CHRISTMAS IS COMING

Christmas is coming and I am getting fat. I’m now sixteen weeks pregnant and still being sick but I’m definitely feeling a bit more lively and buoyed up by the thought of Christmas being just around the corner. Lots of people have assumed that I would have told the children about the baby by now but I figure there’s no point mentioning it until it’s absolutely necessary. I made the big mistake of announcing that Christmas was coming about three weeks ago and my life has been one long “Is it here yet?” ever since. I came into the living room today to find Billie feigning sleep on the floor. She explained to me that she was hoping that when she woke up it would be Christmas day. So I think until they start to ask I’m going to keep quiet. Mind you if my stomach continues to expand at the rate it is it won’t be long before questions are being asked in the house.

I don’t blame the darlings for being excited; I love Christmas. We decorated the outside of the house last weekend and it looks great. I had tried to get Steve to agree to buy a sleigh and reindeer to put on the roof but lost that battle on the grounds that it might prove a traffic hazard, so stunned would the drivers be as they went past, so we’ve had to go for something more tasteful instead. We have white icicle lights around the front door and a beautiful fir tree in the front garden covered in white lights. Luckily I managed to sneak four enormous shooting stars into Olly’s window, which I hope will send out the right signal to the public.

After putting up our lights we went for a drive around and so far the effort by our neighbours is quite pathetic. There must have been a job lot of humbugs delivered to our town. We did happen across one house which is totally and completely Christmassed up, with a huge inflatable Santa by the chimney, thousands of flashing lights on the front of the house, Christmas trees and stars in every window and a glowing reindeer on the lawn. The chap who owns the house was on the roof when we came by stuffing Santa with foam rubber because he (Santa, not the bloke) had accidentally become impaled on the aerial. The children were massively impressed and then immediately devastated when I told them that we were not able to match said man’s lighting effort. Fortunately I was able to blame Steve saying he had said no. Later that evening Emma, my sister, took Alice, her two and half year old, to see the house. She was so excited to see so many lights and several Santas bedecking the house that she cried out, “Jingle bells, jingle bells, Old MacDonald, oh Mummy, Father another Christmas.’”

Earlier that week I had taken Alice and Billie to see Father Christmas. It was really rather an impressive event in Marks and Spencers. We were taken into a snow-clad house by an elf (rather tall for an elf I thought, but still) who went through a very theatrical routine of saying, “Listen!” “Who’s that” “It’s Santa” “Call him” “Santa” whilst the tinies looked on slightly bemused. Lo and behold the chubby beardy bloke appeared full of the joys and proceeded on to his bit of the tableau. Alice, as if waking from a dream, began to repeat verbatim at the top of her voice all that the elf had said. This completely threw Mr S Claus into confusion. “Listen!” says Alice, “what?” says Father Christmas. “Who’s that?” says Alice. ‘Rudolph?” guesses FC. “It’s Santa” “Yes I’m here” he says and so on. Great extra entertainment I must say.

In addition to the big Christmas event, Billie’s birthday is on the 17th of December, when she will be three. We are having a party with a music and songs entertainer, which should be fun, and then a surprise guest after tea. I haven’t even told Steve yet, but Barbie will be coming to present Billie with her birthday cake and to tell her a story and do some disco dancing with the children. The woman who does it takes it very seriously indeed so none of my wise cracks when I did the booking were responded to. What was doubly amusing was that when I first contacted “Barbie” she was unable to do it due to a prior engagement (Ken perhaps?) so she recommended her sister. What a family business! As you can see I am as keen to present Billie with as appropriately pc role models as I am Olly. Mind you so far it doesn’t seem to be having much effect as she has told me that when she grows up she’s going to marry Shrek, Stuart Little and her cousin Alice. Wonder what Barbie will make of that?

QUOTE OF THE WEEK

Billie to her Grandad:

“Grandad can you turn the TV down? I can't concentrate on my puzzle.“

Juliet Jones lives in domestic chaos with husband Steve, son Oliver (aged 4) and daughter Billie (nearly 3) in Hertfordshire.