‘My toddler puked on his tabard’

Image: Shutterstock

Sinterklaas, it’s the best time of the year. If it doesn’t end in drama, that is.

‘He puked on his tabard’

Henriëtte (37), mother of Birgit (5) and Timo (4): “Oh, how he was looking forward to it. Weeks before the arrival of Sinterklaas, Timo had already cut out the entire toy book from the toy store and compiled wish lists from it. The night before the Sinterklaas party at my work he could hardly sleep. Timo – sick of the gingerbread cookies and stiff with tension – was the first to come on his lap. The Saint had not yet asked his first question when Timo puked all over his costume from excitement. And then the children of the rest of my colleagues still had to. Snout cleaners from mothers present and tissues offered a solution, but that sour tabard could go straight to the dry cleaners. I don’t know yet if we will be there again this year.”

“Neighbor, I can see that it’s you”

Mijou (35), mother of Caleb (6): “Since he was four years old, Caleb has had a strong preference for hip clothing. If the whole class is wearing black sneakers, he wants red ones. Everyone wears quilted jackets, so he wants wool. He was four and a half when we celebrated Christmas Eve with all the neighbours. A huge party, with about twenty children of the same age. One of the neighbors wanted to be Sinterklaas, and a few teenagers from the neighborhood played the shots for a little pocket money. Our Sinterklaas had barely set foot over the threshold when Caleb shouted loudly: ‘You are not Sinterklaas at all; you are Arno!’ With an outstretched arm, he pointed firmly to the shoes under the red cloak. I could have known. The other children shrugged indifferently, not yet ready for the big exposure. We just told Caleb that Sinterklaas just can’t make it without help saints. After he opened his first present, he seemed to accept it just fine.”

‘Sint pushed my baby back into my arms in embarrassment’

Cheyenne (31), mother of Lizzy (2). “The skin tape under Sinterklaas’ beard was not of the best quality, my daughter discovered when the saint came by in the shopping centre. Lizzy was just a year old, and was immediately fished out of the audience to get on her lap. The hired photographer was just printing when Lizzy grinned ‘that one!’ cried, giving a good tug to the white hair. With a cry of pain and his beard at half past six, Sinterklaas pushed her embarrassed back into my arms. We never got to see the photo.”

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Rent-a-Sint with a sip

Manja (33), mother of Halina (6) and Kurd (4): “We didn’t find it that strange that Sinterklaas got out of the taxi a bit wobbly when my sisters and I hired him on December 5th. It’s also something, such a long, heavy skirt. Of course we smelled the beer, which he had apparently just drunk. But how much can you expect from Rent-a-Sint, which largely runs on students? Once our young good-holy man sat down and our six children crawled onto the couch with him expectantly, things got a little uncomfortable. He would like a beer, Sinterklaas said, when I offered him a drink and hoped he would ask for a cup of tea. Of the six personal stories I had e-mailed for his Big Book, he lost two. And when he read the other four with a double tongue, my nephew spoke in a squeaky voice: ‘Sinterklaas, why are you talking so strangely?’ I only slightly predicted the two lost stories: ‘Gosh Sint, you also heard that Halina lost her first tooth, didn’t you?’ He took that fairly well, thank goodness. After the first presents were unwrapped, we sent him home with the same taxi. We were sobered; now he still.”

Hatchu

Selina (39), mother of Max (11) and Lisanne (9): “When my daughter lost her faith well before Sinterklaas last year, we decided not to celebrate the party at home anymore. In order to still be part of the event, my husband volunteered as a help saint at the neighborhood association. This way Sinterklaas could visit different houses at the same time on package evening. The role suited my husband well, the circumstances a little less. He hadn’t arrived at the first address for five minutes when he started to cry. At least, that’s what the children present thought in horror. The house turned out to be infested with cats, and my ‘Sinterklaas’ is terribly allergic. He hadn’t taken that into account for a while. Snivelling and sneezing, he has slogged through the play, leaving the rest of the visitation to the other help saints. After an antihistamine tablet he was able to take it again, but then all the good children were already on one ear.

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