JYC 4 Dreaming of a Perfect Christmas

This is how it would be, in a perfect world.

My perfect Christmas Day begins with the magic of Christmas Eve. Having finished all my shopping, wrapping and preparations, I am free to spend the afternoon snuggling on the sofa in front of a cheesy Christmas film, with R, M and a big box of chocolates, while my devoted husband prepares dinner.

After a simple supper for the children, watching the Advent Candle burn down to its stump, it is time for a bath and warm, clean pyjamas. Then, TV off and Christmas lights on, I read them the last chapter of our Advent Book- Jostein Gaarder’s ‘A Christmas Mystery’.  Excited, happy, and without quarrelling, the children decide what to leave for Father Christmas and Rudolph. Not having a fireplace, we hang ‘Santa’s Magic Key’ on the front door and all take our stockings upstairs.  P and I arrange ours at the foot of the bed a swell. Teeth, story and settle down to wait for Him to come.

When all is quiet upstairs, I unearth the immaculately wrapped presents from their hiding places and arrange them artfully under the tree, then sit down with P to  a beautifully cooked light dinner while watching a the  QI Christmas special. And so together to bed.

Next morning dawns bright and frosty. P brings me tea in bed (but not before 8am).  The children awaken to bulging stockings – ‘He’s been!’ Piled into our bed, we take turns to unwrap what Father Christmas has left, P and I eking out our smaller pile of gifts to keep pace. When this is done, we hasten downstairs to see what else is under the tree. Nothing is lost, broken or duplicated; every gift is exactly what was wished for.

Dressed in our party best and scented with extravagant new smellies, we sit down together for a full Christmas breakfast of sausage, bacon, scrambled egg, fried bread and Bucks Fizz.

Mid-morning, we pile our gifts into the car and head over to SIL’s house where cousins are playing happily together in snow that miraculously fell overnight on gardens but not on the road.  We graciously take turns to exchange gifts, sipping champagne and basking in the children’s politely expressed gratitude.

At 2pm we sit down at a beautifully-laid table and tuck into succulent turkey, perfectly crisp roast potatoes and gloriously rich Christmas puddings. The children eat politely then pull their crackers before slipping off together to share their new toys and leaving us to linger over cheese and port. Everyone wears their party hats without demur and no one is sick.

Replete, and pleasantly tipsy, we eventually leave the table and settle down to watch a film which no one has seen before and everyone enjoys. The afternoon passes in a gentle haze, grazing on lebkuchen and satsumas and smiling indulgently at the children until, finally, it is time to pile our presents into the car to head home. Nothing is forgotten and we leave nothing behind but the children’s polite ‘thank yous’.  

Back home, the house is miraculously clear of wrapping paper. The children are tired out and happy to go to bed. They are asleep within minutes, dreaming of Christmas pleasures, leaving P and I  to settle n the sofa with a glass of Baileys and grown up Christmas television.