We got more than we bargained for in our yuletide surprises this year when surviving Christmas took on completely new meaning. WE got through the day itself in one piece, despite almost exploding from overeating and almost imploding from the joy of seeing the girls faces after Santa’s sortie, we had a much more serious dapple with death the next day. Icy relations with the in-laws warmed dramatically when the icy roads nearly ended all relations. We drove up the Wicklow mountains for lunch and the girls entertained us (and everyone else) with a few renditions of Rudolf. …like one of those scenes in a film where everyone is happy and laughing, minutes before disaster strikes. The roads had become quite treacherous and as I cautiously drove down the mountain, I clung desperately to the steering wheel as if holding it tightly would somehow grip the wheels to the perilous path. With hubby ahead with his mum and aunt, I followed behind with the girls and grandpa. Suddenly we came to an empasse, cars approaching and all of us slowing to nearly stop as we passed each other. As hubby slowed, I braked and my first surprise happened. The car speeded up.
With an increasingly increasing speed, an icy downhill, and hubby’s bumper bouncing towards me I had about 3 seconds to make a decision. And this was surprise number two. In three seconds this is what I was able to think:
“Shit! I’m not going to stop. Here are my choices. I can keep going and hit hubby, and maybe push him off the mountian. I can avoid him to the left and head straight off the edge ourselves. I can veer right into the oncoming cars. Or I can pull hard left and drive into that handy 20foot pile of logged trees there. “
I opted for the latter. And so, three seconds later I had time to yell “we’re going to crash!” before we……. well, crashed. Head on into a very high, very solid, wall of wood. And here was surprise number three. It made a bloody big bang. I dread to think how loud a fast crash is. And here is surprise number four. We all survived, we all had a cry and then we all had a laugh about it. Isn’t the human spirit amazing? (OK, the car in banjexed but who cares?)
After a rather lacklustre table chat over Christmas, suddenly Boxing night was full of life, and laughter. And there was my final surprise. A brush with death brings a family to life. Not recommending it of course…. But still, I hugged my girls a little closer, and I laughed a little louder. And that was my best Christmas present of all…….. what was yours??[1]
[1] Christmas Surprises
29th Decemeber 2009
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Letter to Santa
Christmas Eve. Its here at last. I can almost hear the distant “Ho Ho Ho” over the crinkling of wrapping paper as stockings are stocked and stuffed.
Have I been a good girl? Well, let’s see. According to the good behaviour rules that my children would recognise, lets take a look:
Saying please and thank you – yep.
Flush the toilet – yep.
Eat up my dinner – no problem
No biting anyone – yep.
Sharing my toys – yep.
Great – so now we’ve established I’m a good girl what can I ask from Santa?
I’m a simple girl, I don’t want (many) diamonds
Dear Santa,
1. Another hour in the day please. Just so I can read the mountain of books I have waiting for me.
2. A tape (see previous post!)
3. A computer that doesn’t freeze every ten minutes forcing me (against my will) to swear in front of my children.
4. A lever on my fridge (just like the one you push to get ice) that delivers home-made nutritious delicious kids food three times a day.
5. A Government scheme to pay work-at-home mums a decent wage so I can buy a pair of boots (or even a bra) without my husband knowing. Or without me having to ask.
6. An Orla Kiely bag. (It’s always on my lists)
7. Some sun. Just a little. I know we chose to live in Ireland but really, just a little?
8. A memory stick for my brain, so I can remember every single second of my girl’s childhood, especially this day.
9. A self-slapping machine that gives me a good whack whenever I forget how lucky I am, and start whining about stupid crap that is totally meaningless.
10. And finally Santa, if I may be so bold, can you arrange it so that next Christmas we have a third little stocking hanging on the mantelpiece?
Thanks Santa, and good luck tonight. I know what it feels like to have everyone expecting stuff from you, and not enough hours to deliver them in.
You can see from the picture that Daisy and Poppy have made you a cookie and some milk … and a carrot for Rudolf. It’s by the fire. Oh, and watch out for Smeagal my cat – he might get a fright when you land down the chimney. But a quick tickle under the chin should put him right. I won’t come down and see you, I’ll be upstairs with my girls, awake with anticipation of the day to come.
