Christmas Eve folks. The house is temporarily quiet. The in-laws were on the only flight to leave Canada heading for London, Heathrow on Monday night - after a day of one cancelled flight after another. It's a Christmas miracle they made it here without so much as delay. I'm humbled by that kind of luck. The house has been a hub of activity ever since except for right now. A combination of wine, jet-lag and the realisation that work's out for for holidays has finally sunk in. There isn't a soft furnishing in the house that doesn't have someone lounging on it. It's lovely.
Later we will all engage in the global subterfuge that is Santa Claus and ferociously wrap presents once the Lish is sound asleep - and I mean sound - because this girl suspects something big is afoot. She is not your average four year old and I know, as a mother, I would say this of my child, but seriously - she is like the girl out of poltergeist; exceptionally sensitive and she has a nose for BS like a sniffer dog. So we have to be especially careful.
The other night she noticed the wrapping paper in a cupboard.
- Mummy?
- Yes, doll.
- Is that paper for Santa to use?
- What do you mean?
-What I mean is why do you need wrapping paper?
- Oh, honey that's just for birthday presents
- Well, it looks like Christmas paper to me.
So now we have to put out milk and cookies for Santa, carrots for Rudolf AND leave the paper out for Santa to use. How silly of me to forget.
She's 4.
Well, Merry Christmas my dear friends. Hope Santa is good to you and don't forget to leave the wrapping paper out for him.
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