jmgoyder

Ming was nearly 12 months old when he experienced his first Christmas. Anthony and I had bought him a big toy truck and one of those small, plastic ride-on cars. Both our families had followed the pillow-case tradition so, after Ming was asleep, I carefully wrapped the two big presents, then, with some difficulty, stuffed them into a pillowcase and put this at the end of his cot.

Then, underneath the Christmas tree, Anthony and I put our presents to each other and lots of little things for Ming. The final touch was to fill a red stocking with chocolates for Ming and sticky-tape it to the mantle-piece, near the tree.

I was so excited that I couldn’t fall asleep until around 2am, then I woke up at 4am, still excited! So, by the time Ming and Anthony woke up, after 8am, I was almost delirious with anticipation and exhaustion. I couldn’t wait for Ming to see the pillow-case but, when he finally did get up, he didn’t even notice it – and I had to point it out to him.

We all clambered onto the big bed and emptied the pillow-case out. Ming looked at the two enormous wrapped presents and then gave us his wise-owl look, as if to say, What the hell is going on?

“Father Christmas has left you two presents, Ming,” I said, excitedly but he still didn’t respond. He just sucked on his dummy and watched us grin at him, probably thinking we’d gone slightly mad. I suppose I’d expected him to just magically absorb the Christmas presents thing and, I have to admit, I was a bit disappointed by his lack of spirit. Even when I showed him a picture of Santa with a big sack of gifts on his back, he remained impassive.

“Open one of them for him,” Anthony whispered, so I began to gently tear the wrapping paper off the toy truck to expose one of its wheels.

Well that was the only trigger needed. As soon as Ming saw that wheel, he spat his dummy out and his bewildered expression transformed instantaneously into an enormous grin. “TWUCK!” he repeated over and over, tearing at the wrapping paper ecstatically. Even if I’d been able to anticipate that moment and had a camera ready it would have been impossible to capture Ming’s glee when the truck was finally exposed in all its glory.

Once Ming had opened that first present, he very quickly cottoned onto the idea and went crazy for more and his continued delight was contagious.

We most certainly set a precedent that first Christmas. Its magic permeated Ming’s psyche so effectively that when, the following year, I once again woke up at 4am, it wasn’t my excitement, it was Ming’s that woke me. He was standing next to the bed, patting my cheek with one hand and holding a very full pillowcase with his other hand.  His little face seemed to glow in the dim light of dawn.

“Mummy,” he whispered seriously, “Fava Quistmust happinded again!”

My husband, Anthony, was in hospital having his kidney removed. Cancer. I was back at the farm with our two-year-old son, Ming, waiting for a baby-sitter I’d never met. Ming was having his second asthma attack. The first had happened in the hospital, when Anthony was admitted.

Now I was grappling with the nebulizer, a distressed child and my husband’s predicament, the shock trapped in my throat.

I returned from the hospital that evening and paid the baby-sitter. Ming was asleep. Out on the front verandah, I sat down. It was the first time I’d ever been home without Anthony.

A little later, Ming toddled out, rubbing his eyes. He looked up at the half moon and said, seriously, “Moon bwoken.” Then he brushed his soft little face against mine. “Daddy can fixded it”’ he asked. I nodded and hugged him.

Two weeks later, Anthony was home. Ming wanted to wrestle him, so I swung our little boy onto my hip and took him outside. It was a dark night and there was a full moon.

Ming looked up and I felt his heartbeat quicken against mine. “Daddy fixded the moon, Mummy. Look!”

We went back inside and Ming climbed onto Anthony’s lap.

“Fankyou, Daddy”’ he said, “You’re a good boy.”