Last night I saw an advert for Boots on telly. It featured a woman showing her husband what she'd bought for various people for Christmas. While she showed off the gifts, the man stood there doing the requisite nodding but the look on his face said it all: complete and utter disinterest bordering on depression at how dull and no doubt expensive the whole gift buying business was. It was so very much like the look on my husband's face that I laughed out loud.
Every year I make a list of what presents we need to buy for whom, including his godchildren and family. I then try to get his opinion on my suggestions. It's safe to say he could give a monkey's bum. Occasionally he'll disagree with my suggestions but won't offer an alternative. He also finds these conversations very taxing, causing him to sigh often as though he cannot understand the need for so much discussion so far in advance.
So I head off and shop. Bit by bit the gifts arrive from internet purchases or in a heavy cluster of bags after a day on the high street. Until at last everything is bought.
I then tackle the wrapping of them. I tend to do this early as we have family strewn across the world and to hit the international posting dates, I have to be organised. Wrapping evenings go like this:
I sit down surrounded by bags of gifts and reams of gift wrap. I then pull out various gifts and show them to my husband, saying things like: "I got this for your mum. Do you think she'll like it?" He'll look up from playing Angry Birds on his iPad and look either a) bored b) annoyed (that his game is being disturbed) or c) bemused as to why this is even happening.
Eventually all the gifts will be wrapped. All the cards will be written. All of the things that need to be posted are posted.
On Christmas Eve, my husband will ask me where the wrapping paper is, and he'll wrap my presents that he's bought that day. And that will be his contribution to the gift giving process.
Having read several books on raising boys, I've come to realise that males only do what needs to be done at the very last minute because - their rationale goes - that they could get hit by an alien spaceship on the way to work tomorrow, rendering anything done in advance a complete and utter waste of time. So I assume they apply this same logic to the Christmas gift buying process.
And I get it. Men have bigger, more important things to think about than whether Aunty Majorie will like a floral teapot (like who beat who in the Premiership or working out how many curries they've eaten in 2010).
But here's my issue: I don't expect men to do the shopping, wrapping or posting. I don't even expect them to think about what people might like or who we need to buy for. I know that gifts are a pink job, the same way cleaning the fish tank is a blue job. But I do think that at least pretending to be interested in our purchases would buy men a whole lot more brownie points. And brownie points equal sex, or at least a slightly greater chance of ever getting lucky. Why haven't they worked this out yet?
The exact same process happens when planning the Christmas meal. For years I've tried to include my husband in the discussion about whether to have turkey or ham, Christmas pudding or trifle. I've realised that he just doesn't care. At. All. In fact, if he woke up on Christmas morning and there was no food to eat, he'd boil up some pasta, put on some pesto and he'd be good with that. It's us that care. Us women folk!!.
Why do we care? Why is it that women are the upholders of tradition? What would happen if we all just stopped? Would Christmas happen at all? I'm almost willing to give it a try next year just to see what happens. But then I imagine my children waking up on Christmas morning wondering where the tree was, where the presents were and why they weren't having anything other than pasta with pesto for lunch and I know that I'll be doing it all again next year.
Did someone say it is the season to be jolly? I must have missed the memo.
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Tuesday, 14 December 2010
Friday, 5 November 2010
Putting the magic back into Christmas
Yesterday afternoon my children decided to write their Christmas gift lists. I encouraged them in this past time, mainly because the 5 year old seriously needs to practice his hand writing. The results were as follows:
Son 2 (5 year old) - utterly illegible scrawl which even Santa, with his magic powers, would have a hard time deciphering. I got him to translate it for me. It included a DSi, a light sabre, top trumps and gogos. Fair enough although I'm still not convinced that I'll be getting him a DS. I know, I know, I know - everyone has them and it is small and would fit easily into luggage as we're spending Christmas abroad and would keep him occupied on the plane on the way home. But I think it will become a battle ground where he wants to be on it and I want him off it and much gnashing of teeth will ensue.
Son 1 (6 year old) - a very, very, very long list of things including a DS, a camera and a phone! A phone!!! Who the hell is he going to call? When did children become grown ups? What happened to the magic of Christmas?
And then I got a call from a company asking me if I could help them promote a service of theirs and given my frustration with cynical children, I said yes. So this is a sponsored post, but happily, fits into my life very well.
The company lets you create a personalised letter to your child from Santa. MagicalSanta offers four distinct letters, which can be tailored to each child. Each letter has been written by a published children’s author, and each is written for a specific age group and gender.
By adding the child’s name, gender, friend’s name, what they’ve done to qualify them for the ‘Nice List’ and what present they want the letter becomes all about them.
(Sadly, it doesn't have a bit about not back chatting your mother, not cleaning your teeth and not eating your vegetables - I believe there might be a market for letters from Santa that threaten children that presents won't be forthcoming unless these things are done!)
Each letter costs £2.99 and includes free delivery within the UK, when ordered directly from the website. By clicking on http://www.magicalsanta.co.uk/ref/mfogg, the rate is further discounted price to only £2.79.
Letters will be sent by Royal Mail in the first few days of December for all orders received before this date. For orders received on or after 1st December all letters will be posted out within 2-3 working days on receipt of the order, up to the Royal Mail's last posting dates.
These dates are:
UK 18th December
Europe 13th December
Other Countries 10th December
Payment can be made online by credit or debit card, and a full refund within 30 days is offered if the purchaser isn't completely satisfied.
So go on, send your child a personal letter from Santa and help get the magic back. You know it won't be long before they're saying: 'Christmas is like so lame', so milk the magic while you can!
Son 2 (5 year old) - utterly illegible scrawl which even Santa, with his magic powers, would have a hard time deciphering. I got him to translate it for me. It included a DSi, a light sabre, top trumps and gogos. Fair enough although I'm still not convinced that I'll be getting him a DS. I know, I know, I know - everyone has them and it is small and would fit easily into luggage as we're spending Christmas abroad and would keep him occupied on the plane on the way home. But I think it will become a battle ground where he wants to be on it and I want him off it and much gnashing of teeth will ensue.
Son 1 (6 year old) - a very, very, very long list of things including a DS, a camera and a phone! A phone!!! Who the hell is he going to call? When did children become grown ups? What happened to the magic of Christmas?
And then I got a call from a company asking me if I could help them promote a service of theirs and given my frustration with cynical children, I said yes. So this is a sponsored post, but happily, fits into my life very well.
The company lets you create a personalised letter to your child from Santa. MagicalSanta offers four distinct letters, which can be tailored to each child. Each letter has been written by a published children’s author, and each is written for a specific age group and gender.
By adding the child’s name, gender, friend’s name, what they’ve done to qualify them for the ‘Nice List’ and what present they want the letter becomes all about them.
(Sadly, it doesn't have a bit about not back chatting your mother, not cleaning your teeth and not eating your vegetables - I believe there might be a market for letters from Santa that threaten children that presents won't be forthcoming unless these things are done!)
Each letter costs £2.99 and includes free delivery within the UK, when ordered directly from the website. By clicking on http://www.magicalsanta.co.uk/ref/mfogg, the rate is further discounted price to only £2.79.
Letters will be sent by Royal Mail in the first few days of December for all orders received before this date. For orders received on or after 1st December all letters will be posted out within 2-3 working days on receipt of the order, up to the Royal Mail's last posting dates.
These dates are:
UK 18th December
Europe 13th December
Other Countries 10th December
Payment can be made online by credit or debit card, and a full refund within 30 days is offered if the purchaser isn't completely satisfied.
So go on, send your child a personal letter from Santa and help get the magic back. You know it won't be long before they're saying: 'Christmas is like so lame', so milk the magic while you can!
Monday, 21 December 2009
The bliss of doing nothing
When I lived at home many moons ago, I always wondered what was wrong with my mother. She never sat still and just did nothing. She was always doing something - fixing things, making things, cleaning things or doing things. I thought it was just her. A dire case of ants-in-the-pantsitis.
Fast forward. Today that person with an inability to sit and do nothing is me. There is ALWAYS something else that needs doing. Usually its work. Or household chores. Or children. Or organising things. Or those billions of small jobs that never quite get done. As a result I am perpetually in motion. I think I have forgotton how to relax. To just sit and be and not do.
However, on Friday I stopped working for the year. I was even organised enough to have done the bulk of my paperwork so that I don't have to face it come 1 January. I have done all my Christmas shopping and have wrapped most of it. I am not having the world and their respective dogs coming to Christmas dinner so there is no need to make a big fuss. I'm going to wing it and pop into Sainsbury's on Wednesday morning and play pot luck to see what I can find for Christmas dinner (like Ready, Steady, Cook only with a few more ingredients to choose from).
So that means there is no making cranberry sauce or gravy in advance, or working out spreadsheets of what to cook when.
We do have a drinks party here on Tuesday evening and I will have to do a bit of work for that tomorrow, but not much. So after having bought the necessary bits needed for that on Saturday morning, I was officially done. I had nothing else that really needed doing. Sure I still haven't put the photos of the children into albums (since they were babies) and admittedly I haven't tidied my clothes cupboard. But neither of those things are mission critical.
So I thought I'd just lie in front of the fire and read a book. This felt thoroughly decadent and obviously going from do-er to be-er cannot be achieved in a single step. First I had to make the fire. Before I could do that I had to clean out the fireplace. And then once I had a bag full of ash, I realised that the bins still hadn't been put back since the bin men came and we had several new bags of rubbish that had to go out. Having done that, I realised we were out of firewood, so headed back into the garden to the log pile to collect a basketful of logs and kindling.
Having seen the state of the garden while out there, I couldn't justify lying in front of the fire reading a book when the piles of leaves I'd raked weeks ago were still sitting in forlorn frozen piles waiting to go into the green recycling bin. So I spent the next 40 minutes picking up leaf ice blocks and putting them in the bin. And raking up the left over bits.
A good hour and a half after I'd decided to do nothing, I returned to the sitting room, made a fire, lay down and read my book. I managed to do that for about 20 minutes before the children found me and said they were hungry and I got up to make dinner.
Sunday morning rolled around. A whole glorious day lay ahead with nothing to do (thank God given I'd been up all night with a poorly child). I had a lie in. Sort of. I had a leisurly breakfast. I went for a long snowy walk with the un-poorly child. I read my book in front of the fire. I played chess with the boys and my husband while listening to Christmassy music. I made some scones and we all had high tea. We ventured out to Christmas carols at the church. Enjoyed some mulled wine. Had a hearty dinner of stew with crusty bread. Put the boys to bed. And I reverted to the sofa with a book and a glass of red wine, with the fire still crackling away.
No TV, no blogging, no twitter, no talking, no doing, no thinking. Just quite simply being. It was bliss. It feels like I've been on a holiday. I think the book, wine, fire combo is going to be repeated a lot in the next two weeks.
So on the off chance I can't be bothered to remove myself from the sofa between now and Christmas, here's wishing you a very merry - and more importantly - a very relaxed Christmas and stress-free 2010!
Fast forward. Today that person with an inability to sit and do nothing is me. There is ALWAYS something else that needs doing. Usually its work. Or household chores. Or children. Or organising things. Or those billions of small jobs that never quite get done. As a result I am perpetually in motion. I think I have forgotton how to relax. To just sit and be and not do.
However, on Friday I stopped working for the year. I was even organised enough to have done the bulk of my paperwork so that I don't have to face it come 1 January. I have done all my Christmas shopping and have wrapped most of it. I am not having the world and their respective dogs coming to Christmas dinner so there is no need to make a big fuss. I'm going to wing it and pop into Sainsbury's on Wednesday morning and play pot luck to see what I can find for Christmas dinner (like Ready, Steady, Cook only with a few more ingredients to choose from).
So that means there is no making cranberry sauce or gravy in advance, or working out spreadsheets of what to cook when.
We do have a drinks party here on Tuesday evening and I will have to do a bit of work for that tomorrow, but not much. So after having bought the necessary bits needed for that on Saturday morning, I was officially done. I had nothing else that really needed doing. Sure I still haven't put the photos of the children into albums (since they were babies) and admittedly I haven't tidied my clothes cupboard. But neither of those things are mission critical.
So I thought I'd just lie in front of the fire and read a book. This felt thoroughly decadent and obviously going from do-er to be-er cannot be achieved in a single step. First I had to make the fire. Before I could do that I had to clean out the fireplace. And then once I had a bag full of ash, I realised that the bins still hadn't been put back since the bin men came and we had several new bags of rubbish that had to go out. Having done that, I realised we were out of firewood, so headed back into the garden to the log pile to collect a basketful of logs and kindling.
