I have this wonderful idealistic image of Christmas. We are all together, glowing bright. The kids are patiently opening their presents, taking time to appreciate each one. The grown ups are sipping champagne, there is the smell of roast turkey (nut roast) in the air, and MrM and I are looking on at our children with pride and love. Scratch that. Christmas is a nightmare!
Last year I made my last Christmas Dinner. Ever! I worked so hard to make it nice, I spent hours in the kitchen, preparing and cooking, I dressed the table, I chose the wine blah blah blah! Aine kicked off after five minutes and ended up on the sofa with a tray, Ned ate six pigs in blankets, mine was cold by the time I sat down to it. I vowed that never again would I cook Christmas Dinner. This year, we are having a buffet. Ned can eat his pigs in blankets without reprise, Aine can sit wherever she wants to, and my sandwiches can be cold, because they are meant to be.
The kids are always ill at Christmas. I type this from a hospital ward as we are admitted for another status seizure. I have missed a meal with my friends because I’m here. I knew I shouldn’t have bought something new to wear! I set myself ridiculous targets, unachievable by ‘normal’ parents, to create the perfect Christmas. It just isn’t doable in our house. And this year, I accept it. If they don’t want to open anymore presents, that’s ok. If they want to open everybody’s, that too is ok! If they want to cry because they didn’t want that gift, cry away! If they want to eat chocolate for breakfast, at least they’re eating. It’s just a day. One day. Life is full of challenges, I’m not going to create my own. Cheers!