Max wants to spend Christmas watching Grace Kelly movies, Minnie our farm cat would prefer to just kill crawling things, Number One son just wants to do anything involving really good smells and I'd like a good lie down. The pressure is on. Less than a week to go. Why does it feel like the pressure is on? Like this deadline defines us. Last year their cheese platter excelled, how will I match it, or if the presents aren't exactly what hearts desire somehow I'm a lesser person? What a nonsense that we put ourselves through this. We rush out the door with wallets gaping open ready to throw at anything that will solve the problem, feed more mouths, or will seat more people at the trestle table (notice I didn't say comfortably. What happened to the good old piano stool?). Only to shove it later in far away place or back of the cupboard ready to take out for heavy criticism next year. The font of all expenditure, the glossy magazines tell us our food and children must be stylish and dreamy. The Christmas decorations must be all artfully hand made from bare willow branches and our gifts wrapped with antique french linen strategically placed beneath. It never used to be this hard. Or expensive. You can't replace the early morning sounds on Christmas morning of children sneaking into the lounge to open their gifts. The sound of multi pack cheap Christmas wrapping being torn and and thrown aside. The cries of thrill and words of awesome. Or more like..."I'm not wearing that! She can't make me". Oh well, let's hope there's a good movie on the telly sometime today.
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