Jamie Vunivesilevu

One of my kids lost both front teeth in the last couple of weeks and another one is loose, so the tooth fairy is back on the job.

With Christmas coming, there are now two magical beings to keep on schedule: a man in a red suit, and a tiny, winged woman who apparently pays cash.

And the elves arrive on December 1st.

The other day, while the kids were talking excitedly about Christmas and their Nana and Koro coming to stay, I mentioned that I was excited too, but had a lot to do beforehand. They stared at me.

Then my four-year-old spoke up.

“But what do you have to do, Mummy? Santa does the presents and the elves do the rest. And we help with the tree.”

I looked at my husband and then said something vague to her about helping Santa out.

I don’t think she was overly convinced, but we left it at that.

The thing is, I love this stage. I really do. My kids live in a world where somebody, somewhere, has it all handled.

The presents get made, the teeth get collected, the reindeer get fed. It’s lovely to watch, and I hope it lasts a good long while.

That said, I do occasionally look at the families who keep things simple and feel a small, private pang of envy.

But then I picture my kids’ faces on Christmas morning and I’m back in.

And a word to anyone watching the elf’s antics online and thinking, maybe I should get one of those: it’s 24 nights, for several years.

We’re approaching year four and the elf is completely out of ideas. It has been in the fridge. It’s turned an egg into a Kinder Surprise. It leaves a trail of mess that I end up having to clean up the next day.

This year, I’m half tempted to let the elf simply be “resting on the shelf” after having a hard year of its own.

Because, of course, Santa has help, and the help is tired.

It’s the elf’s nightly scramble for a new hiding spot.

It’s the tooth fairy’s frantic rummage for coins when a tooth comes out inconveniently close to bedtime.

It’s the late-night dash when she gets held up.

It’s the list of who’s been promised what, somehow kept in Santa’s head.

It’s the cooking, the cleaning, and the quiet panic that something’s been forgotten, because there’s always something.

And underneath all of it, there’s the maths.

This year the sums feel harder than usual: the groceries, the power bill, petrol, rent, and a Christmas that somehow has to fit around all of it.

I suspect I’m not the only one doing those sums right now.

And we’ve just had an election.

With the result still being finalised, nobody quite knows what next year will look like.

The groceries won’t get cheaper the day a government is formed, and the power bill won’t disappear.

But when you’re already making every dollar stretch, a little certainty about what comes next would be welcome.

My kids get to believe that someone, somewhere, has it handled.

I’d like a bit of that too. Not magic, just a bit of steadiness.

In the meantime, the tooth fairy will do her best to arrive on time, and Santa will, as always, take most of the credit.