Gee, thanks Santa

Some recent things..

Our lurvely container-grown fraser fir. Yes, that’s a snowy owl in lieu of an angel. He had since been repositioned to look less in-your-face. At the moment, the tree is sitting bare downstairs, making my entry look rather gorgeous. I’m fond of evergreens, if that wasn’t apparent.

The curtain call of the kids’ performance of The Sacred Stone, a panto-style play that was created by the participants. The kids doing the hand jive to Rihanna’s ‘Umbrella’ was a surprise ending, must say :).

The gingerbread house party was at our place, and we successfully built them upright. I mean, as opposed to the ground-zero looking creations of the year before.

A fair representation of everyone after xmas dinner.

I might have mentioned that this was the first Christmas in I don’t know how many years that we were at home and I did all the cooking. I thought I managed fairly well. And then last night I was looking at my hair for noticeable roots and found the above–my first grey hair. Nice one, St. Nick, cheers.

A couple weeks ago we went to the local panto, which was actually quite good. A couple noticeable differences between this one and the ones in Oxford though. For starters, I don’t recall herds of boy scouts running amok through the theatre down south. They also made a huge deal of the accent here..a bit over the top I suspect, i.e. I’ve never actually heard anyone in real life say ‘coupon’ instead of face. The best though was this tiny child sitting in front of me in the second row. He must have been about four. In pantos, it’s traditional to boo and hiss when the baddie comes on. The little lad in front of me did not–he just flipped him off. It wasn’t a shy, quick little gesture either; he resolutely held his little middle finger right up the whole time the bad guy was on stage. His sisters giggled at him, and his mum didn’t look in his direction once the entire show. At least I think it was his mum. Equally it could have been a catatonic relation that they took to the panto in order to get her out of the ward for an evening. Could have been both. I mean if those were my kids, catatonia would seem like a good escape mechanism. I really can’t talk though. That particular evening I had not one, but two girls in my care, and I decided not to suppress Nyssa’s audience participation. You’ve heard her scream, yes? The bleached and flat-ironed teenyboppers in front of her spent a good portion of the show with their hands clapped over their ears, and I must admit I didn’t do a thing to diminish their discomfort. Rather enjoyed it actually. I’m not a nice lady anymore. Bua ha.

In news of the fantastical variety, Joseph recently declared that he believed in the tooth fairy, but not in Santa. He’s an empirical sort of lad, and he had been exchanging correspondence with the former but couldn’t remember anything remarkable from the latter. This Christmas, however, Nyssa had made some glittery oats for the reindeer and in the morning they found that the oats were all gone, save for a wee trail leading to the fireplace. This was substantial enough proof to rekindle Joseph’s faith, bless ‘im. It also helped that certain relatives labelled some awesome presents as being from the Jolly One. Of course now they don’t get credit for the gifts..for a few years anyway.

Oh yes, one last piece of wintry news. Nyssa went ice skating for the first time at a birthday party. If you know Nyssa, you can probably guess how that went. She was surly when she got back, had a sore bottom for a week, and declared that to be an activity she would never, ever repeat. Ah well.

Happy Hogmaney, everyone!!


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