Creaaakkkkkk. Shuffle. That’s me moving around you can hear. Except for that day when I had a sudden burst of energy. There was sunshine and coffee, and some peacekeeping to be done between the big-brothers-in-waiting. Late pregnancy or not; they were in danger of killing each other left to their own devices so it seemed easier to make them gang up on me instead.
Yep we’re still going. Even Mr Proper Fud is getting involved, he’s delighted with himself when he comes up with a good Elf idea. The boys are getting dressed really quickly and thundering down the stairs to see what he’s at each morning. So let’s catch up shall we?
🎄🎵oh I wish it could be christmas every day…🎵🎄. I’m just glad he doesn’t have an amp…
Starting the countdown! I’ve only been changing this every few days, so it says seven now and I get to change it to three tomorrow. That’s my magic trick for making christmas come quicker.
Oops. Mr Old Elf has encountered some hostility. Think they’re jealous because we’ve never done Dinovember? (And if they think we ever will they’ve another thing coming)
Elf-express…eh-eh-eh-elf-express! (Late 80’s pop reference there for the oldies) All aboard!
Chillin’ in his fruit tub. Onion and garlic hopeful of a turn in there though. No of course this didn’t trigger fights over what fruit went in what lunchbox. (Yes it did, for days.)
Totally blatant in his disregard for Elf and Safety. (We weren’t though, and made sure the Nutribullet was plugged out before we did this) Of course the kids rather than being horrified at the prospect thought it might be cool ‘just to see’ what would happen if we turned it on.
It’s official. He’s a brat. Who would expose children to such language?
Saturday morning found Mr Old Elf starting the breakfast. I suppose seeing as he got the flour and eggs out we may as well make pancakes.
Found Elf Grylls in the kitchen jungle this morning. Me poor plants!
This one rogue (SEE WHAT I DID) built an igloo for his xmassy Star Wars buddies. Elf really enjoys building Lego in front of the tv at night. It might be Elf’s guilty pleasure…
They’ve turned it up to 11 and are singing 🎤 Mariah’s All I Want For Christmas. I knew I shouldn’t be watching Carpool Karaoke in the middle of the night; I’m giving him ideas. It’s all very well for him; he has ear protectors, what about the rest of us!
Lottie gets one past Mr Old Elf who must have hit the eggnog a bit hard last night.I do love Lottie, she kicks ass and a football.
I decided I should probably pack my hospital bag, having heard of a friend-of-a-friend who was due the same day as me having her baby this week. The checklists online are long: I know I won’t use half the stuff, but still, you can’t show up empty handed entirely. Cue another bout of shopping. I needed nursing bras for one.
Now; these women are not pregnant. Those boobs are not feeding children. Look at their smug, arched-eyebrow, coy hair-tugging expressions staring out at me “haha preggo, look at the size of you, you’ll be needing these but not in these sizes. No sirree; look down you can see perfectly flat torsos under here – you can’t even see your feet right now.”
Asos, I love you but I ain’t buying what you’re selling.
If you want to give yourself all the regrets start a Christmas tradition that takes 24 days of effort every year. I’m talking about The Elf of course. The bloody Elf.
By all means experiment when your munchkin is 1 or 2. But start something when your child remembers stuff year on year and that’s it; you’re on the hook for that crap ’til the day the magic dies.
With that in mind, we’re on Elf: Year 4 (See here for three previous years of ideas if you need them!) We’re doing ok actually so far. Seems like having a drink taken many nights of the festive season in previous years might have been what stifled our creativity/found us in bed cursing the fact we’d forgotten to move him.
Anticipation was high this year; “when is December 1st?” was a constant question from mid-November. At last the day rolled round, the magicalMr Old Elf arrived bearing his Lego Advent calendar gift and a distinct Dublin twang to his words…
I washed some small (seriously, adorably tiny) clothes, bought some water wipes and got my cloth nappies back from a friend. That means I’m ready for this child right? Mostly I’m trying to get some stuff done for the kids because every damn person keeps saying “sure you must be all sorted for christmas are you?” No, no I’m bloody not. The big fella, despite his birthday being 2 weeks later is pretty ok – I know what he needs and wants. The little one though, he talks in strings of words that are too confusing for google. “Blue power rangers dino mega zord weapon”.
I’m going to have to casually leave out the toy shop catalogue on the kitchen table and watch him. And Jelly Fun. Bloody Jelly Fun; it makes jelly so he thinks armed with this he’ll have a never ending supply as if I would let that happen. He’s taken a notion, and I feel like it’s going to be like The Great Mr Frosty Santa Refusal which took place in the years 1986-1989. I survived…
There was a meltdown followed by a very succesful trip to Ikea. The meltdown was triggered by me attempting to complete small tasks only to realise that there was a knock-on impact. Everything I tried to do seemed to generate eight more jobs for the list.
For example: the clean clothes from last week were teetering on the radiator in our bedroom with nowhere to put them. I mean nowhere. We needed to buy one piece of furniture for this child’s future bedrooom and there was already an overflowing bookcase in the spot where a small wardrobe could go. So we had to then go through all the crap contained there. There were baskets of more USB cables than any house could need, two boxes of files containing ten year old utility bills and bank statements. Stuff that cleary needed clearing out anyway. Next: to Ikea!
Fuelled by a cinnamon bun and some coffee I set off on my mission. I got all the small bits I needed quickly enough and entered the warehouse, taking a flatbed trolley for the wardrobe parts. My great plan was to stand looking a bit useless and asking a passing strong looking person to lift things off the shelf. I went to the information desk to ask something else where she took one look at me and asked did I need help getting anything. Why yes! Along came a Very Nice Man, who lifted a two metre long, twenty-six kilo box down for me, then pushed it to the checkout. I joined the queue and at the top the cashier said “do you need help getting those to the car” and I said why yes I do.
She rang someone and said “there’s a lady here with 2 trolleys needs a hand” Yeah that and the 8.5 month bump… Anyway she explained that they have people employed specifically to help you with this stuff. You don’t have to rely on a visible need (like my bump, or being elderly) and them taking pity on you – you just have to ask. Very Nice Man number two came to my car, cast a skeptical eye at first then hoiked the boxes in successfully (see above.)