Bah Humbug!

 

Can I please stop gift wrapping yet? I'm developing Carpel Tunnel Syndrome.  

This is what happens when you're child is born two days before Christmas and she has nine (yes nine) pre-school teachers to buy for. Parents all over whinge about low teacher to student ratios and how it affects education, but it makes life a lot easier at the end of the year, I can tell you.  Well I can't actually because I wouldn't know about that, but I will next year.  Three teachers in Kindergarten, four tops. 

OK so it's actually a 'me' thing I'm a gift-a-holic. But our girl's been attending a fabulous pre-school and the teachers and carers, after three years, have become like family. This being Lucie's final year, I wanted to make a special effort. 

As I did with our elderly ex-neighbor who recently lost her husband (she's a tough one because she's diabetic so no boxed chocolates or bottle of wine shortcuts to be made there). Also our other ex-neighbors  had a baby since we all moved, so I just picked up a little something for junior. I do seem to be neglecting our current neighbors - but I say hello I wave...Oh and then there's my domestic support team; our lovely dog walker and Lucie's ex-day care carer, who is now our baby/dog/ house-sitter.

So as I do every year, I've gone and bought more presents for teachers,carers and ex-neighbors than family. I've run myself ragged, zapping through Christmas traffic like a deranged formula one driver, swearing cursing, honking, taking corners on two wheels. But it's like everyone between home and the mall is driving like they're either channeling Fangio on taking a truck load of Prozac. I fall into the former category of course.

One morning after school run I got stuck in the mall car park of all places. So I went up all the ramps to the roof, drove like a mad woman across the roof-top of the entire complex came down another ramp,only to have to take another ticket go into another section of the car park so I could try to get out at an unblocked exit. Getting out of car-parks takes longer than your shopping this time of year. STAY AWAY FROM THE MALL.

Night before last I stayed up decorating the living room and putting out birthday presents. Tonight I'm wrapping Santa's presents, while chomping my way through a pile of apples left out for the reindeer, (with Santa's milk as a chaser). The daddy person has volunteered to tackle the tub of chocolate mouse - uh huh.. I never want to see another apple as long as I live, and I'm hoping like hell we don't get another ant infestation from the apple core's I've scattered around the hearth.

My parents did Christmas so well, and it was about giving as well as getting. I'm following tradition in that we will all give each other presents which have built up under the Christmas tree over the last few weeks. Tonight Santa's bringing three presents for Lucie, previously requested in her 'letter to Santa' which was actually an email. (so much easier for Santa, I'm sure he has an elf or two monitoring his Gmail). This all involves a bit of secrecy, making sure there is no trace at all to be found of the separate and very different garish wrapping paper and glittery ribbons and special gift tags.

Santa also has to bring presents for Buddy. For the sake of you non-doggie people I'll explain that one;

(1) Lucie is of the opinion that Buddy, being a very good dog, would definitely be on Santa's 'nice' list. So getting a present would be a given if Santa is (a) real and (b)all he's cracked up to be.

(2) It's part of the Christmas morning fun, Lucie thinks it's hilarious when Bud unwraps his own presents and does a lap of honor with each one. 

(3) Buddy understands the concept of presents, he understands NOT getting presents when everyone else does (especially Lucie). And I don't want to hurt his feelings because he's a sweetheart.  

OK so you non-doggie people won't get those last two. Sorry, but if you could live with his 'my feelings are hurt' face then you're made of tougher stuff than us. Even my mum sends him presents.

So as the wrapping paper runs low I sigh. Either relief or exhaustion, take your pick. 

Every year December goes by in a blurr - a mad rush to the finish line. But with that comes the moments that somehow make all the rushing stressing and hair-pulling well and truly worth it...

When Lucie was piling those bloody apples onto her Bunnykins plate for the reindeer, and putting down a tub of her precious chocolate mousse and some milk for Santa in her favorite pink mug, her little body was quite literally quivering with excitement.  The pure joy in her smile was just exquisite.

 HAPPY CHRISTMAS YOU LOT

PS: I'm gonna go and make my husband eat some apples. 

PPS: We are flying out tomorrow afternoon for France - yep off to the in-laws again - and I haven't packed my case yet. The dog, hands on his paws, is showing me his most thoroughly depressed face, meanwhile I am in packing-denial.

PPPS: 

Below is a less than exquisite demonstration of the difficulties one can encounter attempting to open a wine bottle without the benefit of opposable thumbs.

 OK, just kidding - it's a chew toy - Buddy's Christmas present from our dog-walker the lovely and equally energetic; Ingrid.

