Christmas is over. And I’m alright with that. Me and Christmas are done. Christmas turned my children into crazy junkies. It sent them wild with the insatiable desire to get the next present fix. It made them genuinely believe that Chocolate was a food-group. The Hulk has refused to remove his dressing gown for days now. I want to blame “Christmas”, but really I know it’s my own fault. And for some reason, it isn’t just a day, I have let this madness go on for weeks now.
I’m ready for it. It’s Christmas rehab. The kids are going cold turkey, they went a whole day today without opening a present. They were looking round suspiciously for the next hit until at least lunchtime. It was like a scene from Trainspotting, but with toddlers. The begging, the negotiating, the tantrums. I caught the Hulk trying to open up the leftover present we had for my Mum, from my Mother-in-Law. It had to be re-wrapped before being handed over, but he still got a little hit of joy from starting the unwrapping.
The kids weren’t expecting the sudden removal of Christmas from their lives, they have reacted with mixed emotions. The Hulk was skulking round the Christmas tree so much that Daddy put it back up in the loft. The Diva was trying to do a curious interpretive dance routine to that strange Steeleye Span song that no one knows the words to – you know the chanty one. I turned it off, and reminded her of the existence of Katy Perry. There is life after Christmas if you Roar loud enough!
So Christmas in our house officially ended today. We didn’t take them anywhere exciting. Not a morsel of chocolate passed their lips. I made the Diva do some reading. The Hulk was required to eat fruit and vegetables again. We didn’t randomly let them have their own way “because it’s Christmas”. Both became re-acquainted with the naughty step. Their behaviour has improved a bit. Not loads but its early days. I’ve decided that next year we’ll try to keep a bit more of a grip on our normal lives and not beam ourselves up into the alternative universe that is “Christmas” for a whole month.
I say that now, but you can be sure that as the opening notes of “I wish it could be Christmas every day” come on the radio for the first time, my resolve will weaken. Before you know it I will have ordered half the Argos Catalogue, filled the cupboards with Quality Street, donned a ridiculous jumper with a picture of a reindeer on it and spent a weeks shopping budget on a turkey. Can you just remind me of this next September. You know, when all this shit starts again?