Wednesday, 12 December 2012

How Many Weeks 'Til Christmas?

It can't be only two, surely?  According to the corner shop it is, so it must be true. I'll certainly not be winning prizes for  practical Christmas preparations; I'm nowhere near finished. To be honest I'm barely started -  yet for once I'm feeling pretty unfazed about it all. We don't 'do,' a huge Christmas nowadays anyway. Apart from MIL and SIL's pressies which we delivered last weekend, I've not even begun shopping yet; I've just emerged from a mammoth card-writing session with at least a couple more bouts  to go. With the exception of overseas letters, I tend to do these in bursts  with little regard to priority. Hence all  the cards for my Franciscan small group are duly written, stamped and laid out neatly in the hallway ready for posting, those for supervision group I'll hand over tomorrow, whilst siblings, wider family and  friends far and near, church and neighbours will just