(This post is inspired by Liz at Violet Posy's Christmas Decoration Carnival Tour... And I'm sorry Liz, but I suspect this one is going to be a bit of a disappointment; I am letting the side down in a major way...)
Unfortunately, the only place in our home that is looking at all festive is the front of our glass cabinet, where I have wheeled out a token recognition of Advent in form of our perpetual calendar. We've had it around 3 years now, so perhaps 'perpetual' is a bit of an optimistic description. I bought it when I was on a girls' weekend in Brighton and feeling that frisson of guilt I always get when I'm away from home without Husband and the Boys and enjoying myself. Luckily, the purchase of the calendar went some way to alleviating that - as did the vodka-soaked evening that followed it.
I'm not sure how many more Christmases the calendar will be pressed into service though; it's only a matter of time before the Boys cotton on to the fact that practically every single one of their friends has parents who aren't luddites and manage to score a chocolate from their much more up to date and totally non-advent specific calendar before school even starts in the morning.
You may be wondering why this calendar is the extent of our festive effort. Don't get me wrong, I love Christmas. It's a Big Deal for me. Normally I would be baking tree cookies, have a wreath on the front door, be looking out the tree decorations, polishing the candle sticks and be considering a moonlight raid on the garden square to liberate some holly and ivy.
I would never do that, by the way. The thought of being apprehended by an angry set of garden committee vigilantes on the prowl for just such an incident, whilst vastly entertaining, is too much for me. Plus, my torch is rubbish and I don't have the right gear. I mean, you'd need to be all camoflaged up and wearing dark clothes and a balaclava and - is it showing that I really have considered this?
But I will not be checking the lights are working ready to put them up this weekend. I know, I said no tree - ever - until 3 days before C-Day but I do - amazingly - have a heart, and so I usually give in to the Boy's pleadings early, secretly loving it, of course...
This year, however, with our impending departure and the fact that we're in and out of the house like nobody's business over the next couple of weeks, we decided not to have a tree. I'm surpised to find that I miss it. More than the Boys, actually, who appear remarkably sanguine not only about the lack of Christmas cheer at home but about the fact that we're upping sticks and moving to a new country very shortly after that. I suspect that is because Husband and I are trying very hard to be matter of fact about the whole adventure, and not to make too big a deal out of the whole thing.
Or at least, not in front of them, anyway. 'Discussions' regarding delayed paperwork, negotiations with estate agents (both Moscow and London-based) and logistics are usually kept for after they're in bed. Which is a good thing because, you know how they say moving is the most stressful thing after a death in the family?
I don't know WHAT they're talking about.