Having seen the state of the garden while out there, I couldn't justify lying in front of the fire reading a book when the piles of leaves I'd raked weeks ago were still sitting in forlorn frozen piles waiting to go into the green recycling bin. So I spent the next 40 minutes picking up leaf ice blocks and putting them in the bin. And raking up the left over bits.
A good hour and a half after I'd decided to do nothing, I returned to the sitting room, made a fire, lay down and read my book. I managed to do that for about 20 minutes before the children found me and said they were hungry and I got up to make dinner.
Sunday morning rolled around. A whole glorious day lay ahead with nothing to do (thank God given I'd been up all night with a poorly child). I had a lie in. Sort of. I had a leisurly breakfast. I went for a long snowy walk with the un-poorly child. I read my book in front of the fire. I played chess with the boys and my husband while listening to Christmassy music. I made some scones and we all had high tea. We ventured out to Christmas carols at the church. Enjoyed some mulled wine. Had a hearty dinner of stew with crusty bread. Put the boys to bed. And I reverted to the sofa with a book and a glass of red wine, with the fire still crackling away.
No TV, no blogging, no twitter, no talking, no doing, no thinking. Just quite simply being. It was bliss. It feels like I've been on a holiday. I think the book, wine, fire combo is going to be repeated a lot in the next two weeks.
So on the off chance I can't be bothered to remove myself from the sofa between now and Christmas, here's wishing you a very merry - and more importantly - a very relaxed Christmas and stress-free 2010!
Friday, 26 December 2008
Fridge traffic
You may not know this but the contents of a fridge has a profound affect on a person's mood. A fridge stocked with lovely things = happy mood (unless you're trying to lose weight, in which case it has the opposite effect). A soulless, empty fridge with nothing more than a wrinkling cucumber and a hardening piece of cheese might in fact be a direct cause of depression (note: scientific results pending). At Christmas time, given the volume of fridge traffic, it can result in quite alarming mood swings.
I'm willing to share with you the secret diary I keep with my fridge to provide greater insight into the dynamics of a fridge/owner relationship:
Date: 20 Dec
Mood: Depression coupled with anxiety and high stress levels
Fridge contents: Scrag ends of scrag ends as the fridge owner is NOT doing a shop until the BIG Christmas shop is done. This is also psychologically the pre-Christmas famine in preparation for the forthcoming gluttony.
Date: 21 Dec
Mood: Upbeat, social, happy
Fridge contents: Party nibbles, olives, dips, champagne. Decided to have a last minute drinks party for neighbours so popped out for some yummy looking canapes. Still no regular food and the kids are now living on fish fingers out of the freezer.
Date: 22 Dec
Mood: Satisfaction, Expectant, relief, annoyance
Fridge contents: First all scrag ends, half jars and things beyond sell by date are removed and binned leaving a starkly empty and cavernous space. This is exceptionally satisfying. As the old goes out, in comes the new. The fridge is packed to the gills with a veritable bounty of food waiting expectantly to be turned into sumptuous Christmas dishes. The relief at shutting the door on the well stocked shelves is profound, knowing that the mad dash through pre-christmas supermarket hell is over for another year. Then realising that you're hungry but have nothing to eat for the next 3 days. Annoyance sets in as you realise you might have to make another trip to the supermarket after all.
Date: 23 Dec
Mood: Satisfaction and expectation
Fridge contents: Well stocked shelves only now with a few less ingredients and a few more prepared meals waiting in eager anticipation of the big day. The warm glow of domestic godessness pervades, despite still having nothing to actually eat anytime soon.
Date: 24 Dec
Mood: Excitement
Fridge contents: Many of the ingredients have now found their way into stock pots, pre-made casseroles, cranberry sauces and stuffings. This makes stacking and packing a far more precarious occupation but it's only a matter of hours before some of the goodies are actually consumed. Hooray. Finally we can eat AND make room in the fridge.
Date: 25 Dec - morning
Mood: Ecstasy (with an inkling of nervous trepidation)
Fridge contents: Drastically reduced fridge stock as breakfast is consumed and most of the Christmas lunch goodies make their way out. Although there is a rather alarming number of tupperware boxes containing leftovers from the Christmas Eve meal. We're not happy with this. This means even more leftovers to turn into a follow up meal.
Date: 25 Dec - evening
Mood: Depression
Fridge contents: Even more tupperware boxes. All the promise of the raw ingredients and all the excitement of the prepared meals, have been replaced with LEFTOVERS. Sigh. The only good thing is that we're making room in the cheese compartment as we're about to get stuck into a cheese platter.
Date: 26 Dec - am
Mood: Surly, depressed with a hint of hope and glimpses of satisfying finality.
Fridge contents: Even more not quite finished things, now with the addition of half eaten cheeses, which never look quite as inviting as whole cheeses. However, at least we have Boxing day to eat up all those leftovers. During the course of the day, there are moments of hope and satisfaction as certain leftovers are used up and the tupperware mountain is whittled down.
Date: 26 Dec - pm
Mood: Despair, resiliance
Fridge contents: Despite having eaten leftovers for breakfast, lunch and soon to be supper, there is still a worrying number of tupperware boxes loitering in the fridge. Left over leftovers. Mmmhmm. What's more, no-one can possibly manage another piece of turkey or stuffing. All everyone really wants is some light salad only you ran out of that days ago. You're not really too sure how to turn the now scruffy remains into something that looks appetising, but you refuse to dig into the freezer. It's make do and mend around here now. We will eat the sodding leftovers, we will, we will, we will.
Date: 27 Dec
Mood: resignation
Fridge contents: Half a bag of browning parsnips, a few carrots, several half eaten tubs of dip that have gone a bit runny and 'orrible, cranberry sauce (lots of), stuffing (lots of although it's now been reheated several times and might well not be edible anymore), a few pieces of dry turkey, the rind of a Brie, a wilted celery stick. It's time to go back to the shops.
Soon the 'out with the old, in with the new' will start again. This will continue until 1 Jan. At which point the entire fridge will be emptied and restocked with low fat everything and bags of air which we will live on in place of food.
It's a love/hate relationship I have with our fridge. The sheer volume of traffic over the last week has left me feeling like I've got a bad bout of pmt. I'm sure someone could write a thesis on this you know. Perhaps someone already has. Must explore further.
I'm willing to share with you the secret diary I keep with my fridge to provide greater insight into the dynamics of a fridge/owner relationship:
Date: 20 Dec
Mood: Depression coupled with anxiety and high stress levels
Fridge contents: Scrag ends of scrag ends as the fridge owner is NOT doing a shop until the BIG Christmas shop is done. This is also psychologically the pre-Christmas famine in preparation for the forthcoming gluttony.
Date: 21 Dec
Mood: Upbeat, social, happy
Fridge contents: Party nibbles, olives, dips, champagne. Decided to have a last minute drinks party for neighbours so popped out for some yummy looking canapes. Still no regular food and the kids are now living on fish fingers out of the freezer.
Date: 22 Dec
Mood: Satisfaction, Expectant, relief, annoyance
Fridge contents: First all scrag ends, half jars and things beyond sell by date are removed and binned leaving a starkly empty and cavernous space. This is exceptionally satisfying. As the old goes out, in comes the new. The fridge is packed to the gills with a veritable bounty of food waiting expectantly to be turned into sumptuous Christmas dishes. The relief at shutting the door on the well stocked shelves is profound, knowing that the mad dash through pre-christmas supermarket hell is over for another year. Then realising that you're hungry but have nothing to eat for the next 3 days. Annoyance sets in as you realise you might have to make another trip to the supermarket after all.
Date: 23 Dec
Mood: Satisfaction and expectation
Fridge contents: Well stocked shelves only now with a few less ingredients and a few more prepared meals waiting in eager anticipation of the big day. The warm glow of domestic godessness pervades, despite still having nothing to actually eat anytime soon.
Date: 24 Dec
Mood: Excitement
Fridge contents: Many of the ingredients have now found their way into stock pots, pre-made casseroles, cranberry sauces and stuffings. This makes stacking and packing a far more precarious occupation but it's only a matter of hours before some of the goodies are actually consumed. Hooray. Finally we can eat AND make room in the fridge.
Date: 25 Dec - morning
Mood: Ecstasy (with an inkling of nervous trepidation)
Fridge contents: Drastically reduced fridge stock as breakfast is consumed and most of the Christmas lunch goodies make their way out. Although there is a rather alarming number of tupperware boxes containing leftovers from the Christmas Eve meal. We're not happy with this. This means even more leftovers to turn into a follow up meal.
Date: 25 Dec - evening
Mood: Depression
Fridge contents: Even more tupperware boxes. All the promise of the raw ingredients and all the excitement of the prepared meals, have been replaced with LEFTOVERS. Sigh. The only good thing is that we're making room in the cheese compartment as we're about to get stuck into a cheese platter.
Date: 26 Dec - am
Mood: Surly, depressed with a hint of hope and glimpses of satisfying finality.
Fridge contents: Even more not quite finished things, now with the addition of half eaten cheeses, which never look quite as inviting as whole cheeses. However, at least we have Boxing day to eat up all those leftovers. During the course of the day, there are moments of hope and satisfaction as certain leftovers are used up and the tupperware mountain is whittled down.
Date: 26 Dec - pm
Mood: Despair, resiliance
Fridge contents: Despite having eaten leftovers for breakfast, lunch and soon to be supper, there is still a worrying number of tupperware boxes loitering in the fridge. Left over leftovers. Mmmhmm. What's more, no-one can possibly manage another piece of turkey or stuffing. All everyone really wants is some light salad only you ran out of that days ago. You're not really too sure how to turn the now scruffy remains into something that looks appetising, but you refuse to dig into the freezer. It's make do and mend around here now. We will eat the sodding leftovers, we will, we will, we will.
Date: 27 Dec
Mood: resignation
Fridge contents: Half a bag of browning parsnips, a few carrots, several half eaten tubs of dip that have gone a bit runny and 'orrible, cranberry sauce (lots of), stuffing (lots of although it's now been reheated several times and might well not be edible anymore), a few pieces of dry turkey, the rind of a Brie, a wilted celery stick. It's time to go back to the shops.
Soon the 'out with the old, in with the new' will start again. This will continue until 1 Jan. At which point the entire fridge will be emptied and restocked with low fat everything and bags of air which we will live on in place of food.
It's a love/hate relationship I have with our fridge. The sheer volume of traffic over the last week has left me feeling like I've got a bad bout of pmt. I'm sure someone could write a thesis on this you know. Perhaps someone already has. Must explore further.
Thursday, 25 December 2008
Merry Christmas (and happy gaviscon)
To be sung to the 12 days of Christmas
On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love served to me:
12 chippolatas
11 roasted parsnips
10 buttered green beans
9 crunchy potatoes
8 spoons of red cabbage
7 slices of turkey
6 glasses of champers
5 sloshes of gravy
4 ladels of stuffing
3 bowls of pudding
2 splashes of brandy sauce
And a large bottle of gaviscon!
Merry Christmas to all. And may your trouser buttons be undone.
On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love served to me:
12 chippolatas
11 roasted parsnips
10 buttered green beans
9 crunchy potatoes
8 spoons of red cabbage
7 slices of turkey
6 glasses of champers
5 sloshes of gravy
4 ladels of stuffing
3 bowls of pudding
2 splashes of brandy sauce
And a large bottle of gaviscon!
Merry Christmas to all. And may your trouser buttons be undone.
Tuesday, 23 December 2008
Twas almost the night before Christmas
I've had several billion things to blog about of late but no time to do it. Plus I've had my husband at home. This is a novelty. And it thwarts my ability to blog. I'm not sure why it does, it just does. But at this very moment he is downstairs wrapping my numerous, here's hoping exceptionally pricey, Christmas presents. So I am banished. I've retreated to my pc for a comforting blog.
You see the last few days have been a little frenetic. First we headed off to Lapland UK. This was the proper Lapland UK costing the same as a short holiday to France, not the dodgy one with stuffed reindeers and a couple of tatty caravans in the New Forest. No, our Lapland had real live reindeers, real live husky dogs and a real live Father Christmas who was so real that for a moment I forgot that I was a grown up and got all nervous and excited to meet him. The children got to wander in an amazing enchanted forest, they helped the elves make wooden rocking horses, the decorated (and ate) gingerbread men and they could have ice skated had they not been throwing tantrums about not being allowed to buy a piece of plastic tat from the gift shop.
It was all snowy and lovely. But the magic didn't seem to have the effect on the children that I'd hoped. I was pretty certain we'd be in eyes out on stalks territory. But they were very whatever-with-gallic-shrugs-type-of-thing about it all. They did brick themselves while they waited to meet Santa and in hindsight they were amazed that he knew their friends' names. But there was quite a lot of 'let's rush there and look at that, oh now I'm bored and would like to do something else, and yes this is all fabulous but I would have been just as happy eating a gingerbread man at home or buying a piece of plastic shite from Woolies.'
