All I want for christmas….
The excitement is building, the shops are crowded, the twinkly lights are on, and my central heating has broken down. Yes, it’s nearly Christmas! Cue squeals of hysteria and happiness. Does anyone else have mixed feelings about it all? I mean, I’m not a bah-humbug, I love Christmas. But, *sigh*, I do seem to feel fatigued by it all already. The shops full of big boxes of things that we don’t really want. Is there any other time of year when it would seem like a good idea to queue up for 20 minutes to buy someone a giant hot chocolate mug – holding at least 4 pints, I swear – and 12 bags of marshmallows, just because they’re packaged in a pretty red box with ribbon on? And so many adverts telling people what to buy people for Christmas. “All mum wants this year is this lovely basket filled with body lotions”. Well, no, actually. This mum doesn’t want that for Christmas. At all. Here’s what I want for Christmas, and I’m not sure if Santa can deliver.
So, I’d like child one (6) and child two (just turned 3) to not bicker, argue, and scream at each other for ONE WHOLE DAY. Just one day where they played happily together and we look to the outside world like the Waltons. One day without hitting and punching and pushing each other. One day without me feeling like I’ll explode if they don’t stop crying and tale telling and hating each other. Just one day where those fleeting moments of genuine love and companionship for each other lasted – for 24 hours.
I’d like to be a dress size smaller, without having to stop eating chocolate. Or drinking wine. Or Bailey’s, for that matter. (Are you listening, Santa?) Oh, and it needs to happen overnight.
I’d like my central heating to work again, but I’m pretty sure that’s off Santa’s remit. So I’m making do with waiting for some nice men to come and fix it, and unfortunately I’ll have to pay handsomely for the pleasure.
I’d like to sleep beyond 6am. Just once. Pretty please.
I’d like child three (11 months and just crawling) to end her obsession with the drain in our shower. Since I’ve usually just got her dressed when she feels most inclined to dig around in dead hairs and cold undrained water, that would be a particularly helpful gift from the man in red. Most days I simply haven’t built in the time to strip and change a damp and dirty baby again, without incurring the wrath of the school for being late for the millionth time this term.
But above all, I want to see my children’s faces on Christmas morning (yes, no doubt at 6am) when the twinkling tree plays host to a pile of shiny parcels, and stockings are bulging, and know that they believe so completely in the magic of Santa that all these weeks of enduring Christmas songs on a loop and the non-stop encouragement to spend spend spend, and all those tv programmes that make you feel totally inadequate if you haven’t hand-stuffed a quail or made a 10ft reindeer from twigs and moss in your garden, or created exquisite canapes from the tail of a rare marmoset – are suddenly worth it. Their little faces, on seeing the eaten mince pie and sweet wrappers, break into such utter delight and disbelief – “Santa came, mummy! Santa CAME!!!!” It is truly magic – and I am transported just for a second back to when I was small, and I realise that, actually, I do believe too.
And then I ask myself, is 6.30am too early to start on the Bailey’s?
Written by guest blogger Treading Water Mum