JUST as well Christmas only comes once a year for I am exhausted, writes Tric Kearney.
Sitting here today, breathing in that unique scent of Christmas tree and cinnamon candles, I am relishing the relaxation. This is my favourite part of Christmas, where it is perfectly acceptable to sit down at 11am to watch an old movie on television, still wearing pyjamas and slyly eating sweets.
Despite living a rather hectic life, I believe I was born to be a kept woman. Others may insist they would be bored, but each Christmas, as I rarely bother to dress and enjoy eating two-day old dinner, I am more convinced than ever that this is the life for me.
However, not every day can be quite so perfect. Yesterday, as my Christmas dinner leftovers were well past ‘safe to eat’, I was forced to dress in order to brave the shops for necessities such as bread, milk and alcohol. Without a thought for my own personal safety, I entered the supermarket, only to be swept away in a sea of trolleys. Panic struck, by the speed of shoppers and the amount of goods in their trolleys, I became convinced if I didn’t quickly grab all I could, I’d never again get the chance. Arriving home rather frazzled I had no words to explain, as my family gazed upon my mountain of groceries. But at least we were ready for the New year... and a nuclear explosion.
Myself and himself were never huge New Year’s Eve fans. When our children were small we were happy to keep them in the dark about staying up until midnight. But children have an awful habit of growing up and as they did, they heard friends speak of staying up until the middle of the night and seeing fireworks. As my children were all born with genes which programmed them to wake at the dawn regardless of bedtime, I was not too inclined to begin the new year on a bad note so I ignored their demands.
It was then, one New Year’s Eve, I discovered I’d married a genius. He had a plan. Each New Year’s Eve we would make our children as excited as possible about staying up until the middle of the night. We tut-tutted and sympathised with them when they spoke of friends who had to go to bed early. Being the amazing parents we obviously were, we even laid out a New Year’s Eve party, featuring all food and drink known to rot teeth and then we waited patiently with them for the midnight hour.
What our children didn’t know, is that earlier in the day, himself had put forward the clocks three hours. As time ticked by they were convinced it was nearly midnight and bang on 12, or nine o clock in real time, amidst great excitement, we cheered and sang in the New Year.
Unfortunately, they were always disappointed there were no fireworks, but that didn’t stop us going outside to check for them, just in case.
In recent years we have no need to forward clocks and our brood has moved on to enjoy seeing in the New Year among their own friends. Never ones to miss an excuse for a party we have been very lucky to be on the invite list to a friend’s house, where we see in the New Year in style.
Returning home in the early hours we are always in the best of spirits and more than ready, to confront head on, whatever challenges may lie ahead in the new year.
Unfortunately, the first of those new year challenges usually begins the following morning and does indeed involve my head...and the banging within it.
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