For many families, the countdown to Christmas is marked by the daily ritual of opening an advent calendar. But what happens when that calendar is a permanent, refillable one, and the responsibility for its contents falls squarely on a parent's shoulders? Guardian columnist Zoe Williams has spent a decade navigating this very specific festive minefield.
The Origins of a Festive Curse
Approximately ten years ago, Williams purchased what seemed like a charming and sustainable solution: permanent advent calendars from Sainsbury's for her children. These Scandinavian-style Christmas houses came equipped with 24 tiny drawers, intended to be filled anew each December. Her initial motivation was practical; with her children splitting time between separated parents, a traditional chocolate calendar could sometimes mean consuming six Lindt balls first thing in the morning.
However, the dream of a customisable, non-chocolate-centric countdown quickly revealed its downsides. The quest to find small, fair, and exciting items for each drawer became an annual headache. Some years, she could only source appealing trinkets for one child—think erasers shaped like hedgehogs or lip balm—while another might score Lego Yodas or magnets. Achieving parity between her children proved elusive.
The July Epiphany and Occasional Triumphs
The low point, perhaps, was the year Williams filled the drawers with an assortment of batteries, believing she had stumbled upon a stroke of genius. Her children were unimpressed, pointing out that batteries were a utility, not a gift, and belonged in the kitchen drawer. This experience led to a crucial realisation. Around 2019, Williams understood that to strike the perfect balance of parity, festivity, and usefulness, she needed to start planning in July.
That year was a success. Her advanced planning yielded quirky finds like miniature business cards printed with swear words for the children to leave around the house, ear-splitting whistles, and unisex lip balm. The family now possesses a lifetime's supply of erasers and pencil sharpeners, as Williams wryly notes, enough to last until the written word is but a memory.
The Inevitable Slip-Up
Despite her hard-won wisdom, the system finally failed. This year, life got in the way. Engrossed in the fireworks of November, December's imminent arrival caught her completely off guard. She forgot to prepare the calendars. Now facing a last-minute scramble, Williams knows whatever she finds for the drawers must be exceptionally good, surprising, and unprecedented to compensate for her oversight. Her hyperbolic solution? "I'm going to need 72 reptile eggs."
The saga of the refillable advent calendar underscores a broader truth about modern parenting pressures. It's not just about providing gifts, but about curating experiences, ensuring absolute fairness, and injecting magic into everyday rituals—often with preparation that begins halfway through the year. Zoe Williams's humorous account is a testament to the love, labour, and occasional panic that defines the festive season for many.
