The Yule Blog

I've sat down.

I've been on the go since Saturday 23rd at 7 a.m.

With little sleep since then.

I've made mince pies, iced and decorated the Christmas cake, made a yule log, a trifle, homemade stuffing and cranberry sauce, stuffed a turkey, prepared the Christmas veg, cooked the lunch, assisted Father Christmas in all duties needed prior to midnight on Christmas Eve, cleaned the house, and entertained. Went to bed sufficiently long after last child in order to be able to assist said Father Christmas, got up at the crack of dawn with first child who woke up, cooked the lunch, cleared up and took dog for a walk........

And then I sat down.

And now I can't move.

I try to remember what it is that makes us put ourselves through this each year, and at this moment it is, it has to be said, a hazy memory. Fortunately by next December 1st, when the whole event starts again it will be, like childbirth, such a dim and distant memory that I will only remember all the good bits of Christmas.

I won't remember for instance that the family watched the recorded Nigella program on how to make Christmas, while I, in a different room, got on with doing Christmas. They enjoyed it anyway. And they have saved it for me to watch. So that I can get it right next year. They were generous with their tips from the programme too.

Nor will I remember that hubby appealed, begged, implored all children to give us all washing prior to Christmas Eve, so that we could go away on Boxing Day without having to wash on Christmas Day, but STILL the latter part of Christmas Day was spent with hubby doing THE WASHING, as well as all the remaining bits of the clearing up because my limbs went completely on strike. Thank you hubby. I am grateful really, and I do love you really, and please do carry on. Especially when you are not watching Nigella.

And I won't remember any of the bickering caused by overtired children and overtired parents.

I also won't remember that I did NOT want to go visiting relatives on the other side of England on Boxing Day, and will gaily plan for another visit. On Boxing Day. Or maybe I'll invite the entire extended family here. To sleep of course, as we live nowhere near anyone who is remotely related to us. Because, when I get there I will have a great time, because I will remember that I do actually love socialising at Christmas. Once I am socialising that is.

Nor will I remember that no-one wanted to come with me to the Christingle Service, until after the event, when having given up on the idea, because going to a Christingle Service when you have five children without any of them does just seem a little sad. And that later, both Eldest Daughter and Youngest child then expressed regret at not having attended.....

So, next year at Christmas, we will invite in all neighbours again, either on Christmas Eve, or the day before, or on Christmas Day itself. I will insist on making all the homemade fayre again. Because I like it. It tastes better and I never actually worry that a small feast will be left to eat long after Christmas day.

Probably so that we can put off all talk of diets for just a little bit longer.

Big advantage of Christmas.

In the meantime I shall have a quiet giggle to myself, as, on phoning around friends and relatives this year to wish them a Happy Christmas, we discovered that the most exciting presents to be had amongst them were a paper shredder and a blood pressure monitor. Thank goodness money was tight this year. Had it not been I too might have been endowed with an exciting present, or even been tempted to give an exciting present. Like a new lavatory brush or something.

Personally, my books, jumpers and earrings from the children were just perfect. As was the book and the very lovely card from hubby. I now have plenty of reading material from ex bloggers and blogger type journalists to inspire me for another year and maybe to start writing my book.

I am also content because our children, who had had roughly half of the amount spent on them compared to last year were very happy indeed with all that was given. What's more, we gained probably an hour of what would have been present opening time, meaning that we ate lunch at a reasonably sensible time and were able to watch Doctor Who, having cleared up, walked the dog etc etc...

Of course there was one casualty of the day when one child, who shall remain nameless, but is the one who is six, managed to return the entire contents of her selection box with little or no remorse for having overindulged on its contents. She then asked if we were having dinner this evening, having just realised that her last "meal" was lunch!

So I shall leave you all, quite probably until much later in the week now, with the enclosed photo and wishes for a very very Happy Christmas. Just remember though, if anyone did give you a paper shredder this Christmas this year, do remember to shred their address soon, so that next year you only have left the people on your list who will give you something really useful for Christmas, like a bottle of wine. Or even a case.