Have I been a good girl? Well, let’s see. According to the good behaviour rules that my children would recognise, lets take a look:
Saying please and thank you – yep.
Flush the toilet – yep.
Eat up my dinner – no problem
No biting anyone – yep.
Sharing my toys – yep.
Great – so now we’ve established I’m a good girl what can I ask from Santa?
I’m a simple girl, I don’t want (many) diamonds
Dear Santa,
1. Another hour in the day please. Just so I can read the mountain of books I have waiting for me.
2. A tape (see previous post!)
3. A computer that doesn’t freeze every ten minutes forcing me (against my will) to swear in front of my children.
4. A lever on my fridge (just like the one you push to get ice) that delivers home-made nutritious delicious kids food three times a day.
5. A Government scheme to pay work-at-home mums a decent wage so I can buy a pair of boots (or even a bra) without my husband knowing. Or without me having to ask.
6. An Orla Kiely bag. (It’s always on my lists)
7. Some sun. Just a little. I know we chose to live in Ireland but really, just a little?
8. A memory stick for my brain, so I can remember every single second of my girl’s childhood, especially this day.
9. A self-slapping machine that gives me a good whack whenever I forget how lucky I am, and start whining about stupid crap that is totally meaningless.
10. And finally Santa, if I may be so bold, can you arrange it so that next Christmas we have a third little stocking hanging on the mantelpiece?
Thanks Santa, and good luck tonight. I know what it feels like to have everyone expecting stuff from you, and not enough hours to deliver them in.
You can see from the picture that Daisy and Poppy have made you a cookie and some milk … and a carrot for Rudolf. It’s by the fire. Oh, and watch out for Smeagal my cat – he might get a fright when you land down the chimney. But a quick tickle under the chin should put him right. I won’t come down and see you, I’ll be upstairs with my girls, awake with anticipation of the day to come.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Loving Christmas
Ah Christmas…..always loved it. All that glitter and glutton. All that ho ho ho and he he he. All those presents wrapped under the tree, all those presents hidden in the cupboard waiting to be stuffed into expectant stockings. Little eyes glittering brighter than the lights on the sweet smelling tree.
But, now, I have a new glorious reason to love Christmas…. It’s Monday morning and I’m lying in bed enjoying my cup of tea. I haven’t said ‘hurry up’ once. Not once! Normally by 7.12am I’ve said it 14 times. The kids hardly know which way to turn with no-one barking directions at them, so they run around in every direction, giddy with the freedom of a silent mummy.
Yes, my new reason for loving Christmas is the Christmas holidays. Three weeks of not having to start my day as a military major on speed. So as a little treat to myself, I’ve come up with a cunning plan to keep the calmness continuing into the new year.
I’m making a tape. The tape will run for an hour and a half and be played from 7am each morning, Monday to Friday. You see, we’ve been doing this routine every morning for over a year, yet every time I say “Clean your teeth”, or “get dressed” they look at me as if they’ve never been asked to do it before in their lives. So next year, it’s going to be different. At 7am I’ll press play and lie back with my cup of tea. I might even read the paper. And let the tape run: “Get, up, hurry up, downstairs, hurry up, eat up, hurry up, come on eat your porridge, hurry up, now drink your smoothie, hurry up, COME ON, hurry up, now upstairs quickly, hurry up, into the bathroom, hurry up, no the bathroom, hurry up, no out of the spare room, hurry up, stop jumping on the bed, hurry up, clean your teeth, hurry up, don’t forget those back ones, hurry up, now get dressed, hurry up, put your pyjamas under your pillow, hurry up, no not on the floor, giddy up, hurry up, no you can’t wear your tutu, hurry up, no you definitely can’t wear your swimming costume, hurry up, now come on, stay still while I brush your hair, hurry up, HURRY UP, now downstairs, hurry up, shoes on, hurry up, SHOES ON, hurry up, out of the playroom, hurry up, now put your coats on, hurry up, hats and scarves, hurry up, yes you have to wear the hat, its snowing, HURRY UP, HURRY UP, HURRY UUUUUUUUUUUPPPPPPPPP!”
