All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth...

Well.  Not really.  Although Santa-Baby, whilst we're on the subject, an American smile might be nice...

Christmas is coming, dahlinks, and the goose is getting fat.  (As are the rest of us on all this festive fare and drink.  Not that I care right now, having taken an oath recently to cut out dieting because of the appalling mood it puts me in and the bad example it sets my sons.  Plus, you know, the chocolate.)

Anyway, the end of term is fast approaching, and the seasonal tension is rising.  'Are you Ready?'  That's the question that I seem to hear here there and everywhere when I visit the school to collect the boys at the end of the day.  I smile in a relaxed style and say 'Oh yes.  Just a few presents left to buy.' I'm surprised that my tongue hasn't turned black and fallen out of my head given the amount of times I've trotted out that lie.

Ready?  Am I READY?

Um - no.  Yes, the tree is up, and family and grandparents have been informed of present ideas for the little cherubs.  And Husband and I have had vague conversations about what each of us might like from the other.  But *whispers* really - that's about it.  I would love to say this lack of readiness is a temporary aberration but I cannot tell a(nother) lie - I have previous form in this area.  Pre-kids I actually prided myself on doing all my gift buying on Christmas Eve.  Oh, sweet innocence of youth!  Obviously, now that I have children of my own, that devil-may-care attitude is a distant memory, but I'm not above leaving it until - oh, about now, really - and spending a happy evening going through the internet clicking on whatever is still available in the bargain basement section of the John Lewis 'click & collect' service, particularly when I'm buying stuff to put on the end of the bed on behalf of the big man in red.

Speaking of whom, there's another lie, m'lud.  Boy #1 is 11 and - ostensibly - still believes in Father Christmas.  And Sinterklaas.  And the Tooth Fairy.  And - probably - the Easter Bunny, although we don't need to deal with that issue until April, thank heavens.  Now, I'm not completely naive.  I think we all know that he doesn't REALLY believe in any of them, but is just playing along for the sake of his younger brother and in case admitting any doubt on this matter affects the number of presents he is given.  So he is careful to keep his mouth shut as Boy #2 asks difficult questions (at 8, he's surrounded by friends who are also questioning/unconvinced by the Santa Myth), and when I make my unconvincing replies which normally run along the lines of  'Well, if Santa doesn't put the presents there, who does?'  Boy #1 keeps schtum.

Smart boy.

As for me and my inveterate fibbing about the Potski state of readiness for Christmas (C minus 9 days and counting...  Christ, now I've typed that in black and white I am starting to panic, just a bit), luckily the school corridors are thinning out at pick-up time as the early-leavers sneak out of the country before the final bell rings.  (Just between us, I prefer to think of them as Rats Deserting A Sinking Ship as they leave the rest of us deal with the joy that is the Elementary School end of term party on the last afternoon).  And there are only 2 days of term left, so I don't have to keep the lies up for much longer.  Which is a good thing, really - as I don't want to end up on Santa's naughty list.

Just in case he IS real.  (Because, you know, the chocolate...)

Dreeeeaam, dream dream dream....

'Imagine you won £40,000', Paypal said.  Imagine what you could do with it.  And then write about it.

How hard could that be? Well, harder than you might imagine, but here goes anyway.

Imagine; 40 grand, in your hand...   Paypal are billing it as a year's salary; all you have to do to enter is to buy something using Paypal and every single time you do so you're given a new entry to their weekly draw.

(Click here to get the details, and click here to see the t's and c's...)

So I started to think what I might buy with an extra £40,000.  Sadly, that wouldn't do the biggies, like putting the kids through university (well, it might one of them, but it's highly unlikely both of them by the time 12 years or so have passed given recent developments), or paying off the mortgage (some hope), but it could certainly make life more comfortable for a while.  I mean, I could blow it all in splurges on holidays, a new car,  flights back to the UK, a couple of mini-breaks, and perhaps some subtle plastic surgery or dental work (what? What?  I'm surrounded by perky Americans who make my smile feel just a little outshone and my chest, well...)

But back in the real world I think my sensible head would take over and I would end up using it to pay for stuff we actually need.  Well, when I say that, I mean stuff we need that I could buy from online retails who take Paypal.   It would probably get spent on computers for the kids, a new camera, purchases on i-tunes and other such 'essentials'. 

