I’ve lost it. Totally lost it. Nothing else explains my delirious excitement about Christmas. I can’t wait. I’m beside myself with anticipation. I haven’t felt this way since I was 10. Well, more like 22. (There was this crazy phase between 18 and 22 where I sewed Christmas stockings for my parents, sister and grandparents and buzzed around searching for little gifts to fill them with each year.) Then something happened. (Was it the sweaty Santa strip-a-gram evil co-workers once sprang on me? Or perhaps that festive retrenchment I was given one year…) Christmas started to feel like just another day. I was a total emotional blank on it. Even after the Sprogs arrived, it didn’t move me the way I felt it should. But this year, this year feels different. I’ve been having bulk fun shopping for gifts. So much fun it’s hard to stop (but Husband says I must if I want to eat in the New Year). I’m eagerly awaiting carols by candlelight in our local park. I’ve sent out invitations to my stay-at-home-mums-and-retrenched-dads Xmas bash. I’m hanging out for Christmas Eve, which we’re celebrating on the sand with champagne, fish and chips (Sprog 2 has also requested soccer, bless her sporty little heart). And Christmas morning will be heaven. Nonna and Pop are sleeping over to share the bliss of Santa’s bounty with their grandkids. Then we’re heading to my sister’s house for a heaving buffet of fresh seafood. What’s not to love? Bizarrely, considering it’s only six weeks since I wrote my Family Fatigue Syndrome blog, I’m also looking forward to the school holidays. All that lovely, chilled-out time with the Sprogs. We’ll go to the movies (Arthur Christmas looks particularly cool), we’ll head to Newcastle for a spot of shell collecting on the beach, we’ll trawl the sales (or, even better, Pop will take the Sprogs bowling while Mummy and Nonna trawl the sales), we’ll go on playdates (little people for the little people to play with, mummies for Mummy to play with). Yeah, I know, I’m way too upbeat. It’s dangerously close to nauseating. I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but I kinda like it.
TONIGHT’S DINNER: Off to the in-laws, so it’s in their capable hands.