The true meaning of Christmas

"How you feel about your family is a complicated thing. Deep down, you'll always love them. But you can forget that you love them, and you can hurt them and they can hurt you, and that's not just because you're young."

Old Man Marley, Home Alone.

Oh here we go…brace, brace…

"Good morning everyone, it’s Holly and Jamie here with you this morning on Heart FM It's the 1st of December and I’m so excited to play the lady of the season…Maria, take it away ’aaaayyyyaaaa I don’t want a lot for Christmas....."

Major hot flush incoming, blood pressure elevated and chia seeds from porridge this morning rising. Don't get me wrong, I love Holly and Jaimie at any other time of the year but not this month. I’m not ready for hysterically happy Holly who has actually been talking about Christmas since October. She sounds as if she’s taken an inappropriate level of illegal substances as she goes on to hysterically announce ‘it’s only 24 sleeps till Christmas".

It’s 7:28am and I’m on the school run with my eight year old son which I absolutely love at any other point of the year. It’s a beautiful drive to school crossing two counties from North Cornwall over the border to Devon. I love so many aspects of the drive from driving the windy lanes, getting stuck behind a tractor or two a chance but most of all its the chance for wonderfully concentrated time with my son and sometimes some really philosophical chats. Topics such as "mummy, would you rather be Batman or spiderman?" or "Mummy would you rather be a footballer or an author for the rest of your life?’ My response to the first question is usually "Batman" and the reason "because I’d delegate all my jobs at home to Robin" and my response to the second question "oh no I wouldn’t want to be a footballer as I’d hate someone to take my photo on the school run when I'm not really camera ready. My son usually wrinkles his nose and raises his top lip with confusion and says he’d probably be Batman and a footballer because they have cool cars.

Unfortunately at this time of year these quality conversations don't appear. It’s like my son has secretly scoffed a packet of Haribo before breakfast as he excitedly responds to the radio announcement t ‘yay so if it’s 24 sleeps till Christmas, it’s only 20 days till my birthday. Yay! I can’t wait!’

Birthday. Aah yes and then on top of the build up to the main man’s birthday, there is also my son George’s birthday three days before Christmas. I really didn’t think that through when I said to my husband "I think we should try and have a baby before I turn 40". When I rang Kieron at work after our first attempt to say I was impregnated, his response was "well what can I say. My boys are really focused."

Each year I say to George at this time, "why don’t we do something small? Perhaps take a few friends bowling or the cinema?" Secretly hoping I can have a nap if the latter. But no. It’s become a bit of a tradition to host George’s party at home which I dread but George and all his friends love as they get to terrorise the dog and jump on the beds while making an inordinate amount of noise. It will no doubt involve which will involve entertaining a room of hysterical 8 and 9 year olds, wiping their snot while the mum and dads hang back, forget they have children and enjoy their frothy coffees with a splash of baileys. The light and breezy greetings which I’ve attempted to portray on the school run for the year go out the window when I see the gaggle of mums in my kitchen, enjoy their coffees and saying they’ve been too busy to have a facial while I stop their children from bouncing on beds and attempting to destroy my house.

The truth of it is at this time of year I feel completely out of control. The ‘most wonderful time of year’ is like a unstoppable tumour, reproducing and growing in every aspect of my life while my body has to work increasingly hard at not shutting down and curling up like a woodland mouse ready to hibernate and fighting to the very end.

In addition to the two important birthdays in December, George’s school squeeze every event possible in to the last two weeks of the year providing us all with an exhausted, coughing mess of a child who struggles to get up in the morning.

The thought of the true meaning of Christmas and the birth of our saviour goes out the window and is replaced by the onset of shortness and intolerance. In addition to seeing it everywhere, it infects my workplace. My boss asks me for updates every second of the day ‘where are we on this?’ Our sales directors have mental breakdowns because they thought they’d met yearly targets but someone in operations had forgotten to communicate how we were recording revenue this year.

