Wrecked

Good God it’s nice to sit down, I love sitting down. A nice cuppa tea and a sit down cures almost anything. My stark living room is certainly mourning the glowy presence of Terry the Christmas tree, we’re going to invest in some new lights to try and alleviate the dullness. I doubt it will do the much for my inner dull though. My chaps have gone to bed tonight battered, bruised, shattered and full of naughty germs. Edgar ran comedy style smack into a door frame today and has a 6inch long black bump running vertically from his hair to his eyebrow and Rufus has had a temperature and the silent grumps (his dead eyes stare at you, expressionless and terrifying, I fear I’ve produced a psychopath but tell myself it’s fighting the virus that makes him so changeable and statue like) on and off for almost a week. I blame Christmas for every current emotion in this house, saying goodbye today was hard, I bloody love Christmas, but this year there’s been something particular that’s upset me about it. I shall explain.

We’re full, or even overflowing here. Full of snot, full of toys, the recycling bin is full, food waste bin full, biscuit tin is full (there’s so much other munch the biscuits are being neglected) my tummy is full, the fridge is full, our wardrobes are full and hell, the sewers are definitely full, yet it’s not a pleasant feeling. Don’t get me wrong I’m a greedy badger, but I’ve learnt something this Christmas; excessivness depresses me, albeit perhaps momentarily. On Boxing day evening when I stood in my living room surrounded by toys, boxes, food and bags I felt scared, overwhelmed, cross and alone and I could not muster an ounce of energy to do anything to change my stance on our situation. I’m terrified that my readers, that you, will think me ungrateful, I hope I am not. I just can’t bear waste. We have thrown away so much packaging, cleared 2 cars’ full worth of stuff out and donated it to charity, we barely catered this year, nor did we do a ‘christmas food shop’, yet still so much food waste seems to have been created. There have been unwanted gifts, not many, but some, shit, I’m an awful person. They have gone, yet still I feel the urge to gut everything out. The boys have forgotten some of what they received, that stuff we’ve successfully squirrelled away to get out at a later point, some has even been shipped straight out to charity. We always knew it would be a mental time, twin birthdays and Christmas 10 days apart. That’s 4 presents (providing they only buy one thing for them each on each occasion) entering our teeny weeny house from each of our friends and family, that equates to roughly 80 presents in 10 days, how lovely, how ludicrous. Although I am adamant my boys not receive joint gifts, I’m starting to think economically that might not be a bad idea. We are so lucky, I wonder if that’s part of my problem, when looking at all our stuff I thought about homeless children, abused children, alone children and wanted them to have all the love that this excess represented. I also want my boys to grow up grateful and appreciative of small treasures, a tricky thing to achieve when I share the desire to spoil them and grant their every wish. But there’s no denying the most beautiful moments this Christmas have been with people we love, the Christmas Eve cousin madness, my dear friend not wanting to leave to go to her home which feels so far away, watching my boy walk hand in hand with his uncle and beloved dog, having my parents wash up for me on New Year’s Day and this is to name but a few.

So I’m done with Christmas, for now, I’m so grateful to all the beautiful gifts we were given, the boys play beautifully with much of it, and I love nothing more than to watch them play, play with them, watch them experiment with and make sense of the world around them with the use of toys. How fortunate. Here’s to a year of experimenting, acting out, repetition, playing and attempting to make sense of things.

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