Three more sleeps! That’s all – just three more sleeps til the big day! (Well, unless you’re from Scandinavia or Eastern Europe or anywhere else that celebrates on Christmas Eve, in which case it’s only TWO more sleeps. Or if you’re Jewish, in which case you’re mid-celebrations and I can only admire your stamina and lust after your deep-fried goods. Or if you’re a Jehovah’s Witness, in which case, bah humbug.)
Here in the Gluestick house the decorations remain unfinished, none of Teflon Man’s friends will be getting a Christmas card and nothing is wrapped (partly because it would be inappropriate to wrap stuff whilst it’s still sat on the shelf in the shop and I can’t be bothered to wait in a queue for more than five minutes to actually buy anything without wanting to kill someone). Because, although the pressure is mounting as the deadline looms, at the same time it only takes five minutes before the novelty and excitement of ‘oooh, let’s get ready for Christmas!’ changes into a massive ball-ache.
Eve helped put the lights on the tree and then sat back down. Boo helped put the decorations on the tree and then went back to her Kindle. Teflon Man…well, you can probably guess what Teflon Man contributed , but it didn’t stop him from complaining that I hadn’t offered up any suggestions for what presents he should buy. When I’ve already got to choose from both myself and the kids. And he’s banging on for ideas when I’m in the middle of making party boxes for Noodles’ birthday party.
And then, when I take into account time left minus commitments to work/child-wrangling/socialising/sleeping (sleeping? Who am I kidding?) I’ve got approximately five minutes left to get everything sorted.
Oh well, sweeping under the TV and getting the ironing mountain done will just have to wait. After all, it’ll only take five minutes of present-unwrapping for the living room to be covered in paper and toys so that you won’t be able to tell the difference between the old clutter and the new. And maybe I could hang tinsel on the ironing and call it a Christmas feature?
Five minutes after the breakfast champagne and I don’t suppose it will matter a jot anyway.