Single and Adulting at Christmas: Expectation Vs Reality (BCC: J Lo/Hallmark & Homebase)

Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree, how heavy are your branches…

When taking down your tree this year (or, in fact, putting it up) CHECK ON YOUR SINGLE FRIENDS WITH KIDS. WE ARE NOT OK.

“It’s August!” my handyman said incredulously stifling a laugh as he hauled the naked remains of my Christmas tree from my back garden through my hallway and into his truck. In August. His shock at my inability to dispose of my Christmas tree like a fully functional adult in the first week of January (or even June) was slightly unnerving, I’ll admit. Was no one else doing this I thought?? I can’t be the first. His request for a picture to commemorate this first confirmed I absolutely was. His joke about it almost being time to put the tree back up was pretty funny though.

This post is for every mum at Christmas who is trying to make it the most magical time of year for their little one while navigating single life. After all, what is being a mum and single at Christmas if it’s not constantly looking for an adultier adult and realising with dread that it’s you?

Christmas trees but make it manageable…

If you ask me, it’s high time that someone brought out a single-person range of trees. Homebase, if you are listening, I’d like to request a Hallmark tree collection that comes with its own set of unrealistic expectations about love and a Prince Charming collection service so I don’t have to throw it out of the balcony door from the second floor each year and have it sit there for the next three months (who am I kidding, 8 months) accusing me of failure.

I think the reason Christmas tree disposal is so hard is that by the 3rd of January, you have absolutely nothing left to give. You’ve single-handedly scaled the loft ladder to retrieve the decorations, teetered down every step with the box of heavy Christmas lights and booked the chiropractor appointment that surely follows.

You’ve braved the garage and the tarantulas that live in it to get the all-important tree stand. Not to mention compete in what feels like the Hunger Games to secure Nativity tickets, visited no less than 2356 Santa Grottos while trying to refrain from telling Santa that for Christmas, you would like to be attached to a Baileys IV drip until the bells chime midnight on New Year’s Eve.

You’ve left a pie out for Santa and remembered to put the nibble marks in the carrot, you’ve wrapped every gift (even your own) and you’ve navigated the Christmas bin delivery dates which quite frankly you need a degree to do. But you know how I feel about bin day. IFKYK.

WWJLOD – What Would J-LO Do?

J-Lo movies have given me unrealistic expectations of being single during the holidays. You know the ones where she whimsically works as a dog walker, a receptionist and a waitress simultaneously to make ends meet juggling jobs like an expert circus performer before dancing around her eclectic yet stylish studio apartment in her curve-enhancing yoga flares with her Disney dog that never eats her food off her plate? Before going on a date with handsome guy no 1 and dreamy guy no 2. You get the picture.

Quite frankly I don’t know whether it was the cute outfits or her effortless mum bun that sold it to me but I want to know who I can complain to as I haven’t fallen in love with a stranger at a cheese market yet (despite being 90% cheese most days) and I’m not showing any signs of job satisfaction from my eclectic side hustles. My thrift shop outfits aren’t thrifting. And there are no Hallmark hot men at my door or at the local bookstore I might add.

Imagine my shock and disbelief when I found out that being single at Christmas didn’t mean arriving to quirky snow-covered markets flustered yet glowing with festive flirtation around every corner. So what do you do if you find yourself single at Christmas at the age of 35 38 and you don’t look like Jenifer Lopez and the father of your child isn’t Hugh Grant or Colin Firth?

You hire a handyman that’s what.

As Hallmark season sashays into view, I can’t help but feel those familiar twitches of apprehension about not having the traditional family unit I thought I was going to have and quite frankly outrage that I have sole custody of a 6ft Christmas tree.

Solo parenting in reality during Christmas is 80% Santa bribes, 11% hot coco and sparkly fairy lights and 9% losing your shit knee-deep in pine needles.

But here’s what I know after a few goes at this. I know that I’m expected to throw myself into the magic of the festive season with the enthusiasm of an Olympic swimmer securing that all-important gold medal while Santa takes every ounce of credit. I know that sometimes Christmas is magical and sometimes it’s dragging a tree into your house chanting an inner monologue with vigour ‘Don’t let your storm drench your child’ or whatever that quote was I read the other day.

As my mum would say, it’s all part of the tapestry of life. This part of the tapestry is a bit faded, a little tattered but then again, I’ve always been really shit at sewing.

It’s fine, it’s fine then it’s really not fine. Then it’s fine again.

Christmas, after all, is just an amplified version of everyday single life as a mum, we just swap the plates we are spinning with our fancy guest ones. Who am I kidding. My Mum’s fancy guest ones.

My Christmas wasn’t Hallmark perfect but it had enough love to fuel every Christmas light on the planet. And how do I know it will all be fine? Because my whole life Christmas was just me and my mum growing up and I’ve turned out completely insane fine.

And for my fellow mums single at Christmas? It’s time to look confused in Homebase ladies.

I’ll leave you with some Christmas Tree Disposal Cheat Codes:

1. Book a tree collection and donate to a great cause. Sounds simple no? It’s fine as long as you can remember to book and remember the day they are coming and have the strength/sanity to take down the decs and haul it outside. Cost: £10.
2. Rope in the cleaner, the car valet man, the neighbours, the postman, a passing dog walker. Top tip here. Be nice on the run-up to Christmas. Now this should come naturally but if not a card and a well-timed mince pie could mean people will be inclined to help. Cost: Pride/Dignity
3. Hire my wonderful handyman.
4. Start crying.

Disclaimer: This was not at all an ad for my Handyman but you can find his wonderful services here.