Tis The Season to be Traumatised .. Tra la la...

No lazing around in the fluffy wuffy yumminess of my bed this morning but, unlike every other day when I’m inadequately dressed and looking rough’diddly’rough-rough, nobody knocked on my door to see my perky little face with freshly brushed hair on top. I was so proud of myself, I did make a special nappy bag trip to the dustbin and clattered the lid down extra loudly. Short of screaming, “Look everyone, I’m up, I’m buffed, I’m coiffed and it’s 8am”, I felt I’d done all I could.

I had three boys under the age of ten to be scrubbed, fed and dressed by 9.30am. The nephews had stayed over and I had to make sure they were ready this time as last time they stayed, Accountant had been in charge of overseeing proceedings and when Brother-in-Law knocked on the door to collect them, two boys and an Accountant answered it in their pyjamas.

I don’t know if it’s a boy thing, but I’m 99% sure it is based on extensive personal research, but when you say, “put the laptop down and go and get dressed”, what they seem to hear is, “completely ignore me and continue playing on the computer forevermore, my little techno-poppet”. It’s the same with my husband, “can you unblock the toilet sweetheart” translates to, “completely ignore me and watch tv forevermore, my drain obstructing darling”.

After five attempts to prise them off the sofa, they reluctantly moved. I was back in control. Next, the feeding – that won’t take long, a spot of cereal, a splash of milk. Not so. They don’t do cereal. They placed two orders for cheese on toast “with none of that Cow stuff” – (that’s Laughing Cow spread which I used once but have since learnt is not acceptable!)

Eventually, the doorbell chimed the happy tune of “I’ve come to collect the boys!” and off they went. That left one baby. One baby who had a date with The Poff and a big fat white haired old man (not Snowy – the other one!). We were off to Santa’s Christmas Wonderland at Paulton’s Park!

As you’ll know, Poff was previously traumatised by her encounter with Santa and his Elves but we were hoping today would be a turning point in her festive attitude. Unfortunately, not so. This is the touching moment when Poff was reunited with Santa. I think the look of blind terror says it all. LucyWucy was really pleased she’d paid £28 for the rubbish plastic toy and a hyperventilating baby.

Chickie was mesmerised by all the lights as you can see from every photo of him staring gaumlessly at the ceiling.


Poff also had a mini freak out at the talking tree which, in her defence, was the stuff nightmares are made of.


A brief go on the swings although Chickie looks more like he's parachuted into his, a peer at the Meers and £8 spent on two ginormous Winnie the Pooh in Santa Hat balloons and we were ready for home.