Xmas Update

We had a bit of a clash between the tooth fairy and Santa on Christmas Eve.

Master Sixes teeth are dropping out so quick I feel like my ‘baby’ is falling to bits. Unfortunately, the top teeth have all come out in a row and it’s not looking pretty. After inspecting his new smile in the bathroom mirror he emerged, heaved a great sigh and announced: “I look horrible,” before adding: “I hope my friends don’t notice.”

I had my work cut out that night. It’s hard enough to remember tooth fairy duties at the best of times so, because I needed my wits about me, I didn’t partake in any pre-Christmas drinking.

The abstinence paid off and it all went smoothly. I went to bed leaving the men to ‘dispose’ of the Santa snacks and reply to the note.

At 2am Master Six got up to go to the toilet and discovered both the tooth fairy and Santa had been and felt the need to come and share this joyous news with me. Needless to say he probably didn’t get the enthused response he anticipated. Likewise at 5.45am when Miss Four awoke to find her and her brother’s Santa sacks full.

“Jai,” I heard her whisper across the room. “Jai!,” the call became more insistent as she tried to rouse her brother. “You’ve got presents!”

“I got jandals,” I heard him exclaim sometime later and with that I shot out of bed. Two heads flung back down on their pillows just as fast, as I entered the room. We have a rule of no peeking until everyone’s assembled together.

I went back to bed feeling a bit bad about growling them first thing instead of wishing them a merry Christmas. But not long after, once their brother had awoken, all the presents were open in a flurry, the kids had taken off to play with their new toys and I was left amidst a sea of strewn wrapping paraphernalia.

Which was why the oven timer method worked so well this year. Actually we used the chiming clock and every hour it chimed, they opened a present, knowing exactly who it was from and thanking the person. This dragged the day out nicely, considering the weather was so terrible we couldn’t go out and play. Before we knew it, it was 8pm and we still had to play Secret Santa.

One of the many heart-warming moments of the day was opening Master Sixes homemade present and discovering a $20 note from his piggy bank with a note saying “I love you.” Turns out he’d done the same for his dad. It was very sweet but, I’m sure he doesn’t have any concept of money’s worth and the $40 was quietly deposited back into his money box later.

“I was sure I’d get squirted when I went to the toilet,” said my brother’s partner to me towards the end of the day, referring to the ongoing practical joke I play every year that I assumed everyone was getting sick of. She almost sounded disappointed.

I didn’t need further encouragement. Off I happily went to set it up. As the toilet seat is one of those clear acrylic nautical themed varieties, I was sure no one would fall for it but, alas, my tired and heavily-pregnant sister-in-law made a stop off before bed.

Luckily she has a sense of humour: She emerged grinning sheepishly and, fortunately, still intact.

Xmas Frenzy

If it weren’t for the fact I draw the line at those ridiculous festive earrings, I’d be the ultimate Christmas geek. 

From putting the tree up, as soon as good luck would have it, with Christmas carols blaring, blinging out the house in fairy lights to the point I don’t like to leave the room for fear of a fire breaking out, baking for the neighbours, making Christmas lanterns with the kindy kids year after year, to leaving “snowy” bootprints on the doorstep for the kids to discover Xmas morning, I usually just can’t get enough.

But I have to say, even I’m a little Christmased out by it all this year. As the kids get older there are more Christmas parties to attend needing secret Santa gifts provided for, plates to make, parades to take part in, ballet shows, the final school assembly and carols to attend. Add to that the multiple birthday parties in the month of December and I’ve realised I haven’t even stopped to enjoy it all.

I guess it doesn’t help the kids are tired at this time of year and fueled up on too much junk food.

This year we split our Christmas in half and had a celebration with one side of the family last weekend. I find it’s less overwhelming for the kids when they are handed gift after gift. It’s also less mortifying for the parent when their kids hastily rip off the wrapping, barely acknowledge what is within, before moving onto the next while the giver watches on.

To help with this we will be using the oven timer this year and they can open a present by the hour. (Strangely, children seem to respect the oven timer?)

We’ll start the morning as usual by opening Santa presents, which brings me to a wee problem: apparently I didn’t clean the fireplace very well and the kids are worried Santa will get his outfit grubby when he lands down our chimney. And, actually, they wonder, how will he even fit if he’s so fat?

Good point. The fireplace door is pathetically small so we’ll leave a window open instead.

We’ll leave water for the reindeer and, as far as Santa’s snacks go, I’m under instructions from my brother, who, along with his family, will be staying, that Santa will be extra thirsty so the kids are to leave out more than just one beer.

After opening their Santa presents and discovering all the traces he’s left behind (heck, I might even go all out and leave a tuft of his beard snagged to the window) we plan (weather-depending) on picnicking, boating and playing cricket before heading back home for a barbi, more presents and Secret Santa. I’m still on the lookout for a funny present for this – everyone (except me) is getting a little sick of my toilet seat bum squirter joke year after year.

Another new tradition is delicious eggnog with all sorts of goodies in it and, depending on how much is consumed, I’m hoping to crank up the karaoke later on.

God help the neighbours.

Advent Calendars

It’s the end of advent calendars as we know them in our household.

Next year I won’t be lured through the eyes of my children by the enticing pictures on the front but will remember instead the monsters they became from the chocolates within.

What I didn’t count on when making the purchase was three kids, with greedy glints in their eyes, sprinting into my room at 5.45 every morning clutching said calendars.

“Which one Mummy?” the twins ask, referring to which number can be opened that day.