Am I getting old or are kids today getting more blasé about stuff? When I was a child (and yes I know that makes me sound about a bazillion years old) Father Christmas came down the river on a boat and gave us presents. It was the MOST EXCITING THING EVER!!! To this day I get excited by the prospect - just a shame I don't live closer to the river in question anymore. My children just didn't seem to have the same level of wet-your-pants-and-can't-possibly-sleep excitement about it.
They're not particularly spoiled. I buy their clothes second hand from eBay. They're limited to very few sweets and they get a reasonable selection of presents. Nothing OTT. Yet their attitude was very 'been there done that, if only there was a Wii Fit version of this Father Christmas world'.
Anyway, since then we've had drinks parties involving many drinks and quite sore heads the next day. And I braved Sainsbury's yesterday to do my GIGANTIC Christmas shop. Finding a parking spot took me 15 minutes alone. I had so much stuff in my trolley that I actually think I might have run some small children and OAPs over because trolleys don't come with mirrors. I couldn't fit all of my stuff on the conveyor belt at check out and the till guy had to call for reinforcements. They provided me with a second trolley, a helper packer and someone to push my second trolley to my car. I think you get this kind of service when you spend more than £300 in a single shop. So I qualified. Thank god for nectar points.
Then of course I had to embark on a bit of strategic fridge organisation when I got home to try and fit everything in.
And thus commenced the cookfest. I began gently yesterday with my cranberry sauce, while today I moved onto the lamb tagine, my stuffing, spiced nuts and red cabbage. Obviously the minute I started to cook I realised that I'd bought the wrong pomegranate juice so had venture forth into the evil world of pre-Christmas supermarkets once again. This time I thought I'd try Waitrose as I was only after one thing. I got there 15 minutes before it opened, not realising the time (your sense of time is skewed when you're woken at 5am by a child and start cooking by 6am).
The middle class masses were assembled outside the shop entrance, revving their trolleys, looking as though they were about to compete in the 'how much can you buy in 3 minutes' competition. The staff were actually trembling and quite pale just looking at us through the windows. It took the shine off the lovely warm glow of Christmas a bit, but I escaped in record time, stopped at the butcher, grabbed my excruciatingly expensive but exceptionally well cared for turkey and dashed home.
My day then vascillated between lovely and not. Lovely going outside to garden to pick some rosemary and coming back inside to warm, gingery smells. Not lovely trying to stop two small boys from killing each other. Lovely listening to Christmassy songs while pootling in the kitchen. Not lovely trying to stop two small boys from killing each other. You get the picture.
One revelation we have had the last two nights is the power of the torch. Our children are bored/excited/hyped up on the Quality Street tin and need exercise. But daylight is limited and parents are busy. So we've been arming our children with torches and telling them to search the garden at night for hedgehogs. Keeps them entertained for hours. Plus we've managed two 'midnight' (i.e. 6pm) walks in the dark across the muddy fields with torches. Again, splendid adventure for small boys and a welcome relief for grown ups.
All the presents are wrapped. My cooking schedule is slap bang up to date. The house is tidy. Ish. Our guests arrive tomorrow. Christmas is nearly here and all I have to say is: Bring It On.
Going to go collapse now.
You see the last few days have been a little frenetic. First we headed off to Lapland UK. This was the proper Lapland UK costing the same as a short holiday to France, not the dodgy one with stuffed reindeers and a couple of tatty caravans in the New Forest. No, our Lapland had real live reindeers, real live husky dogs and a real live Father Christmas who was so real that for a moment I forgot that I was a grown up and got all nervous and excited to meet him. The children got to wander in an amazing enchanted forest, they helped the elves make wooden rocking horses, the decorated (and ate) gingerbread men and they could have ice skated had they not been throwing tantrums about not being allowed to buy a piece of plastic tat from the gift shop.
It was all snowy and lovely. But the magic didn't seem to have the effect on the children that I'd hoped. I was pretty certain we'd be in eyes out on stalks territory. But they were very whatever-with-gallic-shrugs-type-of-thing about it all. They did brick themselves while they waited to meet Santa and in hindsight they were amazed that he knew their friends' names. But there was quite a lot of 'let's rush there and look at that, oh now I'm bored and would like to do something else, and yes this is all fabulous but I would have been just as happy eating a gingerbread man at home or buying a piece of plastic shite from Woolies.'
Am I getting old or are kids today getting more blasé about stuff? When I was a child (and yes I know that makes me sound about a bazillion years old) Father Christmas came down the river on a boat and gave us presents. It was the MOST EXCITING THING EVER!!! To this day I get excited by the prospect - just a shame I don't live closer to the river in question anymore. My children just didn't seem to have the same level of wet-your-pants-and-can't-possibly-sleep excitement about it.
They're not particularly spoiled. I buy their clothes second hand from eBay. They're limited to very few sweets and they get a reasonable selection of presents. Nothing OTT. Yet their attitude was very 'been there done that, if only there was a Wii Fit version of this Father Christmas world'.
Anyway, since then we've had drinks parties involving many drinks and quite sore heads the next day. And I braved Sainsbury's yesterday to do my GIGANTIC Christmas shop. Finding a parking spot took me 15 minutes alone. I had so much stuff in my trolley that I actually think I might have run some small children and OAPs over because trolleys don't come with mirrors. I couldn't fit all of my stuff on the conveyor belt at check out and the till guy had to call for reinforcements. They provided me with a second trolley, a helper packer and someone to push my second trolley to my car. I think you get this kind of service when you spend more than £300 in a single shop. So I qualified. Thank god for nectar points.
Then of course I had to embark on a bit of strategic fridge organisation when I got home to try and fit everything in.
And thus commenced the cookfest. I began gently yesterday with my cranberry sauce, while today I moved onto the lamb tagine, my stuffing, spiced nuts and red cabbage. Obviously the minute I started to cook I realised that I'd bought the wrong pomegranate juice so had venture forth into the evil world of pre-Christmas supermarkets once again. This time I thought I'd try Waitrose as I was only after one thing. I got there 15 minutes before it opened, not realising the time (your sense of time is skewed when you're woken at 5am by a child and start cooking by 6am).
The middle class masses were assembled outside the shop entrance, revving their trolleys, looking as though they were about to compete in the 'how much can you buy in 3 minutes' competition. The staff were actually trembling and quite pale just looking at us through the windows. It took the shine off the lovely warm glow of Christmas a bit, but I escaped in record time, stopped at the butcher, grabbed my excruciatingly expensive but exceptionally well cared for turkey and dashed home.
My day then vascillated between lovely and not. Lovely going outside to garden to pick some rosemary and coming back inside to warm, gingery smells. Not lovely trying to stop two small boys from killing each other. Lovely listening to Christmassy songs while pootling in the kitchen. Not lovely trying to stop two small boys from killing each other. You get the picture.
One revelation we have had the last two nights is the power of the torch. Our children are bored/excited/hyped up on the Quality Street tin and need exercise. But daylight is limited and parents are busy. So we've been arming our children with torches and telling them to search the garden at night for hedgehogs. Keeps them entertained for hours. Plus we've managed two 'midnight' (i.e. 6pm) walks in the dark across the muddy fields with torches. Again, splendid adventure for small boys and a welcome relief for grown ups.
All the presents are wrapped. My cooking schedule is slap bang up to date. The house is tidy. Ish. Our guests arrive tomorrow. Christmas is nearly here and all I have to say is: Bring It On.
Going to go collapse now.
Thursday, 18 December 2008
The unveiling of the menu
Could I have a drum roll please? I have at last finalised my menu for our Christmas festivities. Not only that, but I have it beautifully laid out in a spreadsheet with tables for the occasion, the menu, the recipe book the meal comes from, the ingredients that need to be bought for it and the date on which it needs to be prepared. I am officially a food geek.
So with much drum rolling, I would like to unveil my Christmas menu. If it sounds rubbish, lie and tell me it sounds marvellous. That way I won't have to go through the whole tedious process again. I must emphasise that this took a LOT of whittling down as I'd quite like to have made more. But I fear I will keel over from the effort of it all and we might be accused of gluttony.
Xmas drinks and nibbles with friends on Sunday:
Rosemary gin & tonics
Mulled Winter Pimms with apple juice
Cranberry and soy glazed cocktail sausages
Asparagus with parmesan dipping sauce
Crisps
Olives
Xmas Eve - afternoon tea pre crib service at church:
Home made mince pies with brandy butter (bought although I've been told it's dead simple to make but it's a bridge too far), tea (in my shiny silver teapot)
Xmas Eve
Vodka Metropolitans
Spiced nuts (made by my own fair hand)
Lamb & date tagine
Red onion and pomegranate salad
Festive Cous cous
Green salad with pine nuts
Cranberry, orange and almond pudding with custard
Xmas breakfast
Mango, blueberry, pomegrante salad with lime
Natural greek yogurt
Granola (sniff - I wanted to make this but it too would have ended up being like Operation Market Garden and the old Arnhem bridge)
Salmon
Ham/cheese
Bread/pastry selection
Bloody Mary’s
Xmas lunch
Champagne and nibbles (nibbles largely bought rather than made)
Turkey with lemon/sage butter
Super crunchy roast potatoes
Maple glazed parsnips
Lemony/sagey turkey gravy
Red cabbage with apple and pomegranate juice
Lemon and tarragon carrots
Green beans, baby leeks and asparagus with sesame seeds
Gingerbread stuffing
Boozy cranberry sauce
Apple and calvados pudding with cream
Xmas night
Cheese board washed down with gaviscon
Boxing day
Eggs and soldiers for breakfast
Lunch or supper depending on what we're doing:
Leftover turkey
Roast applewood smoked gammon
Dauphinois potatoes and parsnips with porcini mushrooms
Leftover red cabbage
On the 27th I'll probably have to go shopping again and start all over.
But for now, let the feasting begin!
So with much drum rolling, I would like to unveil my Christmas menu. If it sounds rubbish, lie and tell me it sounds marvellous. That way I won't have to go through the whole tedious process again. I must emphasise that this took a LOT of whittling down as I'd quite like to have made more. But I fear I will keel over from the effort of it all and we might be accused of gluttony.
Xmas drinks and nibbles with friends on Sunday:
Rosemary gin & tonics
Mulled Winter Pimms with apple juice
Cranberry and soy glazed cocktail sausages
Asparagus with parmesan dipping sauce
Crisps
Olives
Xmas Eve - afternoon tea pre crib service at church:
Home made mince pies with brandy butter (bought although I've been told it's dead simple to make but it's a bridge too far), tea (in my shiny silver teapot)
Xmas Eve
Vodka Metropolitans
Spiced nuts (made by my own fair hand)
Lamb & date tagine
Red onion and pomegranate salad
Festive Cous cous
Green salad with pine nuts
Cranberry, orange and almond pudding with custard
Xmas breakfast
Mango, blueberry, pomegrante salad with lime
Natural greek yogurt
Granola (sniff - I wanted to make this but it too would have ended up being like Operation Market Garden and the old Arnhem bridge)
Salmon
Ham/cheese
Bread/pastry selection
Bloody Mary’s
Xmas lunch
Champagne and nibbles (nibbles largely bought rather than made)
Turkey with lemon/sage butter
Super crunchy roast potatoes
Maple glazed parsnips
Lemony/sagey turkey gravy
Red cabbage with apple and pomegranate juice
Lemon and tarragon carrots
Green beans, baby leeks and asparagus with sesame seeds
Gingerbread stuffing
Boozy cranberry sauce
Apple and calvados pudding with cream
Xmas night
Cheese board washed down with gaviscon
Boxing day
Eggs and soldiers for breakfast
Lunch or supper depending on what we're doing:
Leftover turkey
Roast applewood smoked gammon
Dauphinois potatoes and parsnips with porcini mushrooms
Leftover red cabbage
On the 27th I'll probably have to go shopping again and start all over.
But for now, let the feasting begin!
Wednesday, 17 December 2008
On the front line of Christmas meal planning
So I was going to go to bed and read my book but then realised that my husband had already gone to bed and put off the light, which means I'll need to sneak in stealthily and not put the light on and not read and not wake him. And that's just pants. So instead I'll tell you about my evening.
I have spent the ENTIRE evening planning our Christmas eating extravaganza. Normally this is something I love doing. This year it's been hard work. Mainly because I'm tired. The bags under my eyes keep getting in the way of my pencil as I scribble out menu ideas. But also because last year and the year before I felt I kinda outdid myself (if I don't mind saying so myself) so really I can only go downhill from here.