Until then, I’ll be snuggling under the duvet for another half hour. The girls might even join me. Loving Christmas. What's your favourite thing about Christmas??
But, now, I have a new glorious reason to love Christmas…. It’s Monday morning and I’m lying in bed enjoying my cup of tea. I haven’t said ‘hurry up’ once. Not once! Normally by 7.12am I’ve said it 14 times. The kids hardly know which way to turn with no-one barking directions at them, so they run around in every direction, giddy with the freedom of a silent mummy.
Yes, my new reason for loving Christmas is the Christmas holidays. Three weeks of not having to start my day as a military major on speed. So as a little treat to myself, I’ve come up with a cunning plan to keep the calmness continuing into the new year.
I’m making a tape. The tape will run for an hour and a half and be played from 7am each morning, Monday to Friday. You see, we’ve been doing this routine every morning for over a year, yet every time I say “Clean your teeth”, or “get dressed” they look at me as if they’ve never been asked to do it before in their lives. So next year, it’s going to be different. At 7am I’ll press play and lie back with my cup of tea. I might even read the paper. And let the tape run: “Get, up, hurry up, downstairs, hurry up, eat up, hurry up, come on eat your porridge, hurry up, now drink your smoothie, hurry up, COME ON, hurry up, now upstairs quickly, hurry up, into the bathroom, hurry up, no the bathroom, hurry up, no out of the spare room, hurry up, stop jumping on the bed, hurry up, clean your teeth, hurry up, don’t forget those back ones, hurry up, now get dressed, hurry up, put your pyjamas under your pillow, hurry up, no not on the floor, giddy up, hurry up, no you can’t wear your tutu, hurry up, no you definitely can’t wear your swimming costume, hurry up, now come on, stay still while I brush your hair, hurry up, HURRY UP, now downstairs, hurry up, shoes on, hurry up, SHOES ON, hurry up, out of the playroom, hurry up, now put your coats on, hurry up, hats and scarves, hurry up, yes you have to wear the hat, its snowing, HURRY UP, HURRY UP, HURRY UUUUUUUUUUUPPPPPPPPP!”
Until then, I’ll be snuggling under the duvet for another half hour. The girls might even join me. Loving Christmas. What's your favourite thing about Christmas??
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Overwhelmed and underperforming
I feel a bit of a cheat. My last blog obviously gave the impression I was some sort of smiling Stepford wife, happily baking and whipping up a trifle whilst knocking the oven door shut with my hip, loaf cooking and emitting Nigella warm and cosy smells into the kitchen, while the children play happily at my feet, all Walton-like and wholesome.
Yes, indeed, our house has turned into a hotel for the foreseeable future. And yes, I am prone to the odd bit of home baking. Last week I even skinned a salmon (won’t be doing that again). Waltons, however, we are not. There are no sweet serenades at the end of the evening, as we sing Goodnight to each other through the walls. “Goodnight Johnboy” is now a rather a high pitched “GO TO BED” as I collapse onto the sofa to write the 150 Christmas cards I’ve just made on the computer. Yesterday I actually (really, actually) thought I was going to have a heart attack as I raced from a meeting with Poppy under one arm (try trying to look like a professional with your toddler in tow because the childminder you have for a whole 3 hours a week cancelled), and her lunch under the other as I had to feed her in the car on the way to pick up Daisy who I was late for and had to call another mother to hold onto her for me till I got there, so that I could put Poppy to sleep as soon as we got home, so I could make the mince pies for the freezer, so I could get Poppy up and Daisy and I out to the shopping centre to get all the stuff I need for this weekend’s visitors, and back in time to give them their tea so I could get the presents wrapped and the lists done for four days of Xmas meals around Christmas so I could order the turkey and ham today and get the cards printed so I could write them today so I can post them tomorrow (50 done, 100 to go), so I could change the sheets because my mum was down last night and my father-in-law is over tomorrow and we only have one set, and then Daisy wet the bed last night at 3am and I had to get up and change it and so I had to get the waterproof sheet dried to go back on the bed tonight, and shit, I haven’t hovered, but I might have time tomorrow after I’ve dropped Daisy to school and taken Poppy to ClapHandies and walked home and made the dessert for dinner before getting Daisy up and taking her to dance class at 4.30pm on a Friday afternoon at the other end of town but she likes it and all her old friends are there from our old house so we go there instead of the one down the road with no friends and then get back about 6.30pm and try and feed, bath and TV them before 7pm, when I am supposed to then get my novel out and get inspired and write for 3 hours, but usually only manage the sofa and a box of Black Magic. Did i mention I shout a lot?