The Tooth Fairy

Daughter number three needed to have a minor op today, to remove some back teeth that had grown through in the wrong way. Minor as in seriousness of subject matter, but serious enough nevertheless to warrant a visit to hospital and a general anaesthetic.

Being aged 8, she was most unimpressed to be told that she couldn't eat after 8 this morning. So, she got up, ate early and then took on a very hungry look for the rest of the morning.

Got to the hospital at the allotted time, 1.30 p.m. She had been told that she could drink non milk based drinks before 12, but she forgot and I was a negligent mother, so she got to the hospital thirsty. Asked if too late, and were told that two clear hours needed to pass between drink and op, so no.

To distract, I found a film in the waiting room of Chitty Chitty Ban Bang. Nice and long I thought. She should be there and back before the film is done.

They put Emla cream on her hand to avoid any pain when giving the anaesthetic, gave her some Calpol to alleviate after op pain, and indicated that she was at the top of the list. Great I thought. We'll be back home with the kettle on by 4 p.m.

A nurse, that we hadn't previously seen, popped by and asked us to turn down the T.V. due to disturbing other recovering patients. She was one of the matronesque variety of nurse. The sort that makes you quiver at the knees for fear of offending. The sort that I remember when I was in hospital having given birth to Eldest Daughter. Being a newborn baby of a completely inept new born mother, she had screamed very loudly at 3 a.m. After half an hour or so of trying to placate, I had gathered her up and started to walk towards the day room. I was then marched back by the Matronesque and told in no uncertain terms that mothers are NOT allowed to walk around the hospital with their babies. It took me until I had my next baby two years later to realise that I could have gone down to the day room, but with babe in cot on wheels. That's why the cots in matarnity wings have wheels. So that you can walk the babies around. Trouble is that pre natal classes are all geared to the physical process of giving birth. No-one gives you a run down on how to deal with matronesques, or cots on wheels.

But I digress. Back to today's Matronesque.

I weakly said to her that I wasn't sure how to work the t.v., and that I had just used the settings that were already in place. She looked at me slightly disbelievingly. One of the other mothers waiting for her child's op managed to find a remote control, and turned the set down. We all looked relieved and grateful to the more resourceful mother present.

We then proceeded to watch Chitty, virtually soundless.

It's a very long film.

Especially when you are trying to guess what is being said. Quite hard work really.

Film finished and we were still sitting there.

4 p.m. Just as the effect of the Emla cream had completely worn off, we went through to the ward. As resident parent, I too was allowed to go into to where the anaesthetist does his magic. And it is magic. A person goes from laughing one second to asleep a second later.

As a mother though it is terrifying to watch. You feel as if your child has been taken away from you, and that you are never going to see them again. You then spend the next half an hour, forty minutes, whatever it takes, willing the staff to call you into recovery.

Immediately after the op, the dental surgeon came by to tell me that he had completed all successfully and that she was in recovery. Is she awake I asked? She will be soon came the reply. Then another mother and I shared a second terrifying moment when we heard Doctors being called to the recovery room over the tannoy. No-one came to tell us all was well, and for those few minutes which seemed like hours my mind was going through hell.

Eventually though we were summoned into recovery, and thank you God, surgeon, and great anaesthetist, because all was in fact well.

The teeth were tucked into a little bag, ready for the tooth fairy, and attached to her bed. Youngest daughter who had had a jolly (?) afternoon in hospital waiting with me, was delighted to see that she too could take a ride down to the ward on the side bar of the bed. Only it wasn't a side bar, but a brake. The nurse was quite relieved to find that she hadn't lost all strength in a samsonite moment, and that the bed did after all wheel along quite well without a six year old standing on the brake.

Got back to the ward, and heard hissing sound coming from underneath the bed. Went to get member of staff. Found the only non English speaking person in Gloucestershire. Demonstrated problem in demonstrative fashion with Italianish accent, as staff member appeared to be Italian. She went to find someone who could deal with the matter. Fortunately it was only the Oxygen bottle that youngest daughter had stood on this time. So we didn't all fall asleep.