I rushed out and bought the Nigella Christmas book today - that's how sad I am. It's not that I want to learn how to voluptuously lick bread sauce off a spoon, I just need some inspiration. And I found it. But sadly, I didn't limit myself to Nigella. I've also called on Gary Rhodes, several different Olive magazines from Christmasses past, my Cocktails book and a second Nigella book, with Delia loitering in the background as a standby.
My Christmas meal planning goes as follows:
List the meals you need to provide for (plus the fillerey bits in between - these are the bits that ratchet up your grocery bill as you buy for every possible contingency but find you end up eating party favourite platters well into July)
Decide what you want for each of those meals. This is the hard part - just when I've decided on something like gingerbread muffins for breakfast on Christmas morning, I realise that I really want to make gingerbread stuffing for the turkey and can't possibly have a double gingerbread whammy. And so I have to start again.
This is not dissimilar to trying to find an outfit to go out in. You decide on the white blouse so pick a white bra for underneath and black jacket with matching black boots but then realise that the white blouse has a mark on it so need to go for the purple blouse instead but that requires a darker bra and a different jacket and therefore different boots not to mention a necklace. This is how my Christmas meals go. Just when I've decided on maple glazed parsnips, I realise that they clash badly with the honeyed beans and off we go again.
Once I'm just about bleeding from the eyeballs from the decision making - and have long since forced my husband off to the safe confines of his bed where he no longer has to hear me debating the merits of red cabbage with apple vs pear - I have my menu.
I then need to go through each recipe (which obviously I've made a note of which of the myriad of books it's come from) and determine what ingredients I need to buy. This isn't a simple exercise. I need to go and check the cupboards each time to make sure we don't already have star anise or whatever inane item I'll require for this one recipe and never again. I invariably end up buying another three bottles of cloves when we already have two and forget to buy butter - or something else essential.
Once I have my shopping list (this is the stage I got to by the end of my four hours), I have to split it into my Ocado shop being delivered on Friday as that was the only available sodding day left. Vs the things I need to buy next week and those are split into supermarket vs farmers market.
And then, I need to work out a timetable as to when I'll be cooking what. This requires miliary precision and I'd really like to call in my husband on this given he's ex-army and all that, but he can't understand any of this. He seems to think that nipping out to M&S on Christmas Eve and buying whatever's left on the shelves is cool. That said, his grand contribution to the entire evening's food debacle was, upon me asking whether we had enough gin and vodka in the house, to say: 'Yes, we need to buy more glasses. Ours are tatty.'
Exsqueeze me? You want me to add household durables to my list of perishable food items? Do not fuck with the Christmas shopping list dude.
I am hyped up. I can't possibly go to bed now, despite utter exhaustion. My head is too filled with spicy nuts and soy glazed chipplotas to sleep. Now I know why the Night Before Christmas poem talks of 'visions of sugar plums dancing in their heads'. It's not a nice dream they're having. It's a poor mother somewhere having a sodding food planning nightmare.
Right, am off to breathe deeply in a darkened corner.
I have spent the ENTIRE evening planning our Christmas eating extravaganza. Normally this is something I love doing. This year it's been hard work. Mainly because I'm tired. The bags under my eyes keep getting in the way of my pencil as I scribble out menu ideas. But also because last year and the year before I felt I kinda outdid myself (if I don't mind saying so myself) so really I can only go downhill from here.
I rushed out and bought the Nigella Christmas book today - that's how sad I am. It's not that I want to learn how to voluptuously lick bread sauce off a spoon, I just need some inspiration. And I found it. But sadly, I didn't limit myself to Nigella. I've also called on Gary Rhodes, several different Olive magazines from Christmasses past, my Cocktails book and a second Nigella book, with Delia loitering in the background as a standby.
My Christmas meal planning goes as follows:
List the meals you need to provide for (plus the fillerey bits in between - these are the bits that ratchet up your grocery bill as you buy for every possible contingency but find you end up eating party favourite platters well into July)
Decide what you want for each of those meals. This is the hard part - just when I've decided on something like gingerbread muffins for breakfast on Christmas morning, I realise that I really want to make gingerbread stuffing for the turkey and can't possibly have a double gingerbread whammy. And so I have to start again.
This is not dissimilar to trying to find an outfit to go out in. You decide on the white blouse so pick a white bra for underneath and black jacket with matching black boots but then realise that the white blouse has a mark on it so need to go for the purple blouse instead but that requires a darker bra and a different jacket and therefore different boots not to mention a necklace. This is how my Christmas meals go. Just when I've decided on maple glazed parsnips, I realise that they clash badly with the honeyed beans and off we go again.
Once I'm just about bleeding from the eyeballs from the decision making - and have long since forced my husband off to the safe confines of his bed where he no longer has to hear me debating the merits of red cabbage with apple vs pear - I have my menu.
I then need to go through each recipe (which obviously I've made a note of which of the myriad of books it's come from) and determine what ingredients I need to buy. This isn't a simple exercise. I need to go and check the cupboards each time to make sure we don't already have star anise or whatever inane item I'll require for this one recipe and never again. I invariably end up buying another three bottles of cloves when we already have two and forget to buy butter - or something else essential.
Once I have my shopping list (this is the stage I got to by the end of my four hours), I have to split it into my Ocado shop being delivered on Friday as that was the only available sodding day left. Vs the things I need to buy next week and those are split into supermarket vs farmers market.
And then, I need to work out a timetable as to when I'll be cooking what. This requires miliary precision and I'd really like to call in my husband on this given he's ex-army and all that, but he can't understand any of this. He seems to think that nipping out to M&S on Christmas Eve and buying whatever's left on the shelves is cool. That said, his grand contribution to the entire evening's food debacle was, upon me asking whether we had enough gin and vodka in the house, to say: 'Yes, we need to buy more glasses. Ours are tatty.'
Exsqueeze me? You want me to add household durables to my list of perishable food items? Do not fuck with the Christmas shopping list dude.
I am hyped up. I can't possibly go to bed now, despite utter exhaustion. My head is too filled with spicy nuts and soy glazed chipplotas to sleep. Now I know why the Night Before Christmas poem talks of 'visions of sugar plums dancing in their heads'. It's not a nice dream they're having. It's a poor mother somewhere having a sodding food planning nightmare.
Right, am off to breathe deeply in a darkened corner.
Thursday, 11 December 2008
Treasure hunts and Christmas inspiration
This afternoon I was on a very determined mission to find the black hole of missing things as the list of missing things has been mounting steadily. I've realised that there's a simple explanation as to why things are going missing: our house is a tip. So the boys were told that we were spending the afternoon having a treasure hunt so that we could find:
- my very expensive watch
- my missing slipper
- my library book
- son 1's school trousers. We're down to one pair. This is not good.
- the charger for the rechargeable camera batteries so that I can actually get some pictures of son 1 in his play next week. The batteries died which meant we failed to capture the our small wailing sheep clinging to his teacher's leg at today's pre-school nativity. Shame really.
Son 2 quickly lost interest in the treasure hunt and decided to run himself a bath instead. As you do when you're 3. He obviously needed a restorative soak in the tub after the stress of his woolly performance. However, while rummaging through the toys in the cupboard under the basin he said very nonchalantly: "here's your watch mummy" handing it to me, before choosing a mouldy submarine to play with.
Fabulous. Tick. Found the first and most important item on the list. So the fact that I asked, begged, pleaded with the boys to let me know if they had stashed my watch anywhere and them denying it emphatically, turns out they had decided my Longines needed to live with some wet, smelly toys. Good.
After that triumph, I set son 1 to work on taking all the shoes, handbags and clothes that have fallen off the hangers and onto the floor, out of the bottom of my cupboard. I asked him to look for my missing slipper and to rearrange the shoes into pairs. He found the slipper. And decided to make a long line of shoe pairs around the bedroom. Not quite what I had in mind, but my lost slipper was found. No more hopping on one foot in the morning. Two quick hits. I was feeling brilliant.
I then rummaged under a pile of clothes that needed to be ironed thinking the missing school trousers might be there and low and behold, the battery charger showed itself. Remarkable. Still no trousers though.
We then set about finding the book. Despite son 1 taking every single book off my study shelf and asking me 'if this is it?' (it never was), we couldn't find it. I shall have to write a novel called 'The mystery of the missing book in the night'.
Anyway, while all of this hunting was going on, I stumbled upon a black, leather bound book that I have used for the last few years to write out my menus for Christmas, New Year, Thanksgiving and other big feasts. Not only have I written out my menus, I've also listed all the ingredients to be purchased in advance and those that need to be bought last minute. Apparently I have OCD and I didn't even know it.
Here's last year's menu for example:
Xmas eve: Salmon canapes (except for me as otherwise my head would have swollen up and exploded), hungarian goulash with braised rice, garlic bread, loose leaf salad and finely shredded red onion, pear cranberry crisp with vanilla bean ice cream.
Xmas morning: Eggs benedicts with salmon or canadian ham, bucks fizz
Xmas lunch: Nigella's super spiced turkey, all spice gravy, gingerbread stuffing, chippolatas in bacon, roast parsnips and potatoes, buttered carrots, green beans with toasted pine nuts, cranberry sauce with port and figs; Christmas pudding with brandy sauce.
While reading this, it occurred to me that Christmas is just 14 days away and I haven't given a minute's thought to this year's Christmas meals. About mid-November I did get my recipe books out and I bought a couple of magazines with Christmas menu ideas in them. And did nothing further. But since then, I've simply had a nagging feeling that I really ought to be doing something about it given that we're hosting people for Christmas eve, Christmas Day, Boxing Day all the way through to New Year's Day.
For new year's eve we're holding a small party with a rat pack type theme, plenty of cocktails, Frank Sinatra tunes, and chi chi dresses. I don't have a party frock. I haven't thought about how to make the house pretty or what cocktails to serve (although obviously cosmopolitans will be in there) and I've got as far as saying that I'll make boeuf en croute. And that's that where my planning has started and stopped.
I don't know what's wrong with me this year. Exhaustion possibly? I just seem to be completely lacking in Christmas inspiration. Normally by now I'd be whipping up batches of gingerbread men for the tree and trays of mince pies just for shits and giggles. This year...nothing.
I'm going to have to do something about this otherwise I'll wake up on 24 December and instead of heading off to the farmer's market for my lovely free range pre-ordered turkey, I'll be heading off to Iceland for some turkey twizzlers and a Kerry Katona £5 party platter of nastiness. I must find some inspiration. I must, I must, I must. Just not sure where to find it. Perhaps it's loitering in the same place as my missing book.
- my very expensive watch
- my missing slipper
- my library book
- son 1's school trousers. We're down to one pair. This is not good.
- the charger for the rechargeable camera batteries so that I can actually get some pictures of son 1 in his play next week. The batteries died which meant we failed to capture the our small wailing sheep clinging to his teacher's leg at today's pre-school nativity. Shame really.
Son 2 quickly lost interest in the treasure hunt and decided to run himself a bath instead. As you do when you're 3. He obviously needed a restorative soak in the tub after the stress of his woolly performance. However, while rummaging through the toys in the cupboard under the basin he said very nonchalantly: "here's your watch mummy" handing it to me, before choosing a mouldy submarine to play with.
Fabulous. Tick. Found the first and most important item on the list. So the fact that I asked, begged, pleaded with the boys to let me know if they had stashed my watch anywhere and them denying it emphatically, turns out they had decided my Longines needed to live with some wet, smelly toys. Good.
After that triumph, I set son 1 to work on taking all the shoes, handbags and clothes that have fallen off the hangers and onto the floor, out of the bottom of my cupboard. I asked him to look for my missing slipper and to rearrange the shoes into pairs. He found the slipper. And decided to make a long line of shoe pairs around the bedroom. Not quite what I had in mind, but my lost slipper was found. No more hopping on one foot in the morning. Two quick hits. I was feeling brilliant.
I then rummaged under a pile of clothes that needed to be ironed thinking the missing school trousers might be there and low and behold, the battery charger showed itself. Remarkable. Still no trousers though.
We then set about finding the book. Despite son 1 taking every single book off my study shelf and asking me 'if this is it?' (it never was), we couldn't find it. I shall have to write a novel called 'The mystery of the missing book in the night'.
Anyway, while all of this hunting was going on, I stumbled upon a black, leather bound book that I have used for the last few years to write out my menus for Christmas, New Year, Thanksgiving and other big feasts. Not only have I written out my menus, I've also listed all the ingredients to be purchased in advance and those that need to be bought last minute. Apparently I have OCD and I didn't even know it.
Here's last year's menu for example:
Xmas eve: Salmon canapes (except for me as otherwise my head would have swollen up and exploded), hungarian goulash with braised rice, garlic bread, loose leaf salad and finely shredded red onion, pear cranberry crisp with vanilla bean ice cream.
