Yes indeed, it’s all getting pretty festive here in the midden.
The children have a discovered a new found love of bedtime, helped in part by their not-particularly-Christmassy Spiderman and Thomas the Tank Engine crappy-cheap-chocolate advent calendars (we are a strictly before bedtime door-opening family, none of this new-fangled morning opening for us), and have started eagerly putting their pyjamas on at 6.30pm. Personally, I harbour a deep loathing of chocolate advent calendars, and long for a return to the kitschy, over-glittered, non-chocolate nativity calendars of my childhood. They are, sadly, harder to find these days than rocking horse poo.
(I am going to send my children spiralling into TV Character merchandise withdrawal depression next year by lovingly creating what promises in the guides to be a ‘timeless keepsake that the whole family will cherish’ perpetual advent calendar but which will, in actual fact, look like a few bits of battered plywood covered in glitter and random blobs of mod podge).
True to form, as the start of school and nursery Christmas events sends children everywhere into paroxysms of uncontrollable, pant-wetting excitement; my two are under the weather. Knowing full well that he is to be a Wise Man in the nursery nativity, Captain Calamity decided to funk-up his bed-bouncing dismount on Sunday night resulting in an impressive face-plant and rug slide, and a hideous carpet-burn to the side of his face that even made the doctor look slightly queasy.
As if having to drag The Elephant Boy out in the freezing cold every day so the nurse could check his face wasn’t about to fall off wasn’t enough; the Streptococcus fairy decided to don her Santa hat and pay Ellis’s right ear a visit. Whilst he was at school. I got a phone call at 9.30am yesterday (whilst Fin and I were still in our pyjamas) asking to go and pick up a sobbing boy from school. We were heading up to see the nurse at 11am anyway, so whilst Fin had thirty-six consecutive ‘I no wanna go out in the cold’ tantrums, I tried to get an appointment for Ellis – you know, kill two birds with one stone, yes? Well, no. Nothing until 5pm, when I’d have to drag Elephant Boy and King Grizzle back out in the cold for the twenty minute whiny walk to the surgery.
I’m canny, me. We picked up sobbing boy, and proceeded to the surgery for Fin’s appointment. The surgery was, as I suspected, full of elderly people. No matter how deaf elderly people claim to be, they can hear – and get irritated by – a crying six year old boy from three miles away.
Ellis sobbed pathetically. Fin loudly proclaimed to everyone that hadn’t installed earplugs ‘my bruvva’s got a bugger in his ear’. I plastered on my calmest, most beatific, ‘perfect mother’ smile. You know the one.
We got seen within five minutes. And I’m not even sorry.