Solitary but Seasonal

For a few months now I have been making my corporate Christmas cards on an industrial scale - mainly local sketches which are then given what I like to call 'The Lighthouse Treatment' - ie. I paint the sketches with 3D shiny/crystal paint and make the scene look like it's snowing and very Christmassy. As it was September when I started it would have been a bit ridiculous to accompany this festive endeavour by listening to my old faithful Andy Williams Christmas Album (which I spent years trying to escape from at home and then bought when I realised that putting up a Christmas tree in my own home just wasn't the same without it - damn it!)

Anyway - it is now mid November and thanks to the wonder of the internet I have been getting organised for the season - steadily and in a most unstressful manner. My local supermarket has all the usual paraphenalia but because it's not in a 'mall' setting' it's easily ignored by the need for bread and washing powder. Yes I realise that it's winter because I can now get hold of my beloved satsumas (most definitely NOT the same as clementines please note) and I'm thrilled by all the lovely tights on offer - but apart from that, even though I've bought the advent calendar in preparation and have a son learning his lines as the grumpy innkeeper in the church nativity play, I feel mostly able to ignore the whole thing. Most unlike me & more than a bit sad.

I have concluded that it's because I am now working for myself, by myself in the house, have the computer on in the house all the time for business and have become very parochial in my habits. Therefore when I ventured to a local shopping centre yesterday, it came as a huge suprise to hear an R&B version of something like 'deck the halls' - gosh, i thought, it's almost Christmas!

The effect was immediate, I was almost instantly thrown into a spending frenzy. I was thrilled by the shop windows displaying wonderful packages, the bows, the ribbons, the lace, the lights, and the sound of the oh so familiar, derided but beloved Christmas pop songs. It was like being wrapped in a delicious pashmina, drinking gluweine and singing round the fire with my family. I came home, wrapped a few gifts and gradually the warm glow subsided.

This morning, faced with the panic that I've run out of white paint so can't do any more snow on my cards at the moment I am pleased that I ventured into the retail madness that occurs at this time every year, but am even more grateful for the cold, clinical ability to check my bank balance from the comfort of my home, and give myself a good talking to and plan the internet shopping countdown to Christmas in earnest. Again, most unlike me.

I am trying to realise that the retail Christmas does not need to be my definition of Christmas - now matter how beguiling. I need to concentrate my efforts on the simple pleasures - driving the kids into town, in their pyjamas, under the duvets in the back of the car and showing them the city lit up at night; inviting friends round for some homemade potent and soothing mulled wine, twiglets and badly made mince pies - and all that sort of stuff.

Without those things this season will pass me by. Without a work's Christmas 'do' and the office Secret Santa, the visits from the reps always accompanied by shiny new diaries and huge tin of quality street - even though I've been involved in making a seasonal product and have young children - I will wish myself through to January in the blink of an eye. Being solitary in work at this time of the year feels wrong and although I wouldn't change it for the world I am grateful to Chris Evans for playing the Terry Wogan and Aled Jones 'Little Drummer Boy' yesterday - charity song, peace on earth lyric, slightly naff but totally wonderful and evoking the same feeling I got from the dreaded shopping mall.

Must go ... I'm off to rummage around for that Andy Williams tape ...

Spirit of the Age (more like ghost in the machine).

Please excuse my last post - made at a vulnerable moment - late at night just after succumbing to a hot chocolate - my outburst was along similar lines to that of the old women in the Monty Python, exploding penguin sketch - I panicked. New to blogging and a busy girl I was anxious to get something, almost anything down in print each day, however, I am now cured of this affliction after the Burma!/Marshmallow meltdown and will only write sensible things.

Which brings me to this. We apparently now live in a country where the one political party (don't care if it's true blue or red wedge) is critisised for publicly critisising the policies of the opposition party. Hello? Isn't that the point - I mean, the clue is in the name - the 'opposition' party.

This morning at church we were informed by the minister of the 'baptising' of our new font. The last one was marble and rhomboid in shape. It stood for 40 years in the centre of the 4 aisles - with the seating behind it at a slight incline. It had to be removed, you've guessed it 'for Health and Safety purposes' being a hazzard for small children running down the incline without brakes. One can only hope that future generations will be fitted with said brakes in utero and that our current trend for obesity is in fact an evolved bounce enhancement device.

Whatever!

Thought for the day ...

Marshmallows rock. Nuff said.

Out of the mouth of babes ...

One of my mother's favourite sayings that one, usually applied when we as children said something apposite but inappropriate. As a mother myself I now understand why I heard it said so often ... children are amusingly mean, bless them.

Today I entertained three extra 7 year olds for tea. I was happy to potter around in the kitchen and secretly listen to their dinner party conversation. It always makes me jealous of teachers who must hear enough material to write a book almost every week. Apart from a couple of minor incidents with the petit pois everything went swimmingly, until we began to run low on tomato ketchup.

My eldest son decided to give up tomato ketchup for Lent last year, so upon facing an empty bottle his thoughts naturally strayed back to that time. He began to ponder what he'd like to give up next year. His four 7 year old companions predictably shouted 'homework' and 'school' and 'carrots' when I interjected with 'it has to be something you like' to which the response from one of them was 'you should give up wearing make up'. It's not as if I'm plastered in the stuff most of the time so this sounded like a good idea until I heard the next sentence. 'Then we'd have to see your real face and it would be really bad.'

Marvellous.