Xmas morning: Eggs benedicts with salmon or canadian ham, bucks fizz
Xmas lunch: Nigella's super spiced turkey, all spice gravy, gingerbread stuffing, chippolatas in bacon, roast parsnips and potatoes, buttered carrots, green beans with toasted pine nuts, cranberry sauce with port and figs; Christmas pudding with brandy sauce.
While reading this, it occurred to me that Christmas is just 14 days away and I haven't given a minute's thought to this year's Christmas meals. About mid-November I did get my recipe books out and I bought a couple of magazines with Christmas menu ideas in them. And did nothing further. But since then, I've simply had a nagging feeling that I really ought to be doing something about it given that we're hosting people for Christmas eve, Christmas Day, Boxing Day all the way through to New Year's Day.
For new year's eve we're holding a small party with a rat pack type theme, plenty of cocktails, Frank Sinatra tunes, and chi chi dresses. I don't have a party frock. I haven't thought about how to make the house pretty or what cocktails to serve (although obviously cosmopolitans will be in there) and I've got as far as saying that I'll make boeuf en croute. And that's that where my planning has started and stopped.
I don't know what's wrong with me this year. Exhaustion possibly? I just seem to be completely lacking in Christmas inspiration. Normally by now I'd be whipping up batches of gingerbread men for the tree and trays of mince pies just for shits and giggles. This year...nothing.
I'm going to have to do something about this otherwise I'll wake up on 24 December and instead of heading off to the farmer's market for my lovely free range pre-ordered turkey, I'll be heading off to Iceland for some turkey twizzlers and a Kerry Katona £5 party platter of nastiness. I must find some inspiration. I must, I must, I must. Just not sure where to find it. Perhaps it's loitering in the same place as my missing book.
Wednesday, 10 December 2008
I am poorly
My coughing, sniffling, feeling a bit peaky former self of the last week has been replaced with shivering, sweating, sneezing, streaming, hacking, washed out souped up model of poorliness. I officially have man flu - without any of the lying arond doing nothing that goes with it. In fact I am so poorly that my husband actually noticed and made son 2's packed lunch today... without me even asking! This despite him still having a few last remaining strands of man flu himself. It's a Christmas miracle.
I am so poorly that I had to cancel a long awaited girls' night out last night. Sniff. And I had to cancel a business meeting today as I didn't think the client would appreciate my nose dripping into her latte.
But despite this poorliness, I've still not squirrelled myself away in my bed. Which is what I should do. I should be a man about this. I should simply say that I am too poorly to do another thing and assume that the world will continue to turn without my involvement. I mean it would, wouldn't it? The children wouldn't go to school or eat or have their bums wiped but the world would still keep on turning. It's a nice dream anyway.
I have to be better by tomorrow because son 2 is going to be a sheep in the pre-school nativity play. Apparently he's going to be singing Blah Blah Blap Bleep (which is his teenage-like scorn for the original Baa Baa Black Sheep). It could be a riveting show.
Meanwhile son 1 gets to be a mouse on Monday in Abbarella, his school Christmas play which combines the story of Cinderella with Abba songs. Being a massive Abba fan, I think this is fabulous, but it's getting a bit weird having our 4 year old poncing around with his hands of his swaying hips singing: Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight. I'm not too sure where the Christmas message fits in here. Perhaps Father Christmas is the man after midnight. Perhaps Mary's donkey is transformed by the fairy godmother into a pumpkin carriage. It's got all the makings of being a toe-tapper, that's for sure.
Anyway, I must go make another lemsip and get another roll of toilet paper to add to my snotty tissue mountain before writing a press release about washable menstrual pads. I know, the glamour of my life never ceases.
I am so poorly that I had to cancel a long awaited girls' night out last night. Sniff. And I had to cancel a business meeting today as I didn't think the client would appreciate my nose dripping into her latte.
But despite this poorliness, I've still not squirrelled myself away in my bed. Which is what I should do. I should be a man about this. I should simply say that I am too poorly to do another thing and assume that the world will continue to turn without my involvement. I mean it would, wouldn't it? The children wouldn't go to school or eat or have their bums wiped but the world would still keep on turning. It's a nice dream anyway.
I have to be better by tomorrow because son 2 is going to be a sheep in the pre-school nativity play. Apparently he's going to be singing Blah Blah Blap Bleep (which is his teenage-like scorn for the original Baa Baa Black Sheep). It could be a riveting show.
Meanwhile son 1 gets to be a mouse on Monday in Abbarella, his school Christmas play which combines the story of Cinderella with Abba songs. Being a massive Abba fan, I think this is fabulous, but it's getting a bit weird having our 4 year old poncing around with his hands of his swaying hips singing: Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight. I'm not too sure where the Christmas message fits in here. Perhaps Father Christmas is the man after midnight. Perhaps Mary's donkey is transformed by the fairy godmother into a pumpkin carriage. It's got all the makings of being a toe-tapper, that's for sure.
Anyway, I must go make another lemsip and get another roll of toilet paper to add to my snotty tissue mountain before writing a press release about washable menstrual pads. I know, the glamour of my life never ceases.
Tuesday, 2 December 2008
The joy of Christmas cards
It's December. I probably should have noticed this yesterday given it was my husband's birthday and the first day of the month, but I was so busy running to the loo in between trying to get my invoicing done that the significance eluded me. It's December. Already. How did that happen? Is it just me or are the years really speeding up? Has someone hit the fast forward switch?
I remember being a child and it taking A...G....E....S for Christmas to come around. The month of December felt like an eternity. So how is it that December now goes by so fast that I have to start planning for Christmas in January if I don't want to run out of time?
For the last few years I've thought: 'Wow, this year went fast'. But I don't ever recall a year having galloped by quite so determinedly as 2008. This year holds down my record for the World's Fastest Year Ever. I'm hoping it's a record that holds for some time as I can't face another year going by even faster. It makes me feel like I've just done several loops on a roller coaster. I'd like to sit down and steady myself for a while.
But there is no idling to be done as it, as I said, is December. Despite having completed most of my Christmas shopping I've not yet made a start on my Christmas cards. In fact, I'm toying with the idea of not doing them this year. I've bought them, donating my pounds to the British Heart Foundation charity shop, not because it's a cause close to my er, heart, but because they happened to have some cards and were en route to the car park. No I'm thinking of not doing them because here's what happens:
a) I send cards to people I see regularly. There's no need to send a long detailed letter and pictures catching up because they know what happens in my life. So the card becomes a short, sweet, not very eco friendly way of saying hi.
b) I send cards to people I haven't seen in ages normally because they live abroad but would like to stay in touch with. This ordinarily involves sending a long informative catch up letter inside the card. But thanks to the wonders of modern technology, I'm now friends with most of these people on Facebook who can therefore also access my blog and so who (if they were interested in the first place) would know exactly what was going on with our life anyway.
c) I send cards to people I feel obligated to send cards to but am not sure how we got onto the hamster wheel of sending cards to each other. Like our elderly neighbours (although the twit who wants my hedge cut down is definitely not getting one this year) and parents of our friends. These people are annoying to send to as I have to temper the rudeness of my cards and need to concentrate on writing neatly and remembering how to address them properly on the envelope. For what? Yes, yes, it's the niceties and all that yadayadayada and in the past I would have been first in the niceties conga line, but this year I feel decidedly nyeh about it. (nyeh being said with a gallic shoulder shrug picked up in Paris)
d) I send cards to people who we used to be friends with and had very good intentions of staying friends with and every year send Christmas cards to saying how we really ought to get together this year (and truly meaning it) but we NEVER EVER DO. I mean let's take the hint people. It's not going to happen is it? So what do I write in those cards: Merry Christmas. I hope 2009 is fab for you. We won't be seeing you and you won't be seeing us. Probably ever. But you know, let's stay in touch via a card once a year. Because. I'm not sure why. But let's. It helps keep postmen in shoes.
e) I send cards to people who fall into any of the above categories but who NEVER send me a card. Until now I've just thought that they were plain rude. I'd tutt and tsk about them and think evil thoughts and vow not to send a card again the next year. But then do anyway. And now I've realised that they've probably had this exact same card discussion with themselves - only they had it years ago and have long since given up on the whole thing.
So that's why I'm thinking about not sending cards this year. I know I will end up doing it. But I think I might be slightly more ruthless in my card sending and might well send some saying: Merry Christmas. This is the last Christmas card you will ever get from me unless we a) meet up b) I get one back from you c) you move abroad but are willing to invite me come and stay with you.
While I'm on this Christmas card rant (I always feel its important to keep ranting once you're on a roll because otherwise it can cause tremendous damage to your heart) I really get annoyed when I get a Christmas card that reads as follows:
Dear xxx
Merry Christmas (this is the printed bit in the card so not their writing)
Love from
xxx
I mean Come On. I know we've all lost the use of our hands due to excessive computer usage and therefore holding a pen is hard work, the cramp in your fingers reminiscent of those days when you had to write history exam essays. But honestly, send me a card like that and I'd like to return it saying: Don't bother.
Tips on how to write Christmas cards:
If it's a friend who you see regularly, then comment on something related to their life or how you're looking forward to seeing them soon. If it's someone you haven't seen for a while (or years as I've just pointed out) write some news or at least a message that takes slightly more effort than To X and Love from X. You see, the whole joy in Christmas cards is the pleasure at getting a non-bill related bit of post. It's the excitement of ripping open the envelope to see who's sending you some lovely Christmassy thoughts. But the To/From card variety is about as exciting as getting a bank statement. Only it's worse because a bank statement doesn't fill you with expectation first.
And one more Christmas card related rant. The sending of cards between pupils at pre-school and school. Do me a friggin favour. Unless they can write their own cards and read what the cards say, what the heck is the point??? So my sons each receive 15 or 20 cards in their in trays from their fellow pupils. Does that mean that they write the 15 to 20 replies? Does it hell. It means that I get to ensure permanent finger disability thanks to writing out a bunch more cards that literally say: To Jack, love from Josh. Why???? Surely the sole purpose of this activity is to kill more trees. The children aren't learning anything from it. The parents are simply trying to one up each other or feel duty bound to return the card. It's the first card initiator who should be shot at dawn.
If the children want to write their own cards, by all means, I'll hand them a stack. But until then, I am vetoing the writing of inane cards to pre-schoolers. If I am snubbed at the school gate, so be it.
Phew. I feel soooooooooooo much better for getting all that off my chest. Must go write some cards now.
I remember being a child and it taking A...G....E....S for Christmas to come around. The month of December felt like an eternity. So how is it that December now goes by so fast that I have to start planning for Christmas in January if I don't want to run out of time?
For the last few years I've thought: 'Wow, this year went fast'. But I don't ever recall a year having galloped by quite so determinedly as 2008. This year holds down my record for the World's Fastest Year Ever. I'm hoping it's a record that holds for some time as I can't face another year going by even faster. It makes me feel like I've just done several loops on a roller coaster. I'd like to sit down and steady myself for a while.
But there is no idling to be done as it, as I said, is December. Despite having completed most of my Christmas shopping I've not yet made a start on my Christmas cards. In fact, I'm toying with the idea of not doing them this year. I've bought them, donating my pounds to the British Heart Foundation charity shop, not because it's a cause close to my er, heart, but because they happened to have some cards and were en route to the car park. No I'm thinking of not doing them because here's what happens:
a) I send cards to people I see regularly. There's no need to send a long detailed letter and pictures catching up because they know what happens in my life. So the card becomes a short, sweet, not very eco friendly way of saying hi.
b) I send cards to people I haven't seen in ages normally because they live abroad but would like to stay in touch with. This ordinarily involves sending a long informative catch up letter inside the card. But thanks to the wonders of modern technology, I'm now friends with most of these people on Facebook who can therefore also access my blog and so who (if they were interested in the first place) would know exactly what was going on with our life anyway.
c) I send cards to people I feel obligated to send cards to but am not sure how we got onto the hamster wheel of sending cards to each other. Like our elderly neighbours (although the twit who wants my hedge cut down is definitely not getting one this year) and parents of our friends. These people are annoying to send to as I have to temper the rudeness of my cards and need to concentrate on writing neatly and remembering how to address them properly on the envelope. For what? Yes, yes, it's the niceties and all that yadayadayada and in the past I would have been first in the niceties conga line, but this year I feel decidedly nyeh about it. (nyeh being said with a gallic shoulder shrug picked up in Paris)
d) I send cards to people who we used to be friends with and had very good intentions of staying friends with and every year send Christmas cards to saying how we really ought to get together this year (and truly meaning it) but we NEVER EVER DO. I mean let's take the hint people. It's not going to happen is it? So what do I write in those cards: Merry Christmas. I hope 2009 is fab for you. We won't be seeing you and you won't be seeing us. Probably ever. But you know, let's stay in touch via a card once a year. Because. I'm not sure why. But let's. It helps keep postmen in shoes.
e) I send cards to people who fall into any of the above categories but who NEVER send me a card. Until now I've just thought that they were plain rude. I'd tutt and tsk about them and think evil thoughts and vow not to send a card again the next year. But then do anyway. And now I've realised that they've probably had this exact same card discussion with themselves - only they had it years ago and have long since given up on the whole thing.