Can someone please tell me why I can’t make life easier for myself? Why can’t I just go to the bloody shops and buy a packet of biscuits? Why can I not relax and enjoy the moment? Today, I took my mum and the two girls to the National Concert Hall to watch the Snowman, while the orchestra play the score live and a choir sings. It was stunning and beautiful and special. And I almost didn’t enjoy it because I was so stressed about the fact Poppy didn’t sleep in the car on the way, and my well-planned, well-ordered day was at risk of falling apart. Thankfully at one point, I rested my head on my mum’s shoulder as Daisy sat mesmerised holding my hand, and Poppy nestled into my chest and I took a deep breath. It was a good moment. Why can’t I
take more deep breaths? Is it just me? I don’t think so…. Why are we so pulled apart from every day living? Why is motherhood so hard? When am I going to be able to take a deep breath, and when oh when did it all get so bloody complicated? Even the girls are finding Christmas too much! I think all I want from Santa is a day off.
Yes, indeed, our house has turned into a hotel for the foreseeable future. And yes, I am prone to the odd bit of home baking. Last week I even skinned a salmon (won’t be doing that again). Waltons, however, we are not. There are no sweet serenades at the end of the evening, as we sing Goodnight to each other through the walls. “Goodnight Johnboy” is now a rather a high pitched “GO TO BED” as I collapse onto the sofa to write the 150 Christmas cards I’ve just made on the computer. Yesterday I actually (really, actually) thought I was going to have a heart attack as I raced from a meeting with Poppy under one arm (try trying to look like a professional with your toddler in tow because the childminder you have for a whole 3 hours a week cancelled), and her lunch under the other as I had to feed her in the car on the way to pick up Daisy who I was late for and had to call another mother to hold onto her for me till I got there, so that I could put Poppy to sleep as soon as we got home, so I could make the mince pies for the freezer, so I could get Poppy up and Daisy and I out to the shopping centre to get all the stuff I need for this weekend’s visitors, and back in time to give them their tea so I could get the presents wrapped and the lists done for four days of Xmas meals around Christmas so I could order the turkey and ham today and get the cards printed so I could write them today so I can post them tomorrow (50 done, 100 to go), so I could change the sheets because my mum was down last night and my father-in-law is over tomorrow and we only have one set, and then Daisy wet the bed last night at 3am and I had to get up and change it and so I had to get the waterproof sheet dried to go back on the bed tonight, and shit, I haven’t hovered, but I might have time tomorrow after I’ve dropped Daisy to school and taken Poppy to ClapHandies and walked home and made the dessert for dinner before getting Daisy up and taking her to dance class at 4.30pm on a Friday afternoon at the other end of town but she likes it and all her old friends are there from our old house so we go there instead of the one down the road with no friends and then get back about 6.30pm and try and feed, bath and TV them before 7pm, when I am supposed to then get my novel out and get inspired and write for 3 hours, but usually only manage the sofa and a box of Black Magic. Did i mention I shout a lot?
