The Princess has just given me her letter for Father Christmas. At the age of nine, she's still a firm believer and I am over the moon. I love and embrace her innocence.
|Not sure how anyone can believe, when the beard is this bad!!!|
This was the Prince at his pre school Christmas party today.
Trouble is, now I've seen her letter to Santa, I've realised we've not bought her ONE thing from her list and we've finished (and overspent on) our Christmas shopping. It would appear she's forgotten about the items she mentioned two weeks ago. Oh frickadoodledoo.
And so this is (nearly) Christmas. And what have you done?
I have taken the children to a Christmas party and they got their faces painted.
I have reflected on pre-school Nativity plays past:
|Five years ago|
I have fallen in love with our Christmas tree which isn't dropping a needle. It smells gorgeous. It's been up since December 1st. I get so sad when it's time to say goodbye (tragic soul, huh).
The Christmas shopping wasn't always plain sailing...
And I've had a lovely parcel that the lovely Lucy at http://lucyvioletvintage.blogspot.co.uk/ sent me ALL the way from Australia.
She and I are obsessed with vintage Ladybird books.
|I squealed. I actually squealed!|
|The Husband and I met when he lived in Banbury...|
And Lucy also made me these cute cards and gift tags below:
Do hop over to her blog, it's lush. Thanks very much Lucy. You are one of my favourite bloggy lady birds...
Today I have been all about the charity. The charidee. The cherry tree.
|Coat, cardie and skirt all cherry tree items|
|Less than £15 in total darlings.|
|The coat was a tenner from British Heart Foundation. |
The brooch was a gift from http://shabbychicsarah.blogspot.co.uk/
Photo taken by The Prince this afternoon
My Nan bought the coat for herself. It's originally from Debenhams. Sadly she died nearly three years ago and hadn't even worn the coat. I feel closer to her every time I wear it. This Boxing Day will poignant as it was three years ago on December 26th that I last saw her. We held hands, as always when we chatted, and I thought I'd see her again in the New Year. I didn't.
Anyway, so she lives on every time I wear the red coat. The cardie is from the Cats Protection League and cost me £2. It's originally Per Una and I love it. Muchly. It has an embroidered bicycle and everything. The skirt was about £2.50 and I wear it a lot.
|Photo by The Prince|
|Photo by The Prince|
My other cherry tree purchases: The Santa hat for 20p from Scope. We love a Santa hat, don't you?
And this vintage 100 per cent wool duffel coat from St Michael. I love it on The Prince so much. £4! A steal!
|Ignore the white icing on the side. No, ignore it I said.|
|Afternoon beach picnic|
|Oh, his shirt is second hand too. Land of Boden don't you know...|
It caught my eye and cost me £1.
And me? My own "discovery story"? Weeeell................
'Twas the night before Christmas and I was ten years old. I remember feeling the excitement as the tingle of expectation shivered down my spine. After the carol service and mince pies by the fire, I kissed my parents and siblings goodnight and went to sleep with my eyes shut tight.
Around midnight, something made me wake. I heard a noise on the landing outside my bedroom. It was Him, I knew it. Should I leap out of bed and ask for a ride on his sleigh? Could I pat his reindeer and gently feed them a carrot, while burying my head in their soft, smooth fur? Could I hug Saint Nick, marvel at his rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes and then boast to my friends that I'd actually met him?
I didn't know what to do. I was literally quaking in my bed. I heard the rustling of wrapping paper, footsteps padded up and down and I couldn't breathe.
Slowly, and very quietly, my bedroom door opened. I shut my eyes as tight as I could, and held my breath, for fear he would not fill my stocking with gifts if he knew I was peeking. I lay as still as I could and heard a sackful of presents land swiftly at the foot of my bed.
Then Father Christmas left the room but I heard him still outside my door. He had more to bring to me, I could feel it.
I heard him creep back into my room but dropped something heavy and he said, in an exasperated whisper: "Oh BUGGER it."
This wasn't right. Father Christmas didn't swear... I slowly opened one eye, as carefully as I could.
And lo and behold, in front of me, picking up the doll which he had dropped from a shiny new pram, was my dad in a pair of Y-fronts.
At first I thought he must have been helping Father Christmas bring in all my presents, but slowly yet surely, realisation dawned on my disappointed, naive little face. My illusion was rudely shattered.
What was worse, I don't remember - realising that Santa didn't exist, or seeing my dad swearing in his kecks - but I didn't let on for another year or two as knew my lovely dad would be deeply disappointed.
Rule number one - Santa NEVER drops a present, and more importantly, he certainly NEVER uses rude words.
|Here I am on that said Christmas still recovering from the shock, with my brother Robert and sister Anna. I loved that doll and pram for many years.|
(Am a bit ashamed now, hence the smaller font...anyway, the awkward thing was that after we stopped giggling from swapping our stories, we suddenly noticed a mum walking out of the shop with her daughter who was about ten. And I had a terrible niggling feeling that the little girl may have just listened to every word.)
(......still, I guess she can turn it into a funny story when she is older, about how she "discovered". That's what we told ourselves anyway as felt MORTIFIED).
Merry Christmas everyone and thanks for following my blog. I don't do adverts or giveaways or promotions so I flipping love it when people come across my humble dronings on. Cheers!