Don’t talk to me about ‘little angels’ – the school nativity is nothing but hell

I’m at the school gate when I gasp. I thought today was Christmas jumper day?

My two children – Lola, seven, and Liberty, five – look at me in horror. Nobody else is wearing their cheap and cheerful jumpers with reindeer and unicorns on them. Oh, no. I’ve got the date wrong. I stupidly even told the mum with whom we share the school drop-off to run back into her house this morning to put her child in one, pronto.

I feel a total failure. It’s the opposite of letting them down: I’ve gone into excelarated overdrive, desperately trying not to forget anything Christmassy that is coming up at my kid’s primary school, where the festivities drag on relentlessly for weeks until they break up.

There are the nativity plays, the carol concerts, the Christmas fair – all of which fall during the working week. There is no way a busy working mum like me could dedicate herself to all the festive events, especially if you have more then one child at a different school . It would mean booking yourself off work completely for the two or three weeks before the end of term.

That’s why, at this time of year, any parent (especially mums, who tend to fulfil the bulk of the domestic and emotional labour in any household) with kids and a job will be juggling things in an unprecedented manner – while their colleagues may be oblivous to their ordeal.

The “motherhood penalty” is real (just ask Stella Creasy): according to a study published last year in the British Psychological Society’s British Journal of Social Psychology, working mothers feel higher levels of guilt due to internalised gender stereotypes compared to fathers.

It’s a no win situation: if you 诲辞苍’迟 go to the nativity play held at the local church because of work, you suffer a massive dose of “mum guilt”. If you do go, you end up scrolling through emails under the pew.

Truth is: Christmas is impossible for most working mums. Just as you feel you are ahead of the game, having lined up the nativity costumes and rehearsed all the lines, the school WhatsApp group pings: “Remember to send personalised videos of your children to be edited into a video and gifted to the teachers.” Instant doom.

Then, there are the teachers presents to wrap up, cards written to the whole class (I have two daughters in different years, so that’s 58 cards in total still to write at their state school if I want to be inclusive).

Schools seem to expect parents to drop everything to attend all the numerous festive events by sending out “friendly reminders” by email. It’s putting us working mums – and dads – under huge pressure at work. While other people have the luxury of a “normal” day in the office and can focus solely on work projects, us working mums are going out of our minds trying to remember to buy a shepherd’s crook or reindeer costume.

Not to mention: remembering to book a half day on the last day of term, when school incongruously finishes early... oh, and have we signed up for the special Christmas lunch? I must remember to request the vegetarian nut roast!

But, wait – who’s had time to do the end of term school project that is always far too complicated for the child? I’d need a whole day off work just to meet the deadline...

The problem is, as magical as Christmas is when you have small kids (or even if you 诲辞苍’迟) – the school Christmas timetable for parents always causes havoc with your job. If you aren’t there being happy and clapping along to “O Christmas Tree”, your children feel abandoned and the mum guilt kicks in again.

Believe me, I’ve tried the, “if I earn money it’s more Christmas presents” but they just get tears in their eyes and want me to hear them sing “Little Donkey”.

Money is tough at Christmas for everyone, especially once you factor in the annual Christmas trips to Winter Wonderland, theatre productions of The Snowman and Harrods toy department for a treat. In fact, the spiralling cost of Christmas can lead me to a panic attack. Which means that the idea of not having my head down working – because you are watching your child dressed up as a sheep, angel or lobster – becomes a juggle that keeps me up at night. And I’m not alone.

A friend with a child at a Montessori nursery costing ?5,000 a term says that Christmas often feels more unmanageable for working mums in the private sector because fee-paying schools break up earlier than state schools – in her child’s case it was on 6 December.

“The problem is, it’s ok if you’re wealthy, but it’s the middle-class mums who are screwed as we aren’t shooting off to a chalet in Gstaad – as is all the rage,” she says.

Mums like her use holiday camps that are run by the same schools that have closed 24 hours earlier. “And,” she says, “they charge ?80 a day on top of the school fees you’ve already paid. Assuming you work like me up until Christmas – that’s ?80 for 19 days.”

Arabella Angel, a PR consultant and mum of three children aged two, four and seven, who lives in Saffron Walden, admits her children’s carol concert this year is a real dilemma. “It’s bang in the middle of my working day,” she says. “I’m not sure if to tell them at work and say I’ll start work earlier at 8am – or just not mention it.”

She adds: “It’s very difficult as a working mother to feel like you are either 100 per cent committed to your work or 100 per cent committed to your children. So, you do feel guilty,” she says. “You prioritise – sometimes you choose your work, sometimes you choose your kids. Hopefully it balances out.”

I’m not saying that Christmas should be cancelled at schools, but it should definitely be dialled down. Gifts and cards should be banned, just like Martin Lewis says, so parents 诲辞苍’迟 feel obliged to fork out. Taking time off for one Christmas carol concert is fine... but please, headteachers, roll it together with the nativity play within the service so we only have to make one trip?

Have mercy on us during the festive season. I’ve had enough of Christmas at school – and have still got to get through the real thing.