Santa Claus is coming!! Ready or not.

Oh Christmas!

That time of the year when the pure joy on the faces of your children, far outweighs the irreparable damage to your bank account.

You don’t mind that it takes your child 5 seconds flat to rip the beautifully wrapped and colour coded paper off the present it took 3 weeks of searching for.

You don’t mind. Not at all.

Insert wine, all the wine!

Now as I look back at the Christmas memories I made with my own children, I remember what my favourite thing about Christmas is………

It’s the easiest celebration/holiday to be really inappropriate and the kids don’t ever know.

Christmas itself and the wording used by thousands, is a gift to an immature, dirty minded, sick sense of humour person like myself

You make jokes about Santa’s sack. Your husband tells you that there is a surprise for you in Santa’s sack if you are a good girl. But you know he really wants you to be a naughty girl.

Someone (normally me) sticks the mistletoe to their belt, or wears it as a brooch just above their breast.

Because tradition!

Kiss under the mistletoe. Classic.

Luckily the kids don’t realise until they are in their teens that when Mummy uses the really low, serial killer voice to say things, they are usually rude.

If this is sounding nothing like your lead up to Christmas, please don’t judge, read on.

Picture this;

You and your significant other are out at a Christmas function. Grandparents have the kids over night, at their house! You’ve dusted off the undies that don’t reach your belly button and you’ve shaved your legs (front and back).

The champagne is flowing and the Christmas songs start playing. Jingle bell rock, cute, silent night, slow dance, but then it happens. The Christmas song, that when mixed with alcohol and no kids makes you dance like a stripper.

Santa Clause is coming!

You look across at your man and you give him the sex eyes. Which to anyone viewing this exchange from a distance looks like you have an eyelash in your eye, or an eye spasm and you are in pain. But he knows.

You throw out your imaginary fishing line, lead with your pelvis and jump your way across the room to him, to reel him in. Classy.

All the while you are singing “Santa Claus is COMING” at the top of your lungs, really emphasising the coming part. The people on the dance floor part and you assume it’s because of your spectacular dance moves and sexy vibe, but in truth they are scared and they feel really sorry for the man you are heading towards.

When you reel your catch in, you grab him (possibly a hand to the crutch here) and whisper in his ear, “Santa Claus is coming tonight, am I right????”

He nods and plays along, knowing full well that you will be asleep as soon as you get in the car. You will sleep in your bra, makeup still on and he will be collecting the kids from the grandparents tomorrow while you lay in bed groaning and swearing you will never drink again.

We’ve all been there.

Fast forward to Christmas Eve when you are stone cold sober and playing the role of perfect Christmas mother. You imagine a soft lens is capturing lovely pics of you all night as you make beautiful memories for your children.

I sometimes add a fireplace into my Christmas memories. Just feels a little more authentic. 

As you are sitting down with your first wine of the night, the 7 sips you had while cooking don’t count, you look across the heads of your beautiful children in their new Christmas PJ’s and you make eye contact with your gorgeous husband. It’s a beautiful scene.

Until…….

He intensifies the gaze and mouths the words, “Santa Claus is coming, tonight”.

What! As if.

Has he forgotten what Christmas eve is all about?

Put carrots out, find some non broken biscuits for Santa, get milk, oh shit forgot to get milk, Santa is having beer again.

Get kids into bed, threaten to call Santa 189 times before they finally go to sleep. It’s now 1.30am and you’ve added 3 more wines to your tally.

Move around the house like a silent gazel finding all presents that are hidden.

This is of course on a good night when you have pre-wrapped all of the gifts.

It only takes one year when pre-wrapping is not done and you get a surprise dose of gastro at 7.00pm Christmas Eve, to make you be more organised for life. It took 5 hours to wrap all the presents, in between visits, urgent visits, to the bathroom.

Stop every 15 seconds because you think you hear a child moving around. Grab a wine.

Eat carrot, chewing the end and spitting some bits back on to the plate in a reindeer like way. Go to drink beer but it’s already empty. No surprise there. Eat 1 biscuit only because Santa is on a diet.

It’s now 3.00am. and you realise you have seen the other “Santa” for about an hour. Typical.

Just as you are snuggling down in bed, room spinning a tiny bit, you are reminding yourself to look rested in the morning and be perky, because you went to bed when the kids did. Santa did all the work.

You get comfy, start to drift off and then you feel the tap on the shoulder. He’s still on the “Santa Claus is coming” train of thought. Good bloody luck.

The sleep deprivation, wine, stress of 4 months of organisation, wine, wrapping a ridiculous number of presents, wine, attending 3 boring Christmas functions and smiling your way sober through a school concert suddenly catch up with you.

“If you don’t go to sleep and leave me alone they will need to re-write the calendar because Santa will not be coming until March!”

Keep making those memories.

I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a safe and Happy New Year.

Lisa XX

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