Can someone please tell me why I can’t make life easier for myself? Why can’t I just go to the bloody shops and buy a packet of biscuits? Why can I not relax and enjoy the moment? Today, I took my mum and the two girls to the National Concert Hall to watch the Snowman, while the orchestra play the score live and a choir sings. It was stunning and beautiful and special. And I almost didn’t enjoy it because I was so stressed about the fact Poppy didn’t sleep in the car on the way, and my well-planned, well-ordered day was at risk of falling apart. Thankfully at one point, I rested my head on my mum’s shoulder as Daisy sat mesmerised holding my hand, and Poppy nestled into my chest and I took a deep breath. It was a good moment. Why can’t I
take more deep breaths? Is it just me? I don’t think so…. Why are we so pulled apart from every day living? Why is motherhood so hard? When am I going to be able to take a deep breath, and when oh when did it all get so bloody complicated? Even the girls are finding Christmas too much! I think all I want from Santa is a day off.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Feast or Famine
There are several advantages of not having family living nearby…… no over-enthusiastic visiting from mums and mother-in-laws; no loosing your husband to Saturday DIY sessions at the grandparent’s house; no Sunday lunch obligations; no cousin babysitting. Of course the disadvantage list is longer with no free babysitting taking the top three spots. Actually, the top five.
Somehow when our families were settling down everyone had a philosophy of “pick a country, any country” and therefore ended up flung around Ireland and Britain like children playing hide and seek in a large house. Our kids don’t have a single relation living in their own country – grandparents in Northern Ireland, Vietnam and England, cousins in Scotland and Brighton. In our family, we don’t have get-togethers, we have invasions. Take this Christmas – our first in our new house. “Come see us” we offered excitedly in our drunken champagne exuberance of actually owning a family home. And so this Christmas our family festivities are a bit like the proverbial bus – we don’t see them for months, and then they all arrive together.
This weekend my parents drove down from Belfast and my brother’s family flew in from Scotland. And it all sort of whizzed past me in a blur of noise – 6 adults and 5 children shouting, screaming, laughing, pushing, shoving, eating drinking, talking, and eating and drinking some more. And suddenly as quickly as they all arrived, they’ve all gone, leaving the house shell-shocked and me wondering if it actually all happened. The Christmas tree is about the only thing left standing, and even it looks pretty dazed.
Last weekend it was my husband’s brother and all his kids. Next weekend it’s his dad. Christmas is his mum, step-dad and Aunt and at New Year we have 18 (yes… count them with me – 8 adults and 10 children including us) for three days. I feel like I’m on some sort of entertainment rollercoaster where life has become a cycle of shopping, cleaning and changing beds followed by a manic three days of not seeing my own children while up to my eyeballs in whatever breakfast, lunch and dinner I’m trying to conjure up to feed the masses, following by the shopping, cleaning and changing beds again.
Hubby and I have a dream of someday opening a small but quaint B&B by the sea… I’m beginning to loose my enthusiasm. Anyway, must dash… got the beds to change..……
Somehow when our families were settling down everyone had a philosophy of “pick a country, any country” and therefore ended up flung around Ireland and Britain like children playing hide and seek in a large house. Our kids don’t have a single relation living in their own country – grandparents in Northern Ireland, Vietnam and England, cousins in Scotland and Brighton. In our family, we don’t have get-togethers, we have invasions. Take this Christmas – our first in our new house. “Come see us” we offered excitedly in our drunken champagne exuberance of actually owning a family home. And so this Christmas our family festivities are a bit like the proverbial bus – we don’t see them for months, and then they all arrive together.
This weekend my parents drove down from Belfast and my brother’s family flew in from Scotland. And it all sort of whizzed past me in a blur of noise – 6 adults and 5 children shouting, screaming, laughing, pushing, shoving, eating drinking, talking, and eating and drinking some more. And suddenly as quickly as they all arrived, they’ve all gone, leaving the house shell-shocked and me wondering if it actually all happened. The Christmas tree is about the only thing left standing, and even it looks pretty dazed.
Last weekend it was my husband’s brother and all his kids. Next weekend it’s his dad. Christmas is his mum, step-dad and Aunt and at New Year we have 18 (yes… count them with me – 8 adults and 10 children including us) for three days. I feel like I’m on some sort of entertainment rollercoaster where life has become a cycle of shopping, cleaning and changing beds followed by a manic three days of not seeing my own children while up to my eyeballs in whatever breakfast, lunch and dinner I’m trying to conjure up to feed the masses, following by the shopping, cleaning and changing beds again.