I laughed nervously and tried to remember that to every child I am an ancient hag because I am 1) over 25 and 2) a mummy and tried not to think of how accurate this appraisal of the situation really was. I then took my eldest to pick up a friend and took them to football practice. This involves a 20 minute car journey in which I try to be a 'cool' Mum and enter into interesting discussions about all sorts, tonight's being favourite chocolates. Scintillating conversation and a good drive put me in good form.

I returned home and collected my youngest from a neighbour's house. To save on the whinging I usually suggest racing home faking slow running like all good Mummies. Not this time. I was beaten soundly by the little darling and showed my delight with a false good natured 'well done, I can't believe you beat me'. No good deed goes unpunished. The loving response this time was 'it's because you're chubby Mummy'.

Again, marvellous.

I have therefore learned two lessons today. Somewhere between the ages of 7 and 10 children learn to be insincere so they can fake being friends with you as they know it pleases you; and never, ever entrust your self-esteem to someone who can't tie their own shoelaces.

Thought for the day ...

If i have no obligation to be VAT registered as my business turnover is under the VAT threshold - how come I am obliged to pay it to my suppliers? Surely even Homer Simpson can see that 'doh' this means that small business owners who have no need or desire to be VAT registered (increased charges to their customers, increased paperwork, accountacy costs etc) subsidise large companies who can claim it back anyway.

I am a bear of very little brain when it comes to accountancy, and no doubt am missing something key, but can I throw my rattle, dummy and blanket out of my pram and shout 'it's not fair'? I'd like to believe that one small voice can be the metaphorical beating buttefly wing that starts the hurricaine; but call me cynical I have a feeling that the government's response would be similar to the one I give my kids in such a situation ... 'life's not fair' or the ever popular 'tough!'

Being a grown up sucks!

Mother knows best

The Independent featured an article earlier in the week (thanks Adie) defining a sweater as an item your mum tells you to wear when she is cold.

Along with mumspit "it's not gross it's hygenic", a secret hankie stash, emergency Percy Pig rations and a clip round the ear/hug combo on return from being lost, the 'just in case' layer is a mum staple which is passed down through the generations, and rightly so.

Layering is my only fashion look, it's not so much a case of 'what's hot and what's not' in our house as in 'what's hot ... has anyone invented an electric blanket cardigan yet' ... come on Missoni what's keeping you?

The best part about having been on a family skiing holiday last winter has to be the thermal underwear. Brilliant for Trick or Treaters, the flimsy costumes over thermal long johns look was a great success and emboldened by my thermal undies I even allowed the front door to be opened more than was needed to post a mini twix to the waiting crowds.

So there you have it sweaters/jumpers/fleeces/hoodies whatever your layering preference - essential 'keep mum happy' items - but obviously you won't put it on unless you're going outside otherwise you'll never feel the benefit of it!

Thought for the day ...

How come I shout at my kids (age 10 and 7) to GROW UP and STOP BEING SILLY and TRY NOT TO MAKE TOO MUCH MESS and then encourage them to watch Top Gear, which is presented by 3 men who refuse to grow up, spend their tv lives being silly and always make a huge mess. Mmmm ....

My new life as a celeb baby stalker!

Running a small business in these times requires ingenuity. Sometimes I have it, sometimes I don't.

Along with the rest of the world seemingly I make greetings cards professionally (i liked the company so much i bought it - does that show my age?)

The thing is about my cards is that they genuinely are different and they are really lovely and anyone who sees them really likes them ... but I've got to get the word out about without spending any more money ... aye, there's the rub.

I have therefore decided to become a celeb baby stalker. I want rooms of celebs, who are friends with celebs and non celebs with money hopefully to be wowed by the great congratulations card so much that they commission christmas cards, baby thank yous & every birthday card from here to eternity.

Please save me from myself, The Lighthouse Drawing Rooms needs YOU!

Chris and Natasha you have been warned ...

Politics and Kids - keeping it real

7yr old friend of family to me earlier - 'do you want Barak Obama to win the election'

me in a text to his mum later - 'impressed by son's political knowledge, you're much better parent than me'

text from friend in reply - 'his sister said she wants the one who looks like Lewis Hamilton to win, so we've still got work to do'!

me, feeling guilty, explaining politics to the kids later - 'the president has lots of very important decisions to make all day every day'

my youngest to me in response - 'like 'can you get me a cup of tea please?' do you mean?'

my reply - 'well, sort of ...'

his response -'who is gordon brown again?'

my reply - 'our prime minister' ... sensing disinterest growing and knowing what appeals to little boys i added 'he's got a glass eye you know!'

Got their vote!

Has it come to this?

Couldn't be bothered finding and putting together the food processor so ...

I have spent 2 days drying out already dried out (but not mouldy yet) bread in order to make my own breadcrumbs, be less wasteful & more like a proper wartime mother ...

grating it didn't work ... more bread stuck to windows & down sink than saved for the treacle tart recipe from the back of the cornflake packet ... great fun for the kids i thought as i cut it out.

The cardboard cut-out will remain on the 'side' (all women love 'sides') until i put it in a random barely opened recipe book (left out on a shelf to make me look good) and forget about it ... along with the breadcrumbs (which are now ziplocked and in the freezer) which will be found stuck to the un-defrosted innards of said freezer in 2 years time. I have heard tell of a woman who freezes all left overs and pre-cooks items and then places them in the freezer, dated and with written descriptions and most importantly writes the use by dates in her diary. No-one likes a smart arse, she's off the christmas card list.

If necessity is the mother of invention, then a heady combo of green guilt,the nigella effect and the dreaded credit crunch will make for ridiculous innovations in our house. This could be fun.