Awake at 2.17am for a feed for Chippie.
Merry Christmas to me. Ho, Ho, Bloody Ho.
At least he wasn’t asking “can we open the presents now can we open the presents now canweopenthepresentsnow!?”
Back to bed with him and awoken a short time later, a very short time later, by sounds. An eight year old, moving stealth like – or so he thought, it was more like an “I’m not drunk!!” husband arriving home after a night out with his mates, drunk – through the house to check out whether Santa had been, and calculating number of presents with his name on it compared to rest of the family.
Encouraged to go back to bed (“Get back to bed, RIGHT NOW!”) until a more suitable hour. Like when the clock said something that began with, say, a 9!?
He arose again at 5.00am, waking his slightly younger brother who was torn between being incredibly grumpy at being woken and excitement about presents. Then distress as his Santa sack was missing from the end of the bed.
Rules applied … no one does anything, touches anything or asks “Canweopenthepresentsyet?” until Mummy has her coffee. Then we can start.
Paper rippage, box tossing and delighted screaming indulged in by all.
Time for some playing, and making of potato salad for lunch, before heading off to the lunchtime gathering.
Excessive food consumed, presents exchanged, item ticked off the list, it was back home to make the filling for the dessert I was providing, and a good hours sleep to be had by all.
Including me!! How exciting.
Arrive home, commence whippage of cream and thawage of berry, when Monkey Boy sitting at the table (eating??! What?) quietly and calmly informs me that there’s “some ants on this”.
By “this” he meant my three large circles of meringue (the one that called for 8 egg whites and an hour of cooking) on a plate on the table, and by “some ants” he meant “plague”.
I said “(*&$#&*( ()*&%$(#^$(#^ ($%&*($&%(#& O(&*$%( and (&%$(*%&*$ time to make another one OI$#(*^&&(*(%^*&#^$*^*&%@*&#*&^@%” and then “(*&$#*&*&^%^&$#&^(%&#^#&^@$#&%$*^&(%^#*$%&@%$*^%#(^#*&$%@*^$(#^%(#^%(&$”
And then set about making another one. I’d already started whipping cream and my sleep deprived mind wasn’t capable of thinking up anything else to make where cream, marscapone cheese and berries could be used.
Finished just in time to leave so we’d be at the evening gathering on time. Receive a phone call when 5 minutes away asking if we were nearly there.
Hmm. Odd, as usually we are the only ones on time and end up sitting around waiting for half an hour before the next family member arrives. Apparently, we were an hour late. Apparently, we were the only ones who didn’t receive the memo that this year, the function was starting an hour earlier than normal.
More food consumed, people forced to eat my dessert – which appeared to be self-regenerating and never likely to be finished – as I wasn’t going to let it go uneaten after the drama that it had caused me. It deserved to be chopped up into little pieces and eaten!
Then made people take some home with them.
More present exchange, tiredness kicking in and then it was off home.
For, hopefully, a good night’s sleep.