The good news of course is that the number of retailers accepting Paypal is increasing.  Which also means that I might also get to fritter some of it away on stuff for my own personal Christmas list, a work in progress but which is already taking shape...  First indications are that it may include, the new Issey Miyake perfume (which I've heard shouldn't work, but does) and a new toothbrush from Boots, a new necklace, a new dress, & a pair of jeans from Miss Sixty . 

Watch this space for updates - especially if you happen to be my Husband...

This, in case you hadn't worked it out by now, was both a sponsored post  and a first attempt at steering my Husband - if he reads this - in the right direction for this year's presents.  Wish me luck...

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Note to self #167

1. Whilst out shopping in your local mall do not wander into the newly opened Lego store to check out a particular object of desire for your son. (You don't have your children with you, for chrissake. Why on earth would you go into a toy shop?)

2. If, however, you do find yourself in this situation, do not pick up a copy of the latest catalogue.

3. Especially, do not leave said catalogue sitting on the front seat of your car.

4. Where it can be found by your children when you pick them up from school...

5. Or you will find that it will be studied, pored over and salivated on by both sons (even the older one who you didn't think was really into all that stuff), enabling them to extend their Christmas lists and even provide an object of desire to replace this in your younger son's affections. (Airplanes are yesterday's toy, apparently. The cool kids now want red trains).

6. But most importantly, should all of the above happen, ensure that said devilish book / innocuous catalogue is stored somewhere in plain sight so that when Boy #2 wakes up at some ungodly hour, weeping and wailing when it is not immediately to hand (sorry dear neighbour for what must have been a very rude awakening this morning), you are spared a 15 minute search for it in the pre-school run madness.

7. And which may result in mother-driven-to-the-limit outbursts that almost - but not quite - require the replacement of yet another bathroom step...

Big Train Love and Boy' #2's Burgeoning Christmas List

This afternoon Boy #1 and I arrived to collect Boy #2 from his once a week post-school Dutch class. Bearing in mind that all three of us are still recovering from our late arrival back in Russia on Monday night after a busy half term, and that the Boys' body clocks have been thrown completely off by the 3 hour time difference, I wasn't at all surprised to find that Boy #2 had nodded off in the book corner whilst playing with cars. And bless his Dutch teacher, she had let him.

We gently woke him up and he did that unbearably cute thing of looking around all wide-eyed in surprise (was I asleep Mama? No, of course not...), before walking over to the door of the classroom to pick his stuff up before we headed home.

I went to help him on with his jacket, and suddenly encountered an unfamiliar, squarish lump under the sleeve of his sweatshirt. It was so well hidden in fact that if I hadn't been assisting a tired sleepy boy to find his coat sleeve, he just might have gotten away with it.

"What's that?"

"Ssssshhhhh Mama" he whispered, sotto voce. I can't believe it, but he really thought I was going to buy into this heist... "Don't tell anyone. They'll see..."

See what? Well, I pulled a green wooden double decker Brio train - belonging to the school - from his sweatshirt sleeve. This boy loves trains, you see, with a passion. Well, he loves all forms of transport if I'm honest. Prior to this attempt at The Great Train Robbery (see what I did there? Huh? Huh?) his most recent object of desire has been a red Lego plane (and - obviously - the accompanying Lego airport) that he spotted in a catalogue he found in the back of one of his brother's birthday presents (also Lego). He wants this plane. He NEEDS this plane. His life is not complete without this plane. It looms large in his legend and is mentioned whenever possible. He's developed quite a sales patter actually; Husband reported the following conversation:

Boy #2: "So Santa's going to bring me a red Lego airplane. This one." (He points firmly at the relevant page in the brochure,which rarely leaves his side)

Husband: "Really?"

Boy #2: "Yes, yes he is. Because he knows, you see, that I don't have one."

Husband: "Well, you do actually. A Lego airplane and a Playmobil one."

Boy #2: "Yes. I do. But this one, this one is red. And he knows I don't have a red one."

Husband: "OKaaaay."

Boy #2: "Plus, plus, this one comes with it's own airport. So I can fill it up with petrol and everything..."

So Santa, baby, can you put one under the tree for Boy #2? Although Christ knows how we're going to fit that in our luggage on our way back from the UK after Christmas...