I hold it up to the light, blearily trying to locate the number while they clamber on top of me.

They then wave their sculpted chocolate for identification in my face, insisting no one but the owner touch it, before popping it in their mouths with great satisfaction.

Yes, I know – chocolate before breakfast is disgusting and I quietly cringe every morning. But I slipped up by not setting the ground rules from the start and, quite frankly, can’t be bothered dealing with the fall-out before 6am.

One day Miss Four came bounding up the stairs to inform me her brother was eating all his chocolates. I didn’t believe it at first but, upon inspection, sure enough, there he was licking his chocolate-covered chops after gutsing down five in a row. And he would’ve kept going had he not been busted.

As a result his calendar was confiscated for five days and Master Four had to be on his best behaviour to earn it back.

Then, low and behold, sometime later Miss Four discovered that numerous chocolates from her advent calendar were missing.

Her brothers swear it wasn’t them and, try as I might to slip them up by grilling them – detective-style - “When you ate your sister’s chocolates, was one of them the bell shape?”- they maintain their innocence.

The jury’s still out on that one - it seems the chocolates have gone truly awol.

So I’ve warned them I’m pulling the plug on chocolate calendars next year. Instead I will do what several of my friends have done and create an advent calendar a little more like the original.

Behind the windows will be a range of activities, including baking Xmas cookies, watching a Christmas movie, going on the Christmas lights trail or doing a good deed for others like donating toys to the Salvation Army. Not only is it teaching them the art of giving, but it’s spending quality family time.

Hopefully it reiterates the real meaning of Christmas and they take to it with the same enthusiasm they have the chocolate calendars. If not, then I’ll need to come up with another bartering tool. The “Santa’s little elves are watching you” reminder seems to have lost its impact this year but the threat of taking away their chocolate advent calendars has worked a treat.

Hoarding

My son is a hoarder. I worry when he’s older that he’ll be renown as one of those people with a tip for a backyard that all the neighbours complain about.

If his room is anything to go by, he’s well on track.

He’s sneaky about it, mind you. His room looks tidy to the untrained eye. But lurking in all the cupboards, drawers and under the bed, threatening to spill out, is everything and anything he has obtained in his six short years.

Some of these items are ill-gotten gains intended for his brother and sister that he’s cunningly swiped with a bit of wheeling and dealing which only comes to light if overheard or pressed from his siblings.

“Jai, where’s your balloon gone?”

“I gave it to Cade.”

A quick check under the bed confirms this.

“But why did you give your balloon to Cade? The lady in the shop today gave it to you.”

“Because he gave me this,” he produces something unidentifiable, that’s obviously seen better days.

It’s like this whenever the twins come home with anything new – Master Six is quick to pounce.

But the strange thing is, once he’s acquired the new item, it gets stored away never to be seen again, let alone played with.

On an eternal mission to declutter the house, this drives me mad.

Despite having a yard sale, taking a truck load to Hospice and filling a skip pre-move, we still managed to bring a whole lot of shite with us to the new house. But luckily the local kindergarten has their timely jumbo garage sale in November and, so far, I’ve taken up a boot-load each day and I’m still unearthing more.

Not that I would dare take anything from Master Sixes room; Strangely, he keeps track of everything.

Slightly puzzled as to the psychological reasons behind this hoarding, I made a half-hearted attempt at Googling it. Apart from the perfectionism ‘symptom’ ringing true, the results did not make for pleasant reading so I promptly shut it down.

Despite my best interventions, I’ve decided to let it lie for now. If it’s genetic, then it’s obviously skipped a generation so I’m not taking any blame. But, one day, when the next generation begins complaining to council about a local hoarder with everything, including the kitchen sink, in his backyard, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Sunscreen

There’s really no excuse for getting sunburnt in this day and age. Still, many of us get caught out. Knowing what we now know of the consequences, if you’re like me, you’ll feel sick dread the following day. The feeling of guilt intensifies when it’s one of your children.

It’s taken me nearly a year to own up but last summer we went to watch a pre-season rugby game at Lowe Walker Park. The day was overcast, threatening rain so we stocked up on umbrellas and jackets. But, before the first quarter the sun came out with a vengeance. There was absolutely no shade where we sat on the grass verge and, even if we packed up and left, by the time we got to the car in the far distance, we’d be fried. Instead I watched the kids frolic on the hillside as the sun beat down and hoped, by some miracle, its lethal rays wouldn’t find their way to my children’s fair skin.

By that evening it was glaringly evident that they did.

Besides the fact my back was, what once would have been, an impressive shade of fluorescent pink – a talking point of some marvel at the barbecue that night, my biggest disgrace came as the evening wore on and large red raccoon rings began to manifest around Master Five’s eyes. These would go on to blister, thereby increasing my shame.

It turned out I wasn’t the only one who was caught out that day. A friend who’d been sitting along the hillside from us later stated her mortification about the rings, and subsequent blisters, that formed under her baby daughter’s eyes. She went into hiding for several days after that. At least she had the excuse of being a Pom, I told her, and considered applying concealer before Master Five headed off for school.

Although the responsibility of an infant’s sun protection, lies on the caregiver, I couldn’t help but wonder if the girls walking around selling candy floss that day, would’ve been better off selling sunscreen.

I would’ve paid a small fortune.

Nevertheless, whilst nappies, dummies and spew cloths are now a thing of the past in my ‘bag of tricks’, I’ve replaced them with that one essential item – sunscreen.