Hubby and I have a dream of someday opening a small but quaint B&B by the sea… I’m beginning to loose my enthusiasm. Anyway, must dash… got the beds to change..……
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
I'm cracking Christmas
There are times when my outer children reach in and grab my inner child by the hand and pull her out to dance around the house. But at Christmas, my inner child steps out all by herself, grabs everyone by the hand and takes no prisoners.
I know, I know, it’s only November. Mid-November at that. But I’m one of those really annoying people who love Christmas so much, I start shopping in September. I can’t help myself..... I just love being Santa’s little helper. I normally hate shopping. I’d rather be naked than bustle busily in crowded shops at sale time. But Christmas? Bring it on! If there is a website on gifts, I’ve surfed it. If there is a catalogue, I’ve flicked it. If there’s a shop, I’ve browsed it.... although this year I’ve added arts and crafts websites to my list in an attempt to make some presents and cut back on costs.
I’m actually giddy with girlie glee at the prospect of decorating the new house and seeing my girls shine in the glow of the fairy lights. And it seems my Festive Fever is catching....
Daisy and Poppy have been wearing their Santa dresses since August! So to kick off the jolly season, and get us all in the mood, here are my top ten reasons why Christmas is cracking....
1. It fuels my fury for colour coded charts and love of lists. With presents to buy, family to entertain, a house to decorate I am in UBER List Mode…. a state of near delirium. My fridge is a veritable rainbow of charts, and I’m showing great self-restraint by not producing the glitter highlighter pens until December.
2. I have a rather worrying penchant for tacky decorations – we have more singing snowmen, laughing Santa’s and glowing Rudolfs than Hamley’s toy store... Ho Ho Ho.
3. It’s an excuse to go shopping, even if the stuff isn’t for me. And let’s be realistic, prams weren’t really designed with children in mind... sure walking is better for them anyway. Prams are the ultimate bag carrier.
4. I get to eat the Christmas Tree shaped cookie that the girls and I make on Christmas Eve for Santa, reluctantly leaving one solitary chocolate chip on the plate to show how hungry he was.
5. I get to drink a very nice bottle of red, in front of the fire with hubby on Christmas eve as we wrap presents and stuff stockings.
6. It’s the only time of year I can realistically get away with wearing something sparkly and not look like mutton dressed as lamb.
7. I get to add another wine choice to my evening splurge.... white, red, rose and mulled... oh the decisions.
8. Eating. Lots. Of. Chocolate. I do this all year anyway, but now I can do it guilt-free.
9. We are allowed to forget the limited TV rule, and curl up on the sofa in front of the fire and watch the Snowman with the girls.
10. Watching their faces on Christmas morning when they realise that Santa really has come down the chimney and left them presents.
Christmas will be a little leaner this year, but that’s ok...because the best parts of Christmas are priceless.
May I be the first to wish you all a Merry Christmas!
I know, I know, it’s only November. Mid-November at that. But I’m one of those really annoying people who love Christmas so much, I start shopping in September. I can’t help myself..... I just love being Santa’s little helper. I normally hate shopping. I’d rather be naked than bustle busily in crowded shops at sale time. But Christmas? Bring it on! If there is a website on gifts, I’ve surfed it. If there is a catalogue, I’ve flicked it. If there’s a shop, I’ve browsed it.... although this year I’ve added arts and crafts websites to my list in an attempt to make some presents and cut back on costs.
I’m actually giddy with girlie glee at the prospect of decorating the new house and seeing my girls shine in the glow of the fairy lights. And it seems my Festive Fever is catching....
Daisy and Poppy have been wearing their Santa dresses since August! So to kick off the jolly season, and get us all in the mood, here are my top ten reasons why Christmas is cracking....1. It fuels my fury for colour coded charts and love of lists. With presents to buy, family to entertain, a house to decorate I am in UBER List Mode…. a state of near delirium. My fridge is a veritable rainbow of charts, and I’m showing great self-restraint by not producing the glitter highlighter pens until December.
