This is a rejig of an old post from last century. I may be slightly exaggerating. Only my most devoted biatches or dudes looking for pictures of my feet go that far into the archives. Alas it is as true as the day I wrote it. Freshened up with a smattering of new observations and swears.
A Mummy Christmas:
Sometime in August….
Shit, Christmas is coming better start buying stuff and budgeting.
OK, getting this and this and this for the kids. I AM SO FREAKING ORGANISED!
Take the items back to the store cause the kids have changed their minds.
Write Christmas cards, organise who, what and when for Christmas Day.
Buy, wrap and sort presents for a bazillion people. Including teachers, distant relatives and the all important office ladies who we all know are the ones that actually run the school.
Get kids to write letters to Santa.
Read letters to Santa.
Unwrap and take toys back to the store and buy new shit.
Organise and drive kids to various Christmas functions.
Bake, bake, bake.
Confirm who is coming for Christmas dinner.
Organise and buy food for Christmas day, write THE PLAN.
Rewrite THE PLAN a million times and then give up and hope you can wing it.
Buy, organise, dig out clothes for various functions and Christmas.
Bake, bake, bake. Shop, shop, shop.
Start various heartfelt homemade gifts.
Week before Christmas:
Wake at 5am every morning to get everything ready for the big day.
Find handwritten Christmas Cards in a pile of junk that is accumulating on the kitchen bench. Vow to post them right away.
Write a large note to self and put on the fridge ‘Take turkey out of the freezer!’ cause microwaved half thawed turkey tastes like arse and death.
Chuck heartfelt homemade half finished projects in a box and buy something less heartfelt and homemade and promise yourself you will write a kick arse card.
Reconfirm dinner guests and replan food choices for picky eaters.
Drive family members here, there and everywhere and inform children that no, we will NOT be spending $50 on each and every one of their friends. Here is a candy cane. Wrap that.
Peace and quiet while said children fume in their rooms muttering something about how heartless and cruel you are. Contemplate taking gifts back to the store and giving them potatoes/coal for Christmas.
Mad dash to the store before they shut because you have forgotten something vitally important. And the batteries. And wine. Lots and lots of wine.
Find Christmas Cards. Throw in a box and vow to send even better ones next year.
Find out that so and so is not coming tomorrow, but Mother of the Year has invited some strays. Work out how to stretch the meal without missing out completely. Been there, not doing that again for any fucker.
Shop for last minute gifts. You know for the people that are the hardest to buy for.
Wrap last minute gifts.
Bake, bake, bake.
Visit friends and go see Christmas lights.
Drink far too much spiked eggnog.
Kids in bed.
Make the magic happen. If you know what I mean wink wink…
Fall into bed around 3am still wearing the clothes you wore to the work function the night before.
Up at 5am to wash and clean and stuff the motherfucking turkey and shove that bitch in the oven.
Sit with the kids and husband while they open their gifts.
A Daddy Christmas:
Cool! Look what I got! What did you get honey?
Mummy: Get me a fucking coffee and we will call it square.