For many parents, the countdown to Christmas is a magical time. For columnist Zoe Williams, it became a decade-long source of stress, thanks to a well-intentioned purchase: refillable advent calendars for her children.
The Allure and Immediate Downfall of Tiny Drawers
Approximately ten years ago, Williams bought permanent, Scandinavian-style Christmas house advent calendars from Sainsbury's. Each featured 24 tiny drawers, intended to be filled year after year. Her initial idea was sensible: to mix chocolate with other small gifts. This wasn't driven by anti-sugar sentiment, but by practicality. As separated parents sharing custody, her children would sometimes face a pre-breakfast feast of six Lindt chocolate balls if the drawers contained only sweets.
However, the charming drawers quickly revealed themselves as a curse. The quest for perfect parity between her children proved impossible. Some years, she could only find suitable trinkets for one child—think hedgehog-shaped erasers or lip balm. Other years, the other child would luck out with Lego Yodas or magnets. Fairness was perpetually elusive.
The July Epiphany and Fleeting Success
One ill-fated year, Williams thought she had achieved genius by filling the drawers with an assortment of batteries. Her children's blunt feedback was crushing: "How is this a fun gift? If we needed a battery, we'd just go to the kitchen drawer." This highlighted the delicate balance required: items needed to be festive, useful, and of equal appeal.
The breakthrough came in 2019, when Williams realised the solution was extreme forward planning. She began her advent calendar shopping around July. That year was a triumph. She sourced miniature business cards printed with swear words for them to leave around the house, ear-splitting whistles, and unisex lip balm. The family accumulated so many erasers and pencil sharpeners that Williams jokes they'll last until the written word is obsolete.
The Inevitable Forgetting and a Daunting Task Ahead
Despite her hard-won system, disaster struck this year. Engrossed in November's fireworks, December crept up unnoticed. "Never in my wildest dreams did I think it would be December next," she writes. Now, she faces the daunting task of filling 24 drawers per child at the last minute. The pressure is on: the contents must now be "so good, and so surprising, and so unprecedented" to compensate for her lapse. Her hyperbolic solution? "I'm going to need 72 reptile eggs."
Williams's experience underscores a universal parental truth: even the most charming festive traditions can morph into logistical puzzles. The dream of a sustainable, fair, and joyful advent countdown collided with the reality of time, creativity, and the relentless march of the calendar itself.
