12 December 2016 – “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas“.
It’s nearly Christmas. It’s cold outside, H and I left the house with hats, very large coats and scarves. I manage to have both of us in the car with the engine running for 7.45am (all medication and inhalers etc. up to date). Turning on the CD player, Michael Buble sings out “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas“. H sings along. She also joins in to “Santa Clause is coming to Town“. As we pull into nursery, she provides the “Ba do be dos” to “White Christmas” What a lovely way to start the day.
I reach the office by 8.00am and managed an hour of work on my own before anyone joins me. FP and SL are feeling particularly festive in Christmas jumpers. I have totally forgotten that I had instigated Christmas jumper Monday. I’ll try again tomorrow.
Amazing Carrie provides mulled wine and mince pies for an after lunch treat to provide the necessary motivation for the three contracts, letter of advice, application to the Employment Tribunal, chasing letter to the legal funding under writer and three bills, that were required of the afternoon.
I manage to leave the office for 5.10pm and arrive at nursery 5 minutes early, which I feel is a real treat.
We even call at the supermarket on the way home. I am winning at life today.
As we arrive home it’s clear that it is now really cold, H is grumpy, I have four bags, the alarm is on and the dog is on the other side of the door jumping so high I can see her face through the patterned glass panel. I open the door, leave the bags on the door step and make a dash for the alarm but Honey knocks H off of her feet and she lands on the floor with a bump. Which way do I go? Sort the alarm or tend to H? I run back to H and pick her up. She is crying loud. As the alarm goes off, it gets louder. The alarm startles Honey who runs outside straight through the shopping bags, barking even louder.
H: “Mhuuuuuuuumy, turn it off, waaaaaaaaah Mhuuuuuuuumy”
I turn the alarm off, clean up the grocery splatter, give Honey a chew and feed H chocolate. Ahhhhhhh. We have quiet…
H: “Mummy, Can I watch Micky Mouse Club House?”
[Cod, cod, cod, cod]
M: “of course you can sweetie”
I find a Christmas themed episode, make a cup of hot chocolate and take advantage of H’s enthralment with Minnie in a Christmas cape to have a peek at Twitter. I have come to the table late with Twitter. I have had a business profile for some years. However, when your tweets appear on your website you can’t really post family photos, retweet sarcastic humour, or gush about your daughter. I have only had a personal account in recent months. I have transgressed into a giddy teenager.
I do fear I may have displayed a little over enthusiasm with Barbra Streisand since the concert. Hubby says I have turned into “Babzilla”. Fan girl keeps peeping out, over the top of the box. Some (mainly work colleagues) may say I have displayed slightly stalkerish tendencies. I personally think that following (on twitter, not on the street I must add) her musicians and director is a good natured attempt at keeping the memories fresh. That’s what Twitter is for, right?
The fact that I have found every Streisand programme I have in the house (including the one from the 2012 Brooklyn concert, signed by the lovely Alan and Marilyn Bergman) in a bid to get them framed (along with the concert tickets) is just common sense. They are very expensive memories. Let’s display them.
I take my ineb, my inhalers, my general meds and do my physio in the living room by the Christmas tree with television off enjoying the silence.
I’m on top of everything Ahhhhhhh, and breathe.
Tuesday 13 December 2016 – “Alright Mummy, calm down”
I wake up looking forward to singing with H in the car. One more day of nursery before Grannie day.
H is extremely well behaved whilst I dash around the house for 30 minutes looking for the house keys. I finally find them on the floor of the downstairs toilet. I’m late for everything. The meds and inhaler will have to be done at my desk.
I have to bargain with H to get her coat on. She gets cake. She has somehow managed to get hold of my phone and she is watching YouTube.
M: “H, please give Mummy the phone back and get in the car”
M: “Come on, we’re late and Mummy has a lot to do. Please, get in the car”
H: “Alright Mummy, calm down”
I switch the CD player on and Michael Buble fills the car again.
H: “I don’t want this one on Mummy”
M: “Oh, come on let’s sing again, it was lovely yesterday”
H: “I don’t want to sing today”
20 December 2016 – “Can I ask Santa for that?”
H’s new favourite phrase is “Can I ask Santa for that?”
Hubby and I manage the Christmas shop with H standing in the trolley, shouting “Santa, Santa, ho, ho, ho” at every passing shopper. It’s cute the first time… sod it, it’s Christmas, I join in too.
Hubby and I buy every sugary, super rich or ridiculously high fat delight in the super market. Sod it, it’s Christmas and more importantly we are cooking Christmas dinner for 15 people. We need lots of food…and drink. We have port (parents), gin (cousin), whisky (aunty, Mum and Little Sis), vodka (me and cousin!), and bottles and bottles of sparkle (cousin and everyone else). We should be fine.
The super market is crammed. I leave Hubby to sort the check out duties and I take H for a hot chocolate. Feeling quite smug at my genius plan, I lift my hand to high five H and in doing so I knock over H’s hot milk (she will only drink milk and water). It covers my lap. The waitress watches and can’t hide her laughter. She brings another warm milk over and lots of napkins. H is happy but I look like I have wet myself.
We drive home singing “We wish you a merry Christmas” and talking about what sugary treat we are going to preview when we get home. H want’s cake. No surprise there. I’m going for the macaroons and Hubby is holding out for a mince pie. I love Christmas.
When we get home H helps me open a letter from the hospital. Apparently my glucose tolerance test shows a diabetic reading for the second time. I need to do regular finger prick tests to test my blood sugar on the basis that I probably now have CF related diabetes.
“Cod, cod, cod, cod, cod”