So that's why I'm thinking about not sending cards this year. I know I will end up doing it. But I think I might be slightly more ruthless in my card sending and might well send some saying: Merry Christmas. This is the last Christmas card you will ever get from me unless we a) meet up b) I get one back from you c) you move abroad but are willing to invite me come and stay with you.
While I'm on this Christmas card rant (I always feel its important to keep ranting once you're on a roll because otherwise it can cause tremendous damage to your heart) I really get annoyed when I get a Christmas card that reads as follows:
Dear xxx
Merry Christmas (this is the printed bit in the card so not their writing)
Love from
xxx
I mean Come On. I know we've all lost the use of our hands due to excessive computer usage and therefore holding a pen is hard work, the cramp in your fingers reminiscent of those days when you had to write history exam essays. But honestly, send me a card like that and I'd like to return it saying: Don't bother.
Tips on how to write Christmas cards:
If it's a friend who you see regularly, then comment on something related to their life or how you're looking forward to seeing them soon. If it's someone you haven't seen for a while (or years as I've just pointed out) write some news or at least a message that takes slightly more effort than To X and Love from X. You see, the whole joy in Christmas cards is the pleasure at getting a non-bill related bit of post. It's the excitement of ripping open the envelope to see who's sending you some lovely Christmassy thoughts. But the To/From card variety is about as exciting as getting a bank statement. Only it's worse because a bank statement doesn't fill you with expectation first.
And one more Christmas card related rant. The sending of cards between pupils at pre-school and school. Do me a friggin favour. Unless they can write their own cards and read what the cards say, what the heck is the point??? So my sons each receive 15 or 20 cards in their in trays from their fellow pupils. Does that mean that they write the 15 to 20 replies? Does it hell. It means that I get to ensure permanent finger disability thanks to writing out a bunch more cards that literally say: To Jack, love from Josh. Why???? Surely the sole purpose of this activity is to kill more trees. The children aren't learning anything from it. The parents are simply trying to one up each other or feel duty bound to return the card. It's the first card initiator who should be shot at dawn.
If the children want to write their own cards, by all means, I'll hand them a stack. But until then, I am vetoing the writing of inane cards to pre-schoolers. If I am snubbed at the school gate, so be it.
Phew. I feel soooooooooooo much better for getting all that off my chest. Must go write some cards now.
Wednesday, 26 November 2008
Tricky, very tricky
Obviously the God of All Things That Can Go Wrong has cast its eye upon me and is giving me a long hard stare. As I got out of my car this morning trying to hold a picture of lovely fragile autumn leaves stuck with copious amounts of glue to blue card made by my 3 year old, and a tray of 6 eggs I'd just collected, I somehow managed to have the car door jolt my arm. This resulted in the picture flying into the road and losing half its leaves and all six eggs leapt to their messy deaths upon the tar. Picture in tatters and eggs scrambled, I went inside, head in hands.
This incident followed a delightful visit to the doctor. For me. Yes, an actual doctor's appointment for something wrong with me, rather than one of my children. The doctor was suprised. He was even more surprised when I regaled him with my sad tale of woe (which I won't regale again as it definitely falls into the TMI category). But suffice to say that it resulted in me performing a swab with a giant ear bud from a place you really don't want a giant ear bud. I really can't go into graphic details, but let's just say that as I'll have to wait for the results before they can prescribe any treatment, it will have an impact on our lovely jaunt to Paris this weekend. Nuff said.
But neither smashed eggs or giant ear buds have been the major problem of the day. No, that honour falls to the fact that this morning the children discovered their Christmas presents. They hadn't been wrapped. They hauled them out and wanted to know who the Hotwheels cars were for and why I had a spiderman mini laptop thingie hidden away. I instructed them to put them back immediately and to never ever go into that cupboard again. That of course is an open invitation for them to do exactly that. So I now need to find a new present hiding place. I wanted to say that there was a monster with large fangs living in the cupboard and that if they opened it, it would jump out and eat them. But I figured that was just opening myself up for numerous broken nights as they shrieked from night terrors.
They persisted and wanted to know who they were for. I said I was looking after them for someone. 'WHO?' they demanded. 'Someone you don't know,' I said before frogmarching them out of the room.
Where do I go from here? They didn't see all of the pressies luckily so those can come from Father Christmas and I guess the ones they saw will have to be from mummy and daddy. But I just don't know how much they saw. I'd like to believe that they will have forgotten all about it come Christmas day. But my almost 5 year old has a memory like a crotchety elephant and there's no way he won't notice that the same toys I was keeping for someone happened to end up under their Christmas tree.
I have a sneaking suspicion that parenting is about to get harder. You can't fool them anymore. They are becoming cunning - like foxes. It sucks.
This incident followed a delightful visit to the doctor. For me. Yes, an actual doctor's appointment for something wrong with me, rather than one of my children. The doctor was suprised. He was even more surprised when I regaled him with my sad tale of woe (which I won't regale again as it definitely falls into the TMI category). But suffice to say that it resulted in me performing a swab with a giant ear bud from a place you really don't want a giant ear bud. I really can't go into graphic details, but let's just say that as I'll have to wait for the results before they can prescribe any treatment, it will have an impact on our lovely jaunt to Paris this weekend. Nuff said.
But neither smashed eggs or giant ear buds have been the major problem of the day. No, that honour falls to the fact that this morning the children discovered their Christmas presents. They hadn't been wrapped. They hauled them out and wanted to know who the Hotwheels cars were for and why I had a spiderman mini laptop thingie hidden away. I instructed them to put them back immediately and to never ever go into that cupboard again. That of course is an open invitation for them to do exactly that. So I now need to find a new present hiding place. I wanted to say that there was a monster with large fangs living in the cupboard and that if they opened it, it would jump out and eat them. But I figured that was just opening myself up for numerous broken nights as they shrieked from night terrors.
They persisted and wanted to know who they were for. I said I was looking after them for someone. 'WHO?' they demanded. 'Someone you don't know,' I said before frogmarching them out of the room.
Where do I go from here? They didn't see all of the pressies luckily so those can come from Father Christmas and I guess the ones they saw will have to be from mummy and daddy. But I just don't know how much they saw. I'd like to believe that they will have forgotten all about it come Christmas day. But my almost 5 year old has a memory like a crotchety elephant and there's no way he won't notice that the same toys I was keeping for someone happened to end up under their Christmas tree.
I have a sneaking suspicion that parenting is about to get harder. You can't fool them anymore. They are becoming cunning - like foxes. It sucks.
Sunday, 23 November 2008
A day in which things get done. And a Christmas gripe
Morning!
It's not quite 7.30am on a Sunday and here I am. Despite the early hour, I have already ticked off one thing from my 'list of things that never get done'. I have tidied out the tupperware cupboard. It was reaching for the kids' milk cups and having an avalanche of plastic land on my feet that I decided that the time had come. And so I now have lovely neat little rows of plastic bowls reunited at last with their long lost lids. The plates are stacked nicely. The cups all have their appropriate component parts (they all come with straws or sucky bits or something half-chewed and annoying.) I estimate that this little haven of perfection will last until 8am when the boys decide they want breakfast and go get their bowls, at which point it shall return to its previous shambolic state. I should take a photo of it just so that I can console myself on dark mornings.
I am also about to wrap up the last of the Christmas presents destined for foreign shores, before heading out on my morning march in the freezing cold air. I had hoped to be stomping through a fresh blanket of snow. Instead it looks like I'll be slipping on a paltry sprinkling of snow that's frozen over the ground. I've got two local mums who've agreed in principle to come marching with me. They might change their minds when I bang on their doors at 8.30am with a gust of icy cold air hitting their ankles. I managed to go for my stomp yesterday morning but it wasn't restful. I decided to trespass on private land again and quite quickly discovered two landrovers parked next to the woods. There's only one reason that people in landrovers would be up that early in the morning - shooting. Not even two minutes walk later a rather loud bang followed by many strident squawks from the woods next to me encouraged me to about turn lest they mistake me for a rather large blue raincoat clad pheasant.
I can feel in my bones that today is going to be one of those satisfying days in which I get a lot done. I like these kind of days. Yesterday was also a picture of efficiency in our household. I braved the madding crowds to buy the rest of my Christmas presents. Apparently Christmas is coming early this year because everyone and their aging relatives, noisy children and dogs were at the shops. It was the Christmas chaos but without any of the festive cheer. So people were just downright grumpy, barging their way through with heavily burdened trolleys, grabbing for things and pushing into queues (yes, even here in England there was queue jumping).
I managed to get most things but failed to find something for my husband, The World's Most Difficult Man To Buy For. I think that my gift to him should be for me to buy something for myself that will make me happy so that he gets to live with a less scowly wife. I fear he won't agree with my plan. I saw many, many things I would like. Most of them were shiny. But I think I might be getting more tupperware. Or new pots. Woohoo. I guess at least pots can be shiny if you hold them at a certain angle to the kitchen lights.
On the subject of Christmas, I have a gripe. (There's a surprise). I've been flicking through the gazillion women's magazines that I have lying around (care of my job, not my spare time or a desire to flagellate myself for not being the perfect fashionista according to said mags). All of the December issues - without fail - tell you how to glam up for the festive season. There are tips on how to do your makeup/hair in a nano-second while feeding children fish fingers. There are all sorts on tips on how to squeeze yourself into little black numbers and other articles on how to wear the same dress three different ways for all the various parties you'll be going to.
And that's my gripe. Am I just Norman No Mates who doesn't get invited to festive parties or is this whole mega party season just a fabrication of the deluded editors? Sure you could have an office party. At a push you could have two office parties - one for you and one for your partner. But I'm willing to bet that a good number of mums don't work and therefore have no office party. OR they work like I do and have an office party for one in which we toot a party blower, wear a pointy hat and don our pjs to settle in with a tub of ice cream to watch the X-factor. I'm also willing to bet that many companies don't invite partners to their Xmas parties (cost cutting in the credit crunch and all that). And even if you do get to go to a Christmas party, you'll be so busy trying to get the kids fed and into bed that your look will be far more 'au-natural-cum-pulled-through-a-bush-backwards' than glamour puss anyway.
The alternative I guess is to be reliant on friends to throw glamorous Christmas parties that you get invited to. We have quite a few friends. I know of no-one throwing a Christmas party. Well, except our elderly neighbours but given they're the ones who want us to cut our hedge down, I don't think we'll be making it onto the guest list this year. How disappointing. Everyone is too busy attending school nativity plays, pre-school parties, carol services and simply surviving to have time to throw Christmas parties even remotely approaching something glamorous.
By the same notion, who really has time to stencil their own tablecloths, create home-made Christmas decorations from pipecleaners and pine cones and snowy white pom pom garlands? I'm all for having festive decorations and a well laid table, but these magazines seem to suggest that we should have started our cottage industry of Christmas crafts last January. And the whole notion of getting dressed up for Christmas dinner. Seriously, do people really wear their Jimmy Choos and YSL frocks while shoving a turkey baster up the poor dead fowl's arse? I don't think so.
So prove me wrong. Tell me about your glamorous parties that you'll be practising your eye shadow application for. Send me pics of your home-made holly wreaths. Convince me of the merits of looking fabulous while slaving over a hot stove. Go on. Make me weep with jealousy.
It's not quite 7.30am on a Sunday and here I am. Despite the early hour, I have already ticked off one thing from my 'list of things that never get done'. I have tidied out the tupperware cupboard. It was reaching for the kids' milk cups and having an avalanche of plastic land on my feet that I decided that the time had come. And so I now have lovely neat little rows of plastic bowls reunited at last with their long lost lids. The plates are stacked nicely. The cups all have their appropriate component parts (they all come with straws or sucky bits or something half-chewed and annoying.) I estimate that this little haven of perfection will last until 8am when the boys decide they want breakfast and go get their bowls, at which point it shall return to its previous shambolic state. I should take a photo of it just so that I can console myself on dark mornings.