But the crux of my sinking feeling at this time of year is the thought of Christmas Day with my family. I know. Not a very Christian thing to say but honest. The ghosts of previous Christmas’s amalgamate in my mind creating the ultimate Christmas horror show!

It would always start off fine and would possibly lull me into a fall sense of security.

The three of us, my hubbie and son and I would head to the local church for their christingle service which would be lovely. I would see a sea of faces of people I’d grown up with who had returned to our hometown with their families. The oranges formed with ribbons and dolly mixtures distributed and then lit to provide the most wonderful atmosphere. After donkeys are brought into the church and have felt at ease to leave a small gift near the front of the church, the hoards pile out into the cold and stumble up to the ancient pub. Inside the pub we scramble to the bar and then holler out orders to Kieron. We then head home for a late supper and the next morning wake up at 5am to an excited young boy. All in all delightful.

My mum and dad always host Christmas but as the years of hosting and generosity, I’ve definitely picked up on the begrudgingly as the years have gone by. The levels of joy dissipate as the offers from other family members don’t arrive and so my Dad usually says ‘Well i guess we’re hosting this year’ . They do all the prep, cooking, getting the house ready, ensuring there are presents for everyone and reach Christmas Eve on the edge of their nerves.

My parents invite everyone for drinks and nibbles at midday and then we have lunch at about 2.

Please let me introduce you to my family….

Aunty Betty. My dads only sister and the eldest sibling. He doesn’t speak to his brother. Ladies captain of the Golf Club, vice president of the jazz jive club. If there is a committee o join, Betty jumps at the chance. She’s had two husbands who both sadly passed in midlife and her only daughter Kate lives at the further tip of Scotland and barely visits. Betty is such fun to be around as she’s probably the most sociable of any of my family members but because she spends all her time doing ‘extra curricular’ activities, by the time December arrives she is exhausted. So aunty Betty taps at the door and after flopping down on the sofa announces to the room ‘goodness I’m exhausted. I just managed to get my nails done this morning but that was a miracle as they squeezed me in at the last mine.’ Yes aunty Betty that’s a miracle. Not the birth of our lord. So dramatic.

Aunty Delores. Retired school teacher. She retired early as her sight was failing but she was delighted to retire early as the introduction of Ofstead tipped her over the edge. ‘I can’t believe they’re trying to tell me how to teach with all my experience.’ Dee is a true Scorpio. There is always a sting in the tail. ‘Do you remember when you were 15? Gosh you were at least a size 16.’ She would broadcast to my friends at the age of 18. Lots of comments about weight and a different view on anything- politics/ religion/ relationships, depending on who was in the room. All adding to a highly unpredictable environment but one which my hubbie always enjoys. ‘I love it as you just never know what she’s going to come out with.’

Uncle Kevin. Catholic Priest. Trained in Rome and was also bus conductor in Rome prior to training. Counsellor of some very interesting politicians and counsellor in a high security prison. All fascinating experiences but you wouldn’t know as he remains silent. Beyond awkward most of the time. Also has a severe dislike of my hubbie for once making a harmless joke to a friend of the family about my uncles relationship to his good friend Maggie. ‘Oh I know, just good friends’ was I believe the line but forgiveness has never happened.

And then there is the person that causes me most stress when the thought of being in the same room appears. My sister sally. Mid forties. She had a ‘miracle’ of a pregnancy and gave birth to a son a year ago. I thought this may be her chance to grow up but no it turns out that people don’t really change. On arrival of her son, she and her partner Simone moved into my parents and proceeded to act like babies. He was employed off and on and then left and for about a year my parents who have worked hard their entire life are now looking after the two babies. The continuing chat of ‘poor Sally, she’s trying so hard’ just has just stopped ringing true. I actually find the relationship between my sister and my enabler parents unbearable and as such I suggested that my hubbie, son and I escape this year as I just couldn’t cope with being in a room with these people.

As I ease into this year, I pick up my Bible which I hope will be my guide through these uncertain times.