Sophie and I are enjoying a cup of tea and a mince-pie, before Izzie and Max get dropped off from yet another Christmas party.
‘Why’s he called Elf on the shelf? Has he been unlucky in love?’ asks Granny
‘What? No, SHE sits on the shelf and interesting, educational things happen for the kids each day.’ responds Sophie.
‘I see. No longer “naughty or nice” then?’ Granny adds.
‘It’s the way we do things now. We don’t want our kids to feel bad – it helps them psychologically if the elf is seen as a friend.’
‘I guess it’s more woke is it? What’s SHE done today then?’
‘Well, sometimes they get a lovely toy but today it’s a craft activity. She’s just spelt out their names on the kitchen table in breakfast cereal.’ informs Sophie.
‘And that’s OK is it? I mean those fruity loopy things aren’t cheap. And now they can spill them all over the place as though that’s a good thing!’
‘You just aren’t getting it are you, Mum?’
Best leave that argument to one side. Granny sighs.
‘And when would you like us to give the children their presents? Christmas afternoon?’
‘I don’t want them feeling overwhelmed. They will have loads to open on Christmas Day and the build-up is always so knackering. They’re already up every morning at 5 am…..’
‘So, what you’re saying is you don’t want our gifts?’ Oh, here we go again, thinks Granny.
‘No, no, not at all. I want to spread it out for them, so could you come Boxing Day afternoon. We’ve got the other grandparents coming in the morning.’
Crikey, thinks Granny. Wonder why we bother?
‘I’ve followed all the Web links you sent me for the presents so at least you know what they’re getting.’
There’s a loud slam of the front door, before the children rush into the lounge, looking rather red and disheveled.
‘Granny!’ they both gasp and come to give her a kiss.
‘Gosh, what’s that smell?’ asks Granny.
‘It’s my cinnamon-scented glop. Look it can go everywhere.’ Says Max, trailing some green sludgy stuff down his clothes and onto the coffee table.
‘Isn’t it yummy?’ he says, as Granny covers her nose and mouth with a hankie.‘Lovely dear’, she says.
‘I like your Christmas pullover, Granny,’ says Izzie. ‘I saw those in Tesco’s the other day. Half-price’.
‘Hmmmm,’ says Granny. She was hoping for a few compliments on her on-trend outfit.
‘So what’s the agenda for the weekend?’ she asks Sophie, expecting a list of Christmas activities.’
'Well, we’ve got the light trail tomorrow evening.’
‘With marshmallows on sticks to melt over a camp fire’, adds Izzie.
‘And the Polar Express train on Sunday,’ says Max. ‘I can’t wait to wear my PJs on the train. And there’s hot chocolate and cookies.'
‘That sounds exciting. Where does it go? I can’t imagine the North Pole around here.’ Granny laughs.
‘It doesn’t GO anywhere’, says Sophie. ‘You travel up and down a train track but it’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey. It’s all singing, dancing and fun on the train.’
‘Oh, I see. That sounds……interesting.’ Granny can’t think of the right adjective.
Granny thinks how different Christmas is these days.
‘We had advent calendars when I was a little girl. But all you got was a Christmassy picture for each day, and a really big picture of baby Jesus on the 25th.'
‘What? No chocolates?’ asks Izzie. ‘Sounds so boring.’
‘The highlight of Christmas Day after the presents and lunch was watching Morecambe and Wise on the telly.’ says Granny. ‘I wonder what you’ll be doing.’
‘I feel sick,’ suddenly announces Max. He’s clinging on to the Christmas tree as he speaks. And before anyone can do anything he pulls it towards himself and vomits at the same time. The tree and the boy both fall down, taking the lights and Christmas bunting with him. He is hardly visible under the heap.
‘Yuk!’ says Izzie. ‘I told you not to eat any more Haribos. He had thousands Mummy.’
Sophie and Granny are rushing about trying to calm Max’s tears and clear up the mess, which has managed to spread all over the floor as well as the Christmas decorations.
Sky TV suddenly pipes up for no reason at top volume.
‘Let it go. Let it go’, that ubiquitous song is playing.
‘Oh lovely, a vintage movie,' says Izzie, oblivious to the chaos around her.
‘Granny. Do you want to watch it with me? Did they have this in the old days when you were a little girl?’
‘Thank you, Izzie. I’m just helping Mummy clean up. I’ll join you in a mo.’
‘I’ll best get Max into the shower Mum,' suggests Sophie as she carries a crying mess of a little boy out of the lounge.
‘Oh, lovely. Peace and quiet,’ says Izzie. ‘We can relax now. Christmas is SO tiring.’ says Izzie.
About the author
Sally Storr is a psychologist and works as a coach. She has always been equally fascinated by human behaviour and by figures from literature. She’s been writing all her life but especially enjoys writing about quirky things that happen to ordinary people like herself.
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