IT HAS to be said the run up to the end of the winter term is pretty full on. Christmas carnage has set in and there is an air of panic on the school run at the moment as mums, dads, grandparents and carers try to keep on top of everything required of them.

Just being in charge of one kid’s daily calendar and festive activities is a feat in itself, so I really feel for those with two or more, especially if they are in different schools.

There are costumes to craft (who am I kidding, that is what Amazon is for), cakes to whip up (thank you Tesco), Christmas jumpers to buy, shows to attend, parties to juggle and a constant stream of stuff to wrap.

You also have the mammoth task of getting your child to write a card to every other child in their class.

Thirty Christmas cards, reluctantly handwritten by a grumpy six-year-old. Painful.

We started this job in October as my son will only write a maximum of two cards in any one session and that can take up to 40 minutes.

Who can blame him?

Even I, a self-confessed Christmas obsessive, start to lose the will to live about ten cards in.

Then there is the contentious issue of gifts for the class teacher.

That always sparks a lively conversation on the class WhatsApp group as everyone has a slightly different opinion on the subject.

It all starts with the most important question, how much cash do we need to part with? The thing is, of course, there is always more than one to cater for.

We have the main teacher, who is also head of year so there is another teacher who covers when he is not teaching.

Then there is the student teacher, teaching assistant and the teachers who pop up through the week for a particular lesson or to take reading groups.

I make that roughly 74 people, so how much do I have to give again?

Please understand, I am in complete awe of anyone who chooses to teach as a profession and I do not begrudge giving the people in charge of my son’s education a small gift of gratitude at Christmas, but seriously, how much?

I am actually in the middle of Christmas carnage as I type, having to schedule in an hour to write for you before making a dash to the next event.

This afternoon it was Christmas show rehearsal time and I volunteered to help walk the children to the church they are performing in.

It was super cute, the kids have been practising hard and I cried at least four times, so all boxes ticked.

I am hoping this means I will be composed and tear-free at the actual show tomorrow, but no doubt I will be a snotty, blubbering mess once more.

Ah yes, there is a lot of snot, because we all have colds of course just to add an extra edge to the festive exhaustion.

There goes my class WhatsApp pinging again.

For days now it has been a heady mix of confusion, hilarity, delirium, more confusion and now tension.

Most exchanges relate to which day the kids need to wear a Christmas jumper, bring in mince pies, supply party goodies or donate food to families less fortunate.

It really is a daily melting pot of mums asking questions that have been asked by seven different mums already, with no one quite able to keep up with it all.

Last night the wheels almost came of entirely as one mum shared the fact her child had been upset by a drawing in the card he had received from another child in the class.

I was out for the evening and when I opened the app there were 35 unread messages relating to the aforementioned card and things were getting heated.

There is no doubt festive stress is now peaking and everybody just needs a couple of weeks off to spend with their families and forget about the daily grind.

At least we are on the home straight now.

Our school breaks up on Wednesday and the finish line is in sight.

We only have one Christmas disco, one swimming lesson, a family lunch, two Christmas parties and a non-uniform day to get through before that, all in the space of five days.

Not to mention finishing the Christmas shopping, getting the online food shop nailed, wrapping all the presents and keeping the other usual life plates spinning.

It is no secret I adore this time of year with every fibre, of my being but I am seriously looking forward to staying in one place for more than half an hour. Make room for me on that sofa and hand me the Quality Street. I am done.