Phew, I'm tired.

Is there something in the water this Christmas? Something that is making me, the undisputed Christmas whore of South East Cornwall, want to leave them all to it and check into a Travelodge, switch on the telly and return home in March.
It just all seems such hard work this year. Where once I breezed through a mall full of frantic people, whistled through thronged supermarkets of crazed housewives hell bent on the last vacuum packed can of chestnuts then returned home to make four dozen mince pies from scratch whilst sipping a sherry and humming along to Carols, today I feel like cancelling the whole proceedings.
Hubby, already having not been here the past fortnight and true to form of many men at this time of year, went on an office jolly yesterday. Now it’s not the run ashore that I take umbrage with, oh no, it is just the absolute impunity to leave the car at home in the morning and kick back in the afternoon knowing that all is well at home due to the very reliable baby sitter, me.
I cannot imagine there ever being an opportunity when I, because I’m going out drinking in the afternoon, leave the car behind and go for it. Jeeze, social services would be involved. Mothers just don’t have the capacity for afternoon debauchery. More’s the pity.
My own festive get together involved a very well behaved bunch of mums, a few bowls of steaming soup, a mince pie and a coffee. How terribly decadent if we’d said, “Ah let’s go home at six. Why not, the dads are there to look after the kids?” As it was, we all duly turned up at the school gates without so much as a slight flush.
I’m now running out of time. Hubby, absent from all them preparations and list writing, is out of the loop and thus no good whatsoever to me apart from peeling veg and sticking his finger ‘just there’ on a present. All the cards and parcels have been sent and have safely reached their destinations: Hubby wasn’t even aware of the design on them, less to whom they were sent. He doesn’t have a clue where my secret stash of goodies is, where the wrapping paper lays, the sellotape, the bows or indeed what is on the menu. He has no idea what Santa will bring down the chimney with him nor for whom and yet the occasional groan is emitted whenever he finds a receipt.
His first words on returning home, where not, “Phew, I’m glad those pigging exams are over. Here’s to Christmas Alice darling”, nor did he then lay a long and lingering kiss on my lips with a breathy, “I don’t know what I’d do without you angel. The house looks like a magical winter wonderland”. Instead he said, with a very dour expression,“We must discuss our financial situation.”
I was icing the Christmas cake at the time and was just about ready to wrap a length of ready rolled marzipan around his head. I mean I ask you, talk about peeing on my parade. I would love to take his cavalier attitude to the whole event i.e do absolutely zilch, then sit back and moan whilst everyone else runs around ensuring that the children’s faces on Christmas day light up with delight. As it was I was very calm. I pointed out that I would be only too happy to oblige in discussing any pecuniary issues with him, but not until January the second and so until then would he be so kind as to smile through gritted teeth, enjoy the proceedings and not, as he has done every year before now, berate me on Christmas morning when he sees the amount of gifts Santa has left.
We weren’t going to buy anything for each other this year, but to be honest as the day approaches I was feeling more and more resentful towards this idea. After all would Hubby be genuinely happy within himself on Christmas morning to give me absolutely nothing? Me, the love of his life who has made it her life’s ambition to ensure that all within her family are achingly happy and fulfilled on any given day, especially at Christmas when said fulfillness is even gift wrapped and sprayed in silver glitter? The answer is probably yes given that I overheard a conversation on a bus recently where a woman told the person sitting next to her that, “Last year, no-one noticed I hadn’t been bought anything”. How could everyone in a family forget the one person who makes it all happen? It was a heart breaking tale and one therefore that I was not prepared to risk which is why I told Hubby that our idea of no gifts for each other was a rotten one and that he should indeed traipse around M&S with another twenty or so terrified men, looking for something, they haven’t a clue what, for a woman that they’ve only been with hell, for most of their adult lives.
So, with just a couple of days to go, I have only the turkey to collect, the ham to bake, the pressies to wrap, the bread and cranberry and rum sauce to make, the sausage rolls to create, mince pies to assemble, the party to host, the stockings to stuff, the house to clean, the family to feed, the church to attend, the children’s hair to wash and the table to lay. Did I forget anything?Oh yes, wishing you all a warm, safe and very happy Christmas hoping that you are cocooned in the metaphorical bosom of the ones you love. Here’s to the next one xxx