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Well, it’s only day four of the Christmas holidays and already I’ve had more than enough.
Of children that is.
I absolutely dread any school vacation and as always, this one is living up to my expectations.
In fact, if I could write a letter to my pre-child self then I’d describe what it’s like to be surrounded by children from dawn ‘til dusk during the school holidays.
The continuous playful scrummages that inevitably end in tears, the endless squabbling interspersed with fleeting, teasing moments of tranquility, and the near constant demands for drinks, snacks and food that if you were to capitulate every time, would easily result in a 200lb child.
Yes, it’s quite possible that the 27 year-old me, equipped with the knowledge I have now, might have thought twice before reproducing and instead bought another Jack Russell.
But hindsight is a wonderful thing and without this wisdom to guide us we began an intensive breeding program that resulted in four children in less than five years…
What on earth was I thinking?!
But children are a joy (at most other times, just not during the school breaks), and I love some of the obscure questions they throw at you such as, “what’s taller than a mountain?” (yesterday) and, “how big is Justin Bieber?” (today).
And children are a blessing. But more importantly they are an insurance policy in old age and I’m hoping that at least one of mine might feel guilty enough to look after me when I start losing my marbles, or when the time comes, get me locked up in a nice home.
The thought of shuffling aimlessly around Semiahmoo Mall with the rest of the ancient folk of White Rock is just too terrifying to contemplate.
But moving on…
This year the whole family has been eagerly anticipating our first Canadian Christmas and what better way to begin the festivities than to cut down your own tree?
It’s a fabulous idea. And one that has yet to catch on in the UK (and Holland) so H was particularly excited at the prospect of taking his chopper to the local woodland so he could erect his handiwork in the living room.
But not everyone is so easily impressed, and when he mentioned our festive wood cutting junket to his uber-Londonite, Knightsbridge dwelling brother, said chap retorted: ‘My God man, you’ve only been in Canada for four months and already you’re turning into the Griswolds!’
Which we took as a compliment.
And I love the music that comes out at Christmas, so much so that I felt compelled this year to compile a medley of my favourite tunes, having been inflicted with some dreadful offerings by trendy young things over the last few weeks – Taylor Swift, how dare you defile the wonderful Last Christmas (by Wham!) with your lousy cover version!
So if I may be so bold as to suggest the best ever Christmas song, in my humble opinion, then this is my absolute favourite:
But with the big day almost upon us, I’ve got a million things to do and not enough time to do them in, particularly with a husband who decides to plant 250,000 pepper saplings at this time of year (to ensure that North Americans don’t run out of fresh produce all year round), so I’ll pen off with some of the highlights over the last few weeks:
1) Nos. 3 and 4 drinking ¾ of a bottle of Aunt Jemima’s pancake syrup while my back was turned for a few minutes last week. You wouldn’t believe the buzz that ensued. For hours.
And this, which I read about in an online UK tabloid, that made me laugh out loud, for ages:
And on that rather unsavoury note, I bid you, my glorious new compatriots, a wonderful Christmas and a very merry new year!