though, I’ll give her that. When I was her age I would sit and watch my mum get ready for a dinner party and thought she was the height of glamour. How roles have been reversed! As I now sit and watch my 12-year-old, quite mesmerised as she creates a ‘soft glow’ look that really is just that. 

She’s looking particularly festive going to bed at the moment too, as she wanders in to say goodnight looking just like Cindy Lou-Who (from How the Grinch Stole Christmas) with giant marshmallow flogs elaborately tied up in her hair. The ‘flogs’ turn out to be Penneys Christmas cozy socks, essential to create the ‘perfect heatless curls’. And it works. Don’t ask me how she sleeps with all that construction in her hair, but in the morning she does indeed have perfect waves. I get a kick out of the irony of Edwardian beauty tricks reinvented by TikTok. 

I now sit and watch my 12-year-old, quite mesmerised as she creates a ‘soft glow’ look that really is just that. 

But I won’t lie, while it’s handy to have a strong pair of arms and your own personal glam squad in the house, I do miss the magic of writing Santa letters together and creating PNP (Portable North Pole) videos for them (if you have kids under ten and haven’t discovered these, I highly recommend!). But I am endlessly grateful the tyranny of the Elf on the Shelf is over. I was just never any good at coming up with interesting mischievous scenarios for the little bugger. Inevitably, I would remember just as my head hit the pillow – and would have to crawl back out to try and string him up somewhere. Half the time I would just close my eyes and fling him over my shoulder and hope for the best. The dog likes him though. He makes an excellent chew toy. 

Some traditions we’ll never lose however. For about 12 years now we have our ‘Pixie Lady’ – a Danish Maileg cloth advent calendar doll. She’s about 4 foot long, with multiple cloth pockets, in which gold chocolate coins magically materialise overnight. Unless the parents have been out the night before of course. They have been known to wake up to Tuc crackers on occasion which didn’t go down well. 

So while they’re upstairs right now, no doubt working on their deltoids or triple cleansing, I’m snuggled up here on the sofa, fire lit, with the dog and his mangled Elf. Contentedly slipping into a diabetic coma of Christmas Schmalz, courtesy of Christmas with the Coopers, happily raiding the Pixie Lady chocolates. Thankful that no one ever stops believing in Chocolate.