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...)

Of Easter Bunnies and conversation

Ladies, I would like to raise a toast. A toast to a shy, retiring individual who brings pleasure to many and relief (in his role as Fall Guy) to countless more. A creature who brings manna from heaven in one hand, and dispenses justice with the other. Who's rather large feet are at odds with his cute little nose, and who's only fault is to leave raisin-like droppings on my parents' lawn...

You know who I'm talking about, don't you?

Yes, let us thank the lord for the existence of the Easter Bunny. Because - and if you have kids, you know this - the Easter Bunny is not just for Easter Sunday, oh no. His shift starts earlier than that; pretty much as soon as those purty foil-wrapped eggs appear in the shops and make their existence known to small Boys.

This angel picks up where Father Christmas leaves off, in fact. Since around the beginning of March he's been checking that toys are tidied away, and books are put back on the shelves. He's been policing the brushing of teeth and the using of napkins at the table. He's quite strict in his own way; if he says 'just one story tonight' he means it. And woe betide the Boy who climbs out bed and runs woohooing round the flat when he's meant to be dropping off to sleep at the end of a long day. (Although admittedly it seems he took an early night yesterday and Boy #2's rampage passed under the radar).

However.

Just in case you've been living in a cave for the last few days and haven't noticed the chocolate frenzy going on in shops, with grown women fighting over the last Barbie and Ben 10 licenced eggs, Easter Sunday is tomorrow. And the Easter Bunny will have come good on his side of the deal with the Boys - chocolate for good behaviour - by around midday.

What the hell am I going to use to incentivise them after that?


And in other news (and as a tribute to Millenium Housewife who I really hope doesn't mind):

Things I have said to Boy #2 today...

Let's go and use the loo.
No, not me, you.
OK, I will too.
But I just sat down!
OK, let me just... Right, you go now.
Do you need to sit that far back?
Doesn't it hurt your legs to sit like that?
But if you sit that far back you'll wee on the...
OK, off you get.
Yes, I know that your bottom is wet. That's because you sat so far back.
And don't stand there, you'll get your socks wet too...
Take them off, then.
Now, are you finished?
Completely finished?
Come over here and pull up your trousers then.
Off you go.
What do you mean you need a poo too?
What do you mean 'it's too late?'
No, don't tell me. I know what 'too late' means.