A cracking Christmas!
The wee fella has had a cracking Christmas. But nowhere near as cracking as either Grandpa or Grandma, who both ended up in A&E.
It all started on Christmas Eve. The usual night before Christmas, the house was quiet, nothing was stirring, not even Daddy's mouse, although he was working at home. The professional that I am I missed the arrival of Granda and Grandma, so popped down a little later to say hi. And I was greeted with a pale looking Grandma. OK, what have I missed? What I missed was Grandma (wearing boots for style rather than function) go down like a sack of spuds in the snow (inches from the clear path under the garage eaves). What I missed was her bounce off the Focus (which we're trying to sell) on the way down. What I didn't miss was the trip to A&E through some pretty awful driving conditions. I was expecting a scene from Fairytale of New York - a drunk, a punk and an old slut on junk. but it wasn't to be, just one fracture after another being patched up and sent home. I guess that's what happens when we forget what to wear and how to walk in ice and snow. Maybe the drunks will be along later, eh?
Back home in time to do a proper Christmas. Last year was really good for the smallest person in the house, the first time he really knew what was going on with presents, eyes lighting up at the sight of them. This year, with all the hype from nursery and school, was the first time he really knew the association with the presents and Santa. Shall we leave Santa something to eat? Yes. What? A biscuit. OK. Daddy brought in two biscuits, and promptly got told off - "just one, Daddy". Can we leave two out for Santa - oh, no, just the one. And to drink? Coffee. Eh? That's right, we had to make a coffee for Santa. Reindeer dust and a carrot for Rudolph, lovely for him, not so great for Santa. No drink-sleighing around Scotland then, the police are not going to breathalyse him after leaving our house!
Christmas morning, and we head downstairs. There, in front of the fireplace, is an almost empty bowl with some oats left and the end of a carrot. Next to it is a plate with a few crumbs of biscuit. The coffee cup - just a dribble left. But what's that? Snow? Big snowy footprints leading from the fireplace to the tree. And what's under the.... eh, where's he gone? A minute later our own Maggie returns with a wipe and is down on his knees trying to clean up the snow off the carpet. Only when he was down there did he notice the big pile of paper under the tree. We still had to clean up the snow first, we were not getting away with that!
And as we're opening present number 14 of 2,345 we get a phone call from Granny - she's in A&E with Grandpa's cracked ribs. Another sack of spuds, but doing the indoor slalom down the staircase instead. I was just glad we had a turkey crown, no bones (broken or otherwise) to be found in there!
And daddy's Christmas? Well, I woke up to find Cheryl Cole in my stocking. It would have been great the other way round!