I am also about to wrap up the last of the Christmas presents destined for foreign shores, before heading out on my morning march in the freezing cold air. I had hoped to be stomping through a fresh blanket of snow. Instead it looks like I'll be slipping on a paltry sprinkling of snow that's frozen over the ground. I've got two local mums who've agreed in principle to come marching with me. They might change their minds when I bang on their doors at 8.30am with a gust of icy cold air hitting their ankles. I managed to go for my stomp yesterday morning but it wasn't restful. I decided to trespass on private land again and quite quickly discovered two landrovers parked next to the woods. There's only one reason that people in landrovers would be up that early in the morning - shooting. Not even two minutes walk later a rather loud bang followed by many strident squawks from the woods next to me encouraged me to about turn lest they mistake me for a rather large blue raincoat clad pheasant.
I can feel in my bones that today is going to be one of those satisfying days in which I get a lot done. I like these kind of days. Yesterday was also a picture of efficiency in our household. I braved the madding crowds to buy the rest of my Christmas presents. Apparently Christmas is coming early this year because everyone and their aging relatives, noisy children and dogs were at the shops. It was the Christmas chaos but without any of the festive cheer. So people were just downright grumpy, barging their way through with heavily burdened trolleys, grabbing for things and pushing into queues (yes, even here in England there was queue jumping).
I managed to get most things but failed to find something for my husband, The World's Most Difficult Man To Buy For. I think that my gift to him should be for me to buy something for myself that will make me happy so that he gets to live with a less scowly wife. I fear he won't agree with my plan. I saw many, many things I would like. Most of them were shiny. But I think I might be getting more tupperware. Or new pots. Woohoo. I guess at least pots can be shiny if you hold them at a certain angle to the kitchen lights.
On the subject of Christmas, I have a gripe. (There's a surprise). I've been flicking through the gazillion women's magazines that I have lying around (care of my job, not my spare time or a desire to flagellate myself for not being the perfect fashionista according to said mags). All of the December issues - without fail - tell you how to glam up for the festive season. There are tips on how to do your makeup/hair in a nano-second while feeding children fish fingers. There are all sorts on tips on how to squeeze yourself into little black numbers and other articles on how to wear the same dress three different ways for all the various parties you'll be going to.
And that's my gripe. Am I just Norman No Mates who doesn't get invited to festive parties or is this whole mega party season just a fabrication of the deluded editors? Sure you could have an office party. At a push you could have two office parties - one for you and one for your partner. But I'm willing to bet that a good number of mums don't work and therefore have no office party. OR they work like I do and have an office party for one in which we toot a party blower, wear a pointy hat and don our pjs to settle in with a tub of ice cream to watch the X-factor. I'm also willing to bet that many companies don't invite partners to their Xmas parties (cost cutting in the credit crunch and all that). And even if you do get to go to a Christmas party, you'll be so busy trying to get the kids fed and into bed that your look will be far more 'au-natural-cum-pulled-through-a-bush-backwards' than glamour puss anyway.
The alternative I guess is to be reliant on friends to throw glamorous Christmas parties that you get invited to. We have quite a few friends. I know of no-one throwing a Christmas party. Well, except our elderly neighbours but given they're the ones who want us to cut our hedge down, I don't think we'll be making it onto the guest list this year. How disappointing. Everyone is too busy attending school nativity plays, pre-school parties, carol services and simply surviving to have time to throw Christmas parties even remotely approaching something glamorous.
By the same notion, who really has time to stencil their own tablecloths, create home-made Christmas decorations from pipecleaners and pine cones and snowy white pom pom garlands? I'm all for having festive decorations and a well laid table, but these magazines seem to suggest that we should have started our cottage industry of Christmas crafts last January. And the whole notion of getting dressed up for Christmas dinner. Seriously, do people really wear their Jimmy Choos and YSL frocks while shoving a turkey baster up the poor dead fowl's arse? I don't think so.
So prove me wrong. Tell me about your glamorous parties that you'll be practising your eye shadow application for. Send me pics of your home-made holly wreaths. Convince me of the merits of looking fabulous while slaving over a hot stove. Go on. Make me weep with jealousy.
Wednesday, 19 November 2008
Going postal
The various Christmas presents that I've ordered online have started arriving. This is good for several reasons. First, I'm sure I come across as being awfully important/popular/lucky to be receiving so many exciting brown paper packages and stuffed envelopes. Although who I'm supposedly impressing I'm not sure unless I have neighbours with twitchy curtains (quite possible) and the postman himself, although he probably finds parcels dull given the volume he sees in any given day.
Actually, come to think of it, I wonder if postmen do get bored of parcels? Maybe they deliver a stack of bills and junk mail to house A with a heavy heart and then skip over to house B to deliver some brightly coloured handwritten letters and a package. Surely he must get more of a buzz out of the latter? And do you think postmen wonder what's inside them, coming up with make believe fantasies in their heads about who the letters are from? Possibly secret love trysts? Or long lost families being reunited? Or a mafia boss sending a chopped off finger to someone he doesn't particularly like? I would wonder these things if I was a postie. But then again, maybe that's just me.
Moving swiftly back to my original point about the joys of my internet purchases arriving. Secondly, I feel virtuous as I can start to tick off 'my list of things to buy', smug in the knowledge that I haven't had to battle through crowds of the great unwashed all coughing their November germs on me to get them. I did it all from the comfort of my sofa. And lastly, it makes me feel just a teensy tiny part excited about the fact that Christmas is coming. Particularly as my apple cider and calvados pudding arrived today. Not convinced it's going to last till December 25.
On the downside, shopping online has its problems. For example, the beautiful heart shaped fabric keyring with little buttons sewn all over it (which really is more lovely than it sounds) turns out to be a LOT smaller than what the picture led me to believe and is really not worth the £6 I paid for it. Then again, some very patient, long suffering fool, obviously sat there stitching the buttons on for hours (well it would have taken me hours and it would have looked like shit) so perhaps £6 for their efforts isn't too bad.
Then there's the condiment gift selection which arrived and looks ok, but just a bit, well, fake. I could have given away my home made chutney and jam but I undercooked the first and overcooked the second and although my family is forced to eat the stuff, I can't really foist it on other people. Except perhaps my neighbour who wants me to cut down our hedge. But the bought stuff just looks a little bit mass produced, particularly its ye olde worlde packaging that's supposed to make it look home-made. It doesn't.
Then there's the small issue of having to post much of this stuff out again to far flung family. That involves trying to find suitable packaging materials, a trip to the post office (home to the world's grumpiest post master), spending a month's housekeeping money on postage, a drama about why my children can't have sweets/magazines/crisps in the shop and having to restack all the greetings cards once my children have pulled them all out.
All of these things make me less excited by the volume of goodies arriving daily at my door. And it also serves to remind me that I have about two weeks to write and post my international Christmas cards. This involves finding the correct addresses too, so it's more onerous than it might appear at first glance. And it involves a trip into the post office again (to visit my favourite post master) because all the stamps required are different and he's such a cantankerous old fart that I will have to weigh each card despite them all being the exact same size and weight.
I'm beginning to suspect that Christmas is actually a cunning marketing ploy created by Royal Mail to boost annual revenues.
I must away to bath small beasts and to wrap small gifts thereafter.
Actually, come to think of it, I wonder if postmen do get bored of parcels? Maybe they deliver a stack of bills and junk mail to house A with a heavy heart and then skip over to house B to deliver some brightly coloured handwritten letters and a package. Surely he must get more of a buzz out of the latter? And do you think postmen wonder what's inside them, coming up with make believe fantasies in their heads about who the letters are from? Possibly secret love trysts? Or long lost families being reunited? Or a mafia boss sending a chopped off finger to someone he doesn't particularly like? I would wonder these things if I was a postie. But then again, maybe that's just me.
Moving swiftly back to my original point about the joys of my internet purchases arriving. Secondly, I feel virtuous as I can start to tick off 'my list of things to buy', smug in the knowledge that I haven't had to battle through crowds of the great unwashed all coughing their November germs on me to get them. I did it all from the comfort of my sofa. And lastly, it makes me feel just a teensy tiny part excited about the fact that Christmas is coming. Particularly as my apple cider and calvados pudding arrived today. Not convinced it's going to last till December 25.
On the downside, shopping online has its problems. For example, the beautiful heart shaped fabric keyring with little buttons sewn all over it (which really is more lovely than it sounds) turns out to be a LOT smaller than what the picture led me to believe and is really not worth the £6 I paid for it. Then again, some very patient, long suffering fool, obviously sat there stitching the buttons on for hours (well it would have taken me hours and it would have looked like shit) so perhaps £6 for their efforts isn't too bad.
Then there's the condiment gift selection which arrived and looks ok, but just a bit, well, fake. I could have given away my home made chutney and jam but I undercooked the first and overcooked the second and although my family is forced to eat the stuff, I can't really foist it on other people. Except perhaps my neighbour who wants me to cut down our hedge. But the bought stuff just looks a little bit mass produced, particularly its ye olde worlde packaging that's supposed to make it look home-made. It doesn't.
Then there's the small issue of having to post much of this stuff out again to far flung family. That involves trying to find suitable packaging materials, a trip to the post office (home to the world's grumpiest post master), spending a month's housekeeping money on postage, a drama about why my children can't have sweets/magazines/crisps in the shop and having to restack all the greetings cards once my children have pulled them all out.
All of these things make me less excited by the volume of goodies arriving daily at my door. And it also serves to remind me that I have about two weeks to write and post my international Christmas cards. This involves finding the correct addresses too, so it's more onerous than it might appear at first glance. And it involves a trip into the post office again (to visit my favourite post master) because all the stamps required are different and he's such a cantankerous old fart that I will have to weigh each card despite them all being the exact same size and weight.
I'm beginning to suspect that Christmas is actually a cunning marketing ploy created by Royal Mail to boost annual revenues.
I must away to bath small beasts and to wrap small gifts thereafter.
Sunday, 16 November 2008
In which the promise of Sundays is rained out
It's Sunday. This day held so much promise. It was a blank canvas upon which we could paint any number of happy family memories. But son 2 is sick again (now that son 1 is on the mend). I'm definitely poorly but ignoring it (I don't really get a choice in the matter). And our options as to what we could do were always going to be limited.
So without much of a concrete plan but feeling we really ought to do something, we decided to try to teach son 1 how to ride his bike without stabilisers. Given his temperament this was never going to be an easy task. And it wasn't. He refused to leave the house. Then once we finally got him to the park, he refused to get on the bike. Then he refused to put on the helmet. We eventually got to the point where he was riding his bike with me running behind him, holding on, putting my back out, coughing up my poorly lungs and breathing out through my ears. My son felt it was far more interesting to watch the passers-by than the path ahead so kept overbalancing. I never even got close to taking my hands off him. Then husband had a turn. Pretty much the same success rate, except that he - who is supposedly far fitter and healthier than I at the moment - also returned clutching his back and breathing through his ears.
We decided to break for lunch (i.e. let aging parents sit down and breathe). As son 2 had been largely ignored during all of the bike riding he was allowed to choose our lunch destination. We suggested pizza. He said: 'chicken and chips'. Which means KFC. He's only been there once but it obviously made a big impression on him as he's been nagging to go back ever since. So in we went along with other fraught families, people with weight issues and many people who looked as though they'd just got in from a heavy night out.
It was vile. Son 1 pronounced: 'this food is revolting. And it's not healthy. (well done son). I don't EVER want to come back here again.' My husband was very quick to agree, given that he's lived on a diet of salads and cereal for the better part of a year and the shock of vast quantities of fat and salt wasn't sitting well with his digestive system. Husband said: 'Everything's so full of FAT.' 'Well yes,' I said. 'There might be a clue in the name Kentucky FRIED chicken.' He harumphed. We left, all feeling a bit sick.
We were busy tossing a coin as to who was going to run behind boy on bike trying not to bring up our deep fried nastiness when a large cloud decided to loiter over Newbury, turning the day into a grey, wet, mizzle-tastic misery. We convinced the boys that it would move on and tried to pass the time browsing the toys in Woolworths because that's as exciting as you get on Newbury High Street. We're trying to get an idea as to what Father Christmas can get for them, but they just want everything. If you ask them to narrow it down to one or two things, then nothing's good enough to make the list. Personally I don't want anymore plastic crap in the house so don't feel like getting anything. But that would be cruel (yet cost effective).
So having pushed every button on every mutant alien, lightsabre, combat vehicle and rescue chopper we headed outdoors again in the hope that we could continue the bike riding experiment. But the cloud had decided that Newbury was rather a nice place to empty itself on. And so we came home. Husband seems thrilled at the idea of lying on the sofa watching a kids cartoon. I am less ecstatic. For almost a month now we've had someone poorly. We've had TV on 24/7. My heady is foggy from radiators and the melodic strains of cbeebies. We are in dire need of fresh air.
I don't want to be indoors. I want to be having a good long stomp across the fields but given that I'm not altogether well and that it is very wet out there, I'm not sure it's a cunning plan. And so I'm here, typing this. Debating whether to plan my Christmas lunch menu now so that I can get my order in with Ocado, and thus secure a good delivery slot before they're all gone. But even for me that seems a bit anal.