2. I have a rather worrying penchant for tacky decorations – we have more singing snowmen, laughing Santa’s and glowing Rudolfs than Hamley’s toy store... Ho Ho Ho.
3. It’s an excuse to go shopping, even if the stuff isn’t for me. And let’s be realistic, prams weren’t really designed with children in mind... sure walking is better for them anyway. Prams are the ultimate bag carrier.
4. I get to eat the Christmas Tree shaped cookie that the girls and I make on Christmas Eve for Santa, reluctantly leaving one solitary chocolate chip on the plate to show how hungry he was.
5. I get to drink a very nice bottle of red, in front of the fire with hubby on Christmas eve as we wrap presents and stuff stockings.
6. It’s the only time of year I can realistically get away with wearing something sparkly and not look like mutton dressed as lamb.
7. I get to add another wine choice to my evening splurge.... white, red, rose and mulled... oh the decisions.
8. Eating. Lots. Of. Chocolate. I do this all year anyway, but now I can do it guilt-free.
9. We are allowed to forget the limited TV rule, and curl up on the sofa in front of the fire and watch the Snowman with the girls.
10. Watching their faces on Christmas morning when they realise that Santa really has come down the chimney and left them presents.
Christmas will be a little leaner this year, but that’s ok...because the best parts of Christmas are priceless.
May I be the first to wish you all a Merry Christmas!
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Jingle Bells
“Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells” and so sings my three year old morning, noon and night. The fact that she’s not blessed with dulcet tones makes it even funnier. An off-key screech greets us in the morning, and a hushed hum lacking harmony filters down the monitor in the evening. This is it. My first Christmas in 32 years that Santa will Ho Ho his way down the chimney again and I’m as excited (possibly more so) than my apoplectically animated daughter who has been wearing her Santa dress every afternoon for 5 weeks in eager anticipation. We’ve just put the finishing touches to Santa’s cookie which we made (looking forward to that I must say!), and have decided which carrot to leave Rudolf. Somehow she’s got it into her head that it’s Santa’s birthday tomorrow and Christmas is his party – and who am I to rain on her parade? So apart from Jingle Bells we have to sing Happy Birthday to Santa on a regular basis.
We’ve given them their stockings which we’ll hang with great ceremony at the fireplace before they go to bed – although my 18 month old, Poppy, has gotten into hers and refuses to come out.
I think more than any other part of Christmas (apart from creeping downstairs in the morning with them to see if Santa has made his delivery of course), is putting them to bed tonight, whispering excitedly about Santa coming down the chimney (I love the fact she has accepted this with absolutely no doubt, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world) and then hubby and I will open a bottle of wine and wrap their presents and fill their stockings (and eat the rather yummy looking cookie). I am so excited I actually feel giddy.
It’s like the Christmas day of parenthood. This is what it’s all about. This makes the unendurable nights, the torturous tantrums, the frustrating suction of any sort of ‘me-time’ from my life worth it. This is the pay-off. The bells are jingling, and I can almost hear the sleigh bells above our house. Ho ho ho, and a merry Christmas to everyone. And for once, I won’t be grumbling when I hear jingle bells beside me at 6.30 am.
We’ve given them their stockings which we’ll hang with great ceremony at the fireplace before they go to bed – although my 18 month old, Poppy, has gotten into hers and refuses to come out.
I think more than any other part of Christmas (apart from creeping downstairs in the morning with them to see if Santa has made his delivery of course), is putting them to bed tonight, whispering excitedly about Santa coming down the chimney (I love the fact she has accepted this with absolutely no doubt, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world) and then hubby and I will open a bottle of wine and wrap their presents and fill their stockings (and eat the rather yummy looking cookie). I am so excited I actually feel giddy.
It’s like the Christmas day of parenthood. This is what it’s all about. This makes the unendurable nights, the torturous tantrums, the frustrating suction of any sort of ‘me-time’ from my life worth it. This is the pay-off. The bells are jingling, and I can almost hear the sleigh bells above our house. Ho ho ho, and a merry Christmas to everyone. And for once, I won’t be grumbling when I hear jingle bells beside me at 6.30 am.
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