Yesterday we took down the tree and put away the decorations and the crib after the children had gone to bed. It struck me that this was a sorry contrast to the gleeful decorating before Christmas. All the preparations are family affairs but the dismantling of the Christmas paraphernalia is done by parents and Christmas sneaks off like a thief in the night. And then, the next year it is re-discovered when the boxes come down from the attic. Like magic.
Vignette
Christmas brings out the occasional mass goer and our local church was thronged on Christmas morning. As our parish priest launched into his sermon [a long one] in front of his largest congregation of the year, a mobile phone began to ring loudly and insistently from the pew behind mine. A number of people looked around in irritation. An older gentleman began to systematically pat down his various pockets. Eventually, to sighs of relief, he found it. Not being familiar with mass phone etiquette, I charitably assume, he did not hang up. We were instead treated to a quick conversation in a stage whisper:
“Hello, Julie…No, I’m at mass…. No you’re alright, go on… and a happy Christmas to you.”
I told this story to my sister. “That’s nothing,” she said, “one Sunday at our church a phone rang while Sr. M was doing the first reading. In time it became clear that it was her phone, ringing from her pocket on the altar. It didn’t really matter though as most of the congregation is quite hard of hearing.”
O tempora o mores etc.
Belated Happy New Year
“What news from the Waffle Christmas?” I hear you ask anxiously. You have been consulting this website daily in hopes of an update. And, then again, perhaps not.
Well, Michael spent Christmas morning in tears as he got nothing he liked from Santa. He went to a lot of trouble to write a list including items such as a “sleep bomb” and a “spy plane” and, of course, “an x-box” but he didn’t get any of them. Great was his wrath. Alas. On the plus side, his brother and sister were quite pleased with their gifts.
On St. Stephen’s Day, we went orienteering in the Dublin mountains. This turned out to be a poor choice for reasons which are, I think, abundantly clear from the photographs below.
On the 27th we went to Cork where the boys got an X-box. We didn’t see them for the remainder of our time in Cork as they spent it on the couch wielding virtual light sabres.
We returned to Dublin on December 30 with the two boys and the x-box. Herself stayed in Cork for a couple of days bonding with her Cork relatives.
I went into the office on December 31 and the place was like a morgue. I cannot believe how much work I got done. I was delighted with myself. Mr. Waffle said that I was on a bureaucratic high when he dragged me out at 6.15. Very kind friends had a new year’s eve dinner party where we stayed until nearly 4 in the morning (and we were the first to leave). Mr. Waffle drove to his parents’ house to collect the two boys in the morning and I was able to sleep in. I still had to go to bed at 9 the next two nights. I am, frankly, not as resilient as I once was.
As a reward for reading this far, may I refer you to a rather more entertaining tale of Christmas celebrations from a monastery? The whole world is on the internet, really.
Have you any good new year resolutions? I have none. I feel that I can never successfully top my January 2011 resolution so have given up. That’s the spirit, I think you’ll agree.
Ready
Mr. Waffle has taken the children out and I am sitting at home alone. I have finished the paper. There are carols on the stereo. The cat is sleeping on the rug. The Christmas tree lights are lit. Night is falling [which means that they will all be back soon because the park in the dark is no good; indeed have just received text message – ‘Park went well. In pub eating crisps. Home soon.’ All the news as it happens, that’s this blog]. All our preparations are complete. We have been so busy over the past couple of weeks and it is lovely that all is peaceful and quiet. Later all will be business and excitement laying out food and stockings for Santa; the Christmas carol service [slight nervousness]; washing children in preparation for Christmas morning; and shooing them back to bed as they venture downstairs to double check that all is in readiness.
Happy Christmas.
Failing to Walk in the Air
The Princess and I had a very traumatic choir practice the other night. The choir director for the Christmas carol service came (an important man who was far less interested in us than our normal choir director). The choir launched into various hymns (unknown to the Princess and me) in 5 parts. Sitting between the altos and the sopranos, with another three parts going on in the surrounding pews, and with no idea how to read music, I felt that I had zero chance of picking up any of the tunes. I was correct.
“Descant!” said the director. “What,” I hissed to the nice lady beside me, “is a descant?” Oh Lord.
Later one of the younger teenagers sang “Walking in the Air” alone. “That was lovely,” I said to her mother. Her mother repeated it to her and I heard her reply witheringly to her mother’s mortification “Anne, doesn’t even know what a descant is.”
The carol service is on Christmas Eve. The Princess and I are nervous. I think only prayer can help us now.
Mothers and Daughters
Me: Are you trying to drive your mother to an early grave?
Her: I don’t have to try.