Bad Santa versus Thunderpants

Last time I took a child to see Santa the old bastard tried to hit on me.   

Seriously.

And as we left, my disillusioned little niece announced; " That Santa was creepy."

That experience, gave me a serious dose of the bah humbugs. I was with my sister at the time, taking her adorable little girl to see a department store Father Christmas and within seconds, Santa was all over me like a cheap suit. I swear it was like a scene out of "Bad Santa", but I couldn't imagine this guy looked anything like Billy Bob Thornton under his red suit and fake whiskers.

Shamelessly, in front of my little niece, he suggestively asked me to sit on his knee showing zero interest in the cute little girl who'd stood in line to meet him.  The poor little pet was gutted.

And puleeease, what did that idiot expect? A breathless response of "Oh my gosh Santa, you're so hot, let me get rid of these people and well go play pin-the-tail-on-the-reindeer in your grotto"?  What a lunatic.

So we rejected the photo all agreeing, that couldn't be the real Santa cos that one was a sleaze bag.

He was actually not that old a bastard underneath the beard and white brows, and that decided it, with my little girl I'm not visiting any Santa under 70 years old - the older the better. Old gentlemen Santa's know how to behave.

A week ago we were driving past a movie theatre with a costumed cartoon Santa out front.  Lucie bounced up and down in her booster seat gesturing madly; "go cuddle Christmas?"  "cuddle Santa?" but this Santa was on the other side of six lanes of one of the busiest roads on the lower north shore. So we did what all parents do in these situations: we made hasty rash promises. In fact it would be have been a much easier Santa introduction in front of a movie theatre, even with the problematic traffic logistics, than in a department store toy department geared up for Christmas shopping.

This year we're looking forward to a very special Christmas - the first one where Lucie halfway understands what the hell is going on.  Not surprising considering her preschool class has been flat out all November making decorations. Just like the retail stores; as soon as the pumpkins & witches come down, the tinsel & reindeers go up to replace them. We'll still be nursing new year hangovers when the first easter eggs roll onto supermarket shelves.

But I did find an upside to all this hype. Since we lost our latest and greatest goldfish, Piggy, feeling I couldn't cope with another funeral-by-flush (not to mention the work involved in keeping a healthy tank - yes you'd be surprised), I negotiated with Lucie that we could replace the fish tank a little Christmas Tree for her bedroom (and a plush Santa and Reindeer).  Ok I threw those in, 'cos (a) they were seriously cute and (b) it didn't seem like a fair trade to me  - a live pet and a pretty 5 litre aquarium exchanged  for a $6 tree. My conscience was bothering me. 

Did I mention that motherhood seems to inject your conscience with steroids?

Well the tree's gone down a treat ( I don't  have to clean it every week or change and condition it's water- I'm not feeding it twice a day) and Santa and Rudolf have now been on as many social outings as Dora which is saying something.

If fact Santa, Rudolf and Dora the Explorer all went to visit Santa today.

The promise was to visit David Jones, hit Santa's cave then swing by the puppet windows. But, still feeling the emotional scars of my last visit albeit about 15 years ago we put the kibosh on the department store Santa idea. Also, as my husband pointed out, how many tantrums would it cost me trying to escape the toy department after some cuddly old guy's been asking Lucie what she would like?

So I was feeling pretty clever finally deciding on a local shopping mall where Santa's sleigh was set up amongst harmless pharmacies, phone retailers and book shops.

Lucie was excited, and I was hopeful, there was only one child ahead of us and Santa was nicely aged and very polite with not an ounce of sleaze.

But as she climbed into the sleigh next to the man in red, Lucie let one rip like I've never heard before. Honestly, it was like a trumpet blast, it was epic, like she had a microphone tucked into the waist of her knickers. I think they heard it up in the food court.  So loud for such a small bum, I thought for just a second "oh god, Santa's incontinent".. until Lucie giggled and said "Mummy I did a poot!"

Fortunately childbirth has seriously impaired my ability to achieve deep levels of embarrassment so moments like this one just crack me up. Within seconds my mascara had become two black creeks trickling down my face and the photographer was hyperventilating right along with me.

When I was semi-composed again and trying to behave like a serious mummy again, I stupidly asked Lucie if she was going to sit on Santa's knee like the last little girl. Santa's mouth curled up in a worried smile; "Not sure Santa thinks that's such a good idea.." he said. 

 

Children with noisy bums sit next to Santa

  

It's a shame my little niece couldn't have called up some of her own thunder- down-under; it would have given Sleazy Santa just what he deserved.   

But for the sake of this year's lovely Father Christmas I'm just grateful it wasn't a stinker.