Got home. Went to handbag to find teeth to show hubby the nice bag that the hospital had put them in ready for the tooth fairy. They had gone. Emptied bag of all relevant stuff. Then emptied if of the last year's supermarket receipts, hair bobbles, letters from the school, tissues, and a lollipop. Still no teeth. I think the tooth fairy's already taken them I said to hubby. At that, as if by magic, I found them in a pocket of the bag that I don't think I have ever seen before.

Well. It is that time of the year isn't it?

Love and Maltesers

There is a new romance in the Lomax family.

Not eldest daughter.

Not eldest son only son.

Not daughter number two - much to her disgust and disappointment, as has been hoping for a flame of romance for a little while now.

But daughter number three. Aged 8.

She came home the other day from school, announcing quite proudly that she now had a boyfriend. Second name of daughter number three happens to be Rose, so it is slightly ironic that new young "man" in her life is called Jack. Needless to say, there were plenty of Titanic jokes flying round the dinner table.

Now, being a mother of two teenagers, and one nearly teenager, it is quite common to hear secrets about the opposite gender, to be sworn to secrecy about the opposite gender, and possibly more commonly, to be left out all together about conversations involving the opposite gender.

So it was very amusing and quite refreshing to see Aged 8 announce her news, unabashed and quite proudly. Her only slight concern was that ESOS might tease her. When however it became apparent that ESOS had received the news and wasn't in fact particularly interested or concerned with it, she relaxed about that too, and went on to tell us how the match was made: at school, in a lesson, by sending a note. This had then caused a flurry of notes around all the girls in the class and had resulted in Aged 8, for whom butter would never normally melt in mouth, being sent to the Head along with some friends.

As she had achieved the job in hand - to catch Jack - she was completely unperturbed about being sent to the Head, and seemed to think that it was quite funny.

I asked her if she would like to ask Jack round. You know, to meet the parents. She is still thinking about that one, but she did ask if she could have some money to buy a box of chocolates for him, for a Christmas present.

DNT, who had now recovered from the indignity of her younger sister having a boyfriend before her, offered to go to the shop with her. They chose a box of Maltesers, came home, wrapped them up, and put them on the radiator in the hall, ready to take to school the next morning.

Half an hour later, hubby remembered that the radiator was on, and so the melted maltesers were removed from the radiator and put in the fridge. DNT and Aged 8 went to buy some more maltesers, and the melted ones were used in our pudding.

So second present to Jack arrived home, was wrapped, and, this time, put into the fridge.

Long may relationships based on boxes of maltesers and complete lack of embarrassment last!

Knitting

I think it must be possible to catch non computer viruses online. (Ohhhh.... that'll get the Adsense ads working overtime...)

A few days ago I was reading about Petite Anglaise's cough, and, all of a sudden I too have a cough. I woke up this morning with a just bit of a cough, but as with all early morning coughs it subsided sufficiently to have a long and important phonecall. With a friend. And then do my radio show.

Then, I came back from the radio, did some blogger gazing, and then, I started coughing every time I breathe.

Meanwhile, in my feeling grim state I left a message on the Our Albion blogsite, which I later decided was a bit too cutting. So, as I always do, too much really, I went back to apologise. Meanwhile, another blogger saw my apology comment, and suggested that I take up a hobby!!! Excuse me but I'm not quite ready for the knitting brigade yet. I just do a lot of apologising. Always have. Those who know me know that it is one of those strange things about me. A bit like living in landlocked Gloucestershire when I like water. We all have querks.

Never mind I thought. Today is a good day, because this afternoon BBC Radio Gloucestershire are playing the first of one of my five minute features about the Forest of Dean. As a Forest of Dean Radio broadcaster, I sold the BBC a series of features, to help fund the financially ailing but bursting with enthusiasm FOD Radio. Then another presenter, Ian Coe and myself tasked ourselves with the making of the said 5 minute features which are to be heard over the next few weeks on Radio Glos.

Like all good features I had cut out to get it down to a nice and tidy five minute piece.

The two minute piece that they have left in was really good.

And entertaining.

It was a shame that they didn't feel the need to use the other three minutes.

Oh dear.

And I really hate knitting too.

Monopoly

Well, it seems "the interview" at the very very civil office went well.

So well that they want hubby down in Portsmouth as of now, to do a new job at the grade that he was applying for. The only problem is that only a few weeks ago, it took a two hour meeting, preceded by several months of going backwards and forwards, forwards and backwards and backwards and backwards, to work out how logistically the family could be moved down to Portsmouth in two years time. Moved without disrupting educational and other plans for huge family, huge house and huge mortgage, who are collectively tied up in the midst of major educational milestones for the next six years.

But now they want him there. And they want him there now. So we are back to square one.

It's a bit like one of those games that you play at Christmas. You know the sort, those high risk seriously mentally challenging games. Like Monopoly. You get so close to winning, and then, bang, you throw a six and down you go right back to Jail, without passing go and without the £200...

Now I don't expect that we will be going to another meeting with Scary One and Scary Two, because to be honest, they probably won't invite me. Either because I would almost certainly write another blog about them, or because we are now subject to a different set of rules. This time it is a move for career purposes rather than part of the bulk move. Only they actually want to make it part of the bulk move. That would be easier for them and the rules for the bulk moves are quite similar really to the rules for the unbulk moves. Well, exactly the same. The only difference is that in non bulk moves it's a sort of a speeded up version of the "Yes Minister" reality programme as opposed to a slowed down one.

So, the nice budget that they found, to house hubby and ED up here until she had finished her A'levels and until his job was ready to move down to Portsmouth, is no longer available, and, if we decide to allow ED to stay up here in a flat on her own, then we would largely be funding it ourselves. Given the normal regular balance on our current account, that is not an option that the call centre, (sorry did I say bank manager?), would relish.

Now there is a big dilemma here, because part of me, if it weren't for the fact that I would have to change every other aspect of my life, change the address for every utility bill and every bank account, change every child's school, sell the house, rebuy another house, tell all the family that we've moved, tell the children that we've moved, resettle the slightly traumatised, verging on slightly insane, previously rescued dog and cat.... would actually quite like to move down to somewhere nearer the sea. I like water. That's one of those strange things about me.

And yet here we are stuck in the middle of England, about as far from sea as you can get, due to the fact that nine years ago we made the decision that this would be a good place to live. At the time we were living over the said water in Northern Ireland. My mother must have asked me eighty five times why we had moved here. To that the reply was always, "because we could afford a house here and there are grammar schools locally." No wonder she carried on asking when we then we bought a house that we couldn't afford anyway and sent our children to private schools.

When we ran out of money we remembered that the grammar schools were our reason for moving to a place in the middle of England where there's no vast expanses of water, other than the sort that falls from the sky very regularly. In fact, the water from the sky falls so regularly that it sort of seeps into your bones. You don't realise that it's there until you feel ever so slightly damp on the inside. It's strange really. There's no place like it for feeling like a slightly rusty oil can.

Now I'm told that Portsmouth has some excellent schools. The only thing is that the league tables seem to have forgotten to list any of them in the top 5000 schools for the last five hundred years. They did put their very good private schools into the league tables, but NO.................... we're not doing THAT again.

So! Just like one of those challenging Christmas games, it's really exciting, because there's SO many options that we could go for. Move, not move and make tea for a living. Ruin children's education and not make tea for a living. Not ruin educational prospects but go bankrupt. The list is endless......

And the great thing is that if we're really lucky we may know the answer by the end of the year....... About as long as it would take to play a game of monopoly over the Christmas season.

Well, as long as it does in our house anyway!

p.s. ED seems to have disappeared from the Orange Website, but as she is now officially the "Orange" girl on Spanish T.V., I don't see why you can't see a photo of her in costume.....