On the subject of Christmas, I am pleased to report that I did 80% of my Christmas shopping this weekend - half of which came from two stores, the rest done online. I was almost masculine in my shop, choose and leave approach. It was the scorched earth policy of Christmas shopping. I've bought my Christmas cards, have my paper and tags and could probably spend the afternoon wrapping gifts to post to the far corners of the earth. It's just not really what I had in mind for today.
I think I might go put my wellies on after all and turn my mild, irritating chest cold into flaming influenza and be done with it. I'll write again from my sickbed.
So without much of a concrete plan but feeling we really ought to do something, we decided to try to teach son 1 how to ride his bike without stabilisers. Given his temperament this was never going to be an easy task. And it wasn't. He refused to leave the house. Then once we finally got him to the park, he refused to get on the bike. Then he refused to put on the helmet. We eventually got to the point where he was riding his bike with me running behind him, holding on, putting my back out, coughing up my poorly lungs and breathing out through my ears. My son felt it was far more interesting to watch the passers-by than the path ahead so kept overbalancing. I never even got close to taking my hands off him. Then husband had a turn. Pretty much the same success rate, except that he - who is supposedly far fitter and healthier than I at the moment - also returned clutching his back and breathing through his ears.
We decided to break for lunch (i.e. let aging parents sit down and breathe). As son 2 had been largely ignored during all of the bike riding he was allowed to choose our lunch destination. We suggested pizza. He said: 'chicken and chips'. Which means KFC. He's only been there once but it obviously made a big impression on him as he's been nagging to go back ever since. So in we went along with other fraught families, people with weight issues and many people who looked as though they'd just got in from a heavy night out.
It was vile. Son 1 pronounced: 'this food is revolting. And it's not healthy. (well done son). I don't EVER want to come back here again.' My husband was very quick to agree, given that he's lived on a diet of salads and cereal for the better part of a year and the shock of vast quantities of fat and salt wasn't sitting well with his digestive system. Husband said: 'Everything's so full of FAT.' 'Well yes,' I said. 'There might be a clue in the name Kentucky FRIED chicken.' He harumphed. We left, all feeling a bit sick.
We were busy tossing a coin as to who was going to run behind boy on bike trying not to bring up our deep fried nastiness when a large cloud decided to loiter over Newbury, turning the day into a grey, wet, mizzle-tastic misery. We convinced the boys that it would move on and tried to pass the time browsing the toys in Woolworths because that's as exciting as you get on Newbury High Street. We're trying to get an idea as to what Father Christmas can get for them, but they just want everything. If you ask them to narrow it down to one or two things, then nothing's good enough to make the list. Personally I don't want anymore plastic crap in the house so don't feel like getting anything. But that would be cruel (yet cost effective).
So having pushed every button on every mutant alien, lightsabre, combat vehicle and rescue chopper we headed outdoors again in the hope that we could continue the bike riding experiment. But the cloud had decided that Newbury was rather a nice place to empty itself on. And so we came home. Husband seems thrilled at the idea of lying on the sofa watching a kids cartoon. I am less ecstatic. For almost a month now we've had someone poorly. We've had TV on 24/7. My heady is foggy from radiators and the melodic strains of cbeebies. We are in dire need of fresh air.
I don't want to be indoors. I want to be having a good long stomp across the fields but given that I'm not altogether well and that it is very wet out there, I'm not sure it's a cunning plan. And so I'm here, typing this. Debating whether to plan my Christmas lunch menu now so that I can get my order in with Ocado, and thus secure a good delivery slot before they're all gone. But even for me that seems a bit anal.
On the subject of Christmas, I am pleased to report that I did 80% of my Christmas shopping this weekend - half of which came from two stores, the rest done online. I was almost masculine in my shop, choose and leave approach. It was the scorched earth policy of Christmas shopping. I've bought my Christmas cards, have my paper and tags and could probably spend the afternoon wrapping gifts to post to the far corners of the earth. It's just not really what I had in mind for today.
I think I might go put my wellies on after all and turn my mild, irritating chest cold into flaming influenza and be done with it. I'll write again from my sickbed.
Friday, 14 November 2008
End of week energy depletion
I have started this blog post many times and just keep deleting what I type. Because quite frankly I am bored of writing about how my children are driving me mad. So I'm fairly certain you all must be bored of reading about it. These last three weeks have been hard, hard work. First half term. Then child 2 sick. Then child 1 sick. Now both in recovery phase which is worse than both of them being sick together. And now I am feeling poorly but have had an immensely busy work time over the last three days with no chance for a rest. All I want to do is cuddle up on the sofa with a bottle of wine and stay that way all weekend (although I might need my wine stocks to be replenished).
But husband has had a very busy, difficult week having to lay off people. So he is just as pooped. And unless we can magic a nanny or a granny out of thin air, our well laid plans of remaining horizontal on the sofa all weekend are going to come to nothing. Instead we'll break up fights, play snakes and ladders, make food that is pronounced disgusting and ignored, get some food shopping and do chores. The weather is pants. And life looks bleak. There are times that I envy our childless friends.
I'm tired. Can you tell?
This weekend I do also have to do something about Christmas. The last posting day for the rest of the world which is where my family lives, is 4 Dec. And so far I've bought nil presents. I have written a list (checked it twice just to make sure who's been naughty or nice) and so far it's looking pretty dispiritingly long. Obviously everyone has been good this year. There are so many people to buy for. So many presents to think of. So much international postage to pay. Am thinking camels, goats and other charity-related gifts might be the way to go. Feed the world, make it a better place, save on shopping hours and postage costs. Not to mention saving the environment by not flying parcels around the globe and not generating more packaging waste. Its all good. Spirit of giving and peace on earth and all that. But it's not quite the same as opening something shiny, is it?
So that's my big goal for the weekend. Although I'm going to have to give myself a serious motivational talk between now and tomorrow if I hope to get my bum off the sofa at all.
Right I'm off to summon up my last ounce of energy to get the kids bathed and into bed. Dishes be damned. Then I have a date with the remote control, sofa and my chilly friend chardonnay.
But husband has had a very busy, difficult week having to lay off people. So he is just as pooped. And unless we can magic a nanny or a granny out of thin air, our well laid plans of remaining horizontal on the sofa all weekend are going to come to nothing. Instead we'll break up fights, play snakes and ladders, make food that is pronounced disgusting and ignored, get some food shopping and do chores. The weather is pants. And life looks bleak. There are times that I envy our childless friends.
I'm tired. Can you tell?
This weekend I do also have to do something about Christmas. The last posting day for the rest of the world which is where my family lives, is 4 Dec. And so far I've bought nil presents. I have written a list (checked it twice just to make sure who's been naughty or nice) and so far it's looking pretty dispiritingly long. Obviously everyone has been good this year. There are so many people to buy for. So many presents to think of. So much international postage to pay. Am thinking camels, goats and other charity-related gifts might be the way to go. Feed the world, make it a better place, save on shopping hours and postage costs. Not to mention saving the environment by not flying parcels around the globe and not generating more packaging waste. Its all good. Spirit of giving and peace on earth and all that. But it's not quite the same as opening something shiny, is it?
So that's my big goal for the weekend. Although I'm going to have to give myself a serious motivational talk between now and tomorrow if I hope to get my bum off the sofa at all.
Right I'm off to summon up my last ounce of energy to get the kids bathed and into bed. Dishes be damned. Then I have a date with the remote control, sofa and my chilly friend chardonnay.
Tuesday, 10 June 2008
Telling lies to little children
Some people think you shouldn't lie to your children. Ever. I just want put on record that I think that idea is just plain bollocks.
Let's start with some of the big lies we all tell our children. For example, there's that fat old man in the north pole who happens to deliver a bazillion presents every Christmas Eve with the help of just a few reindeers. And it's not just one lie. There are all the little lies we have to add to somehow make the story plausible. But there are those sad people who believe it's wrong to lie to children and who completely take the magic of Christmas from their child. Bah humbug to that.
However, there are other day-to-day lies that parents tell. My favourite is: Look! A purple dinosaur just ran past the window (in a bid to distract a yelling child who is refusing to get into their car seat). Or in a similar vein: Wow! I just saw a hawk catch a bird (there's a story behind this which I will share one day) or: Is that a fairy?!
Then there's the cunning ways to get children to eat: if you eat that broccoli, you'll grow taller than your brother (not necessarily a lie but a bit of a long wait to find out). Or: there's absolutely no onion in the sauce. The shiny bits are transparent carrots, which you love. (actually they're onion but I'm not going to pick them out one by one).
There's the 'I really need to go check my emails but need to pretend I'm not working' lie: I'm just going to put on a load of washing...
There's the standard lie when shopping for groceries and the nagging for sweets starts: 'We'll see'. Which means no. (Incidentally, I've been told by a friend - you know who you are - that my use of the word 'groceries' highlights the fact that I am foreign as a normal British person would simply say food. However, I feel groceries is a more all-encompassing term so shall continue to use it and while I'm at it, will say traffic circles instead of roundabouts).
But yesterday I told my 2 year old a bit of a whopper and I'm now reaping the not-so-clever rewards. He has been out of nappies for almost a year but seems to forget this on a daily basis and pees in his pants constantly. It is driving me insane, not to mention what he's doing to our washing powder consumption.
So in an effort to get him to not pee in his pants, I put him in a pair of underpants that has a little monster on the front with sharp teeth. I told him the monster was called Morris. Morris the marshmallow munching monster. And Morris doesn't like getting wet. And if he peed on Morris, Morris would sink his sharp teeth into his willy and give it a bite (obviously mistaking it for a marshmallow). The child - with fairly large eyes at this point - asked what would happen if he didn't pee on Morris. Not being able to think quickly enough, I said that Morris would give his willy a cuddle instead.
Sigh. You know what's coming next.
'Mummy, I haven't peed in my pants so Morris is cuddling my willy'. And this morning: 'Mummy, I'm not going to let Morris bite my willy today.'
Which is all well and good when it's just the two of us having this conversation, but when he relays it to staff at the nursery it's really not great. I fear I might be getting a letter from them soon suggesting that social services might want to come round.
Let's start with some of the big lies we all tell our children. For example, there's that fat old man in the north pole who happens to deliver a bazillion presents every Christmas Eve with the help of just a few reindeers. And it's not just one lie. There are all the little lies we have to add to somehow make the story plausible. But there are those sad people who believe it's wrong to lie to children and who completely take the magic of Christmas from their child. Bah humbug to that.
However, there are other day-to-day lies that parents tell. My favourite is: Look! A purple dinosaur just ran past the window (in a bid to distract a yelling child who is refusing to get into their car seat). Or in a similar vein: Wow! I just saw a hawk catch a bird (there's a story behind this which I will share one day) or: Is that a fairy?!
Then there's the cunning ways to get children to eat: if you eat that broccoli, you'll grow taller than your brother (not necessarily a lie but a bit of a long wait to find out). Or: there's absolutely no onion in the sauce. The shiny bits are transparent carrots, which you love. (actually they're onion but I'm not going to pick them out one by one).
There's the 'I really need to go check my emails but need to pretend I'm not working' lie: I'm just going to put on a load of washing...
There's the standard lie when shopping for groceries and the nagging for sweets starts: 'We'll see'. Which means no. (Incidentally, I've been told by a friend - you know who you are - that my use of the word 'groceries' highlights the fact that I am foreign as a normal British person would simply say food. However, I feel groceries is a more all-encompassing term so shall continue to use it and while I'm at it, will say traffic circles instead of roundabouts).
But yesterday I told my 2 year old a bit of a whopper and I'm now reaping the not-so-clever rewards. He has been out of nappies for almost a year but seems to forget this on a daily basis and pees in his pants constantly. It is driving me insane, not to mention what he's doing to our washing powder consumption.
So in an effort to get him to not pee in his pants, I put him in a pair of underpants that has a little monster on the front with sharp teeth. I told him the monster was called Morris. Morris the marshmallow munching monster. And Morris doesn't like getting wet. And if he peed on Morris, Morris would sink his sharp teeth into his willy and give it a bite (obviously mistaking it for a marshmallow). The child - with fairly large eyes at this point - asked what would happen if he didn't pee on Morris. Not being able to think quickly enough, I said that Morris would give his willy a cuddle instead.
Sigh. You know what's coming next.
'Mummy, I haven't peed in my pants so Morris is cuddling my willy'. And this morning: 'Mummy, I'm not going to let Morris bite my willy today.'
Which is all well and good when it's just the two of us having this conversation, but when he relays it to staff at the nursery it's really not great. I fear I might be getting a letter from them soon suggesting that social services might want to come round.
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