When I was a child, Christmas was a magical time, packed with excitement, wishes for presents, feasts of chocolate and mince pies, and dreams of snow and warm fires. But then, when I had children myself, the magic was pooped on, fought over, cried about, broken into pieces, and became the source of arguments.
The 4am starts were exhausting, the batteries ran out, crucial parts went missing, and the toys couldn’t be assembled. The fairy on the tree had her head ripped off, the dog ate the turkey, someone was sick over the yule log, and all that was left was a pile of empty boxes, which the kids enjoyed more than the presents.
There were no more carols (“Carols suck, Dad”), the delicious food was sneered at (“I hate turkey and mince pies! Why can’t we go to KFC?”), coughs and colds spread like wildfire, there was nothing on TV except repeats, and everyone went to bed in a state of exhaustion, despair, and alcohol-induced haze.
But now the children are teenagers, and things have become civilized one more. We are rediscovering the joy of Christmas, this year in Yorkshire, with accommodation generously provided by my brother- and sister-in-law. We’re hoping to rediscover the magic.
I hope you enjoy your Christmas too, whether you have family or not. And remember – if you’re a blogger, your blog family is just a click away.
Merry Christmas, everyone!