We had Christmas on our own in 2009. My mother was overseas, SWWNBB was away, Small Brother was in London and my dad was somewhere. It was M, Small Z and I. And Small DB inside me like a tiny grain of rice slurping up champagne…but I didn’t know that at the time.
It was lovely, it was quiet. There was a postal strike and most of the presents I’d ordered had not arrived. We ate seafood, quaffed the aforementioned champagne…dozed on the couch and went on a neighbourhood walk. Met a guy with a vintage caravan, chatted…
Since that time we have moved house, Small DB has arrived and my mother and her squeeze have built themselves a new beach shack. Our future, as always, flickers in the unforseeable…but we have not yet had a Christmas in Hastings. There is some possibility that unless we do it this year…it might not ever happen.
Cue: [November 2012] I suggest to my mother that we have Christmas here so M and I don’t have to schlep the Smalls to her place on Christmas Eve and then home again late on Christmas Day…with the prospect of driving to my dad’s place in the country the day after that.
It is odd. Before I’d finished my first sentence she had scuttled under the couch with her hands over her ears. I could hear her chanting, “La la la, you can’t catch me, I’m the one with the Christmas tree.”
I left it a few weeks and tried again. “So…about Christmas. It’s going to be here and I….”
She disappeared again. Ostensibly to go to the toilet or something pedestrian. I wondered if she was attempting to avoid the whole scenario and we would arrive at Christmas morning both wondering where the other was.
Eventually I made her a cup of tea and thus immobilised I demanded that we have Christmas in Hastings.
“Well,” she muttered, looking defeated, “How big will your Christmas tree be? You’re not just going to use that one of Small Z’s – the one that’s a foot high, are you?”
I waited. She sighed.
“Fine. What do you want me to bring?”
V-I-C-T-O-R-Y. Sweet sweet victory.
So far she is bringing some happy ham, crackers (she’s a yank and continues to insist on calling them ‘bon-bons’ – we don’t intervene) and the plum pudding. Can you see my plan blossoming? I’m going to crank out a couple of salads, pretty up the Smalls, cash in the two-for-one shopping coupon on some New Zealand white wine and call it Christmas – without having TO GO ANYWHERE! 🙂[NOTE: Some parts of this post have been slightly fictionalised.]