Santas Little Helper

The festive period always seems to go by in a blur – admittedly some of it may be due to the increased alcohol intake – but mainly because of the increased amount of social activity that happens on a yearly basis, but still takes us by surprise.  From Little Man’s birthday exactly two weeks before Christmas onwards, the cooker groans with the effort of cooking so much food, nothing in the house is where it ought to be (including one of the sofas, which had been moved to the garage to accommodate this year’s enormous Christmas tree), there are mattresses on floors where extra family and friends have come to stay, and my ironing mountain rivals Everest.

But despite it being an utterly exhausting time, it’s really good fun. 

We initially started panicking on Christmas Eve when we realized that we had gone from the five of us to eleven, inheriting some family whose plans had fallen through at the last minute.  All the presents were eventually wrapped and under the tree.  The table was set up and all three kids peeled the vegetables in preparation for the big day.  Santa arrived on time and produced the goods. Even Muttley seemed rather taken with his Christmas bib and wore it all day without attempting to rip it off.  The cats were happy to wreak havoc upstairs, tearing after their stocking catnip mice with loud thumps and squeals.  I even remembered to make the bread sauce and devils on horseback, without which in our house there would be a mutiny.

I was delighted to have a Skype call on Christmas day from a very dear friend of mine in Australia – all the family on both sides of the world gathered in front of the small flickering screen and she at last got to meet Muttley, and we managed to talk together for a lovely ten minutes – that was a precious moment.

As we all sat squashed around our Christmas table – Muttley at our feet, snuffling for any fallen tidbits – it amazed me how any animosities from the years and months before just melted away in the simple act of eating together.  Yes we all love and laugh at the comedy sketches of Christmas dinners in families, and we all want to poke out the eyes of the unstressed Oxo mum who presides over a sumptuous banquet in the adverts – but in reality, Christmas dinner (or whatever religious feast day you follow) is a chance to recoup those lost family ties, and reevaluate those who are important to you.

The same with our New Years Eve celebrations.  Traditionally a time for pondering on self improvement and dreams for the year ahead, what I enjoyed most was being with some of our dearest friends who have been with us through the tough times and the good times – never faltering in their love and support for our mad chaotic family.

And Muttley.  Now a big boy of 7 months old, he has got through his first festive period with very few mishaps.  I thought I would sum it up (to the tune of a popular carol)…

“On the twelfth day of Christmas my puppy brought to meeeee…

12 days of moulting

11 sticks of rawhide

10 bits of cracker

9 chewed up cards

8 christmas baubles

7 punctured footballs

6 single shoes

5 mouldy bones!

4 barked through calls

3 nicked sweets

2 pot plants

And a penguin without a beak!”