The C word....

No, not that one - this is a respectable blog I’ll have you know!

I’m referring to….. (deep breath)


I know, I know, I said it. Out loud. In September. And to be honest, my inner Grinch is twitching like a dog near a biscuit tin waiting for a Bonio.

I used to love Christmas. I loved the build up, the excitement and just about everything that came with it. Then adult life crept in, a life of being young, free and single and it went off radar a little, although Christmases spent at my friend Sue’s house during those years, where we would spend the day more than a little merry, wearing pyjamas pretty much all day and creating our own Christmas traditions will admittedly always be in my top Christmas times.

Then I became a parent and Christmas time made the childhood excitement return all over again. Planning the stockings, the elf on the shelf (an American tradition, which is admittedly slightly creepy if you delve into it too far, but cute all the same) and the brilliant madness of Christmas morning.

But it brought the bitterness too, the dread of how much the bloody day would cost, how much time I didn’t have to sort everything, how as soon as the summer holidays are over and done with you start noticing Christmas related tat popping up in the shops and of course, the super annoyance of friends on Facebook posting those “In 96 days time it’ll be Christmas Eve!!” memes which never fail to make that inner Grinch of mine want to spontaneously combust.

Last year I HATED the whole thing. I didn’t write a single Christmas card, choosing instead to donate the money to charity. I begrudgingly put the tree up only a week or so before the day itself and spent the rest of the oh-so-festive-season sneering at it with pure venom. With every social media post I published, which obviously I made look as perfect as possible, I cringed. When New Years Day arrived, I finally got excited as I could at last banish everything Christmas related to the attic again, where it belongs. Humbug. And hurrah for a clean house.

Jeez. Even I’m reading all this thinking “you miserable old cow.” My poor rascal didn’t notice a thing thank goodness, in fact when we walked to school just this morning he said “I can’t wait for Christmas this year Mummy, I loved it last year!” At that statement, I realised it was the first time I’d really even thought about the C word this year. (I’ve typed it so many times, let’s just refer to it as that shall we?) But when I did start thinking about it, to my amazement I didn’t absolutely hate the whole concept of it. I wasn’t dreading it all. I’m feeling ok with it - damn it I’m almost quite looking forward to it.

Rascal is already chatting about things to put on the all important list. Blimey, I have even booked a “festive family day out” in the hope we can add a bit of sparkle to this years proceedings. I had a clear out the other day and found not one, not two but three Christmas themed dog outfits to choose from, or perhaps to wear on a weekly basis in December. Her, not me. My inner old lady (Gahh, who am I kidding, she’s popping out a lot more than the inner cool kid) is threatening to make chutney and will be sorting through the recipe books next month to make the Christmas cake. Sod it. I may as well embrace it. I may even write a Christmas card this year. And put my tree up before December 20th.

And not hate it.

But, to calm the inner Grinch, this is the last time I’ll mention the C word again before at least mid November. Promise.

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