in partnership with Etsy
Christmas Eve and it’s past 11pm. I’m on stuffing number two, in a series of three. After said stuffings – traditional pork; sage and onion; and a ‘wild card’ pine nut and prune aair – I’ll move on to the sprouts. Then, I need to build and wrap a pink wooden play kitchen. Tomorrow, I’ll be up at 5am with the children, and be prepping lunch, for 10, from 7am. By the time I have that first welcome glass of wine – once the food is far enough along so I can relax slightly – I’ll be so exhausted I’ll barely be able to join in the conversation, or enjoy seeing the children with their new toys. Merry Christmas.
Reading this, you might think that I am some kind of martyr. The thing is, I’m not. I’m actually quite a rational human being with a good handle on when to stop, allow myself to be helped, take shortcuts, or say no, for my own sanity. But something about this time of year makes me forget all that, throw rationality out of the window and believe those messages that tell me I have to ‘give everyone the perfect Christmas’. Well, that was last year. This year, I’ve decided to get the perfect Christmas instead. Because, like many of us, I’m fed up with pretending to love this time of year just because everyone else does. What’s to love, if you turn into a robot in a reindeer jumper, powered by a cranberry and cinnamon candle and operated by a team steered by supermarket marketing departments? Is this ‘you’? Because it’s not ‘me’.