Christmas celebrations, for this little family, kick off every year on December 24th, commonly referred to as Christmas Eve. It commences with the traditional Dinner & Where Are My Presents with a very close friend of mine, and her dear husband (also a good friend of mine) and officially Family Friends.
We swap houses each year, which is always fun. My house is chaos and crazy with shit everywhere, that I’m sure freaks her out, and she has to use the same bathroom that my kids use, which freaks everyone out. Her house is immaculate and gorgeous and the kind of house you say “when my kids have left home my house will look like this” and you know that is just bullshit. But it’s nice to dream. Anyhoo, it leaves her freaking out whenever my kids aren’t in view.
Not because they have a history of destroying stuff – inadveryently or deliberately – but just, you know, in case …
Presents are a trauma and incredibly stressful every year – because they are so brilliantly beautiful, and have a lot of stuff, and easy access to stuff they want, so they usually get it before I can purchase it as a present for them. Bastards.
My kids receive all the stuff they ask for and are extremely happy, and leave me thinking “Fuckery, what am I going to get my kids