Tonight marks another one of those Christmas traditions that we all claim to really enjoy, but if we are honest with ourselves that enjoyment generally only sets in when there is some distance involved and some of the horror has been forgotten.

Tonight marks the night when we head to the local primary school to ‘enjoy’ the Christmas Carols and fair. Sure it is something we will think fondly of into the future when we look back at the photos and marvel and just how cute the toddler was and how previous the six month old appears.

But the truth is slightly different if we are honest with ourselves. Generally an outing such as this results in tantrums, getting overly tired, lots of pouting and the purchasing of garbage that would not normally be considered but because it has Santa on it then it must be good.

And that is just the parents!

We will back the kids into the car for the 5 minute drive up the road shortly after a quick dinner. At the other end we will indulge in lollies and fair floss and rides on the wizzy wizzy teacups until someone (generally me) gets nauseous and demands we find our place in front of the stage and have a rest.

The carols will start at around 7pm and for the first 10 minutes or so we will marvel in their majesty. Then the fact that they are being performed by tuneless 10 year olds will go from cute to grating. The toddler will get bored and get overly tired as her normal bedtime slips by.

After about 30 minutes of bad caroling to tunes we can only remember half the words of the toddler will fall asleep on the ground, the baby will start screaming incessantly and we will pack up and head home.

I will be left to carry 20 kgs of dead weight (sleeping toddler and various accessories) the kilometer to the car, the whole time fearful that one wrong step will lead to either a broken ankle or worse still wake Little Miss.

We will arrive home and do the delicate transfer of kids from car to bed without waking them, or face the wrath of a woken and cranky child, before collapsing into our chairs for a well earned cuppa and mutual oaths that this time we have learned our lesson and will never venture out again.

Then 365 days from now we will pack up the car again, our hearts filled with anticipation and our hearts filled with dread, as once again we set off in search of that magical, perfect Christmas outing that seems to exist on television, not just in my life.

When will we ever learn?