Janet Christie's Mum's the Word - Christmas is coming and there's no escape
Keeping track of my kidults is tricky but I’m meeting Middle for a catch up coffee. Eldest can’t join because he’s working, but Middle and I have managed to pin down a time and in a cosy cafe we’re chilling, all is calm as we relax and talk rubbish, admiring the carved ethnic table and trying to identify the various animals depicted, admiring each other’s sweatshirts, catching up on our respective weeks and absolutely NOT discussing Christmas because it makes us tremble like the tinsel on a Christmas tree tied to a crane in a high wind.
Then the door opens.
“Oh yeah, Youngest and Other Parent are joining us,” he says.
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Hide Ad“Yay! Lovely,” I say, but I know what’s on the agenda now. Christmas planning. Aw no.
Three children, all with partners and their own families and obligations making Xmas an organisational nightmare; the sort of thing that needs a spreadsheet and tablet, which is probably what’s in Youngest’s deceptively small fluffy bag.
Fighting a desire to run for it and book a flight to somewhere sunny to sit it out until mid January, I’m trapped as the “so what are we doing?” question lands and I hear myself say.
“It’s my turn. Everyone can come to mine! I’ll buy a big table ‘n’ that. Make food ‘n’ stuff.”
“No,” says Youngest firmly, ever a step ahead. “Eldest was going to host, but he’s working and it’s too much so Other Parent and I have decided to have it at his place and it’s going to be a buffet and people can just drop in whenever - morning, evening, night time.”
“Like a Santa Safe House,” says Middle, hopefully.
“Yes. No pressure, drop in and out, wear onesies, sit and eat any time, maybe a walk, maybe a present or two,” says Youngest, easing us in gently.
I like it.
“Yes,” says Other Parent, who loves Christmas and will be going full on with a tree blazing with fire hazard real candles and fire bucket, ho ho jumper and roasties. “But on one condition.”
Aw, here we go…
“That mum makes her pudding.”
Middle and Youngest make boaking noises - my trifle is so laced with sherry that only Other Parent likes it and he knows the leftovers will see him through to New Year.
It’s a deal. This Christmas I’m happy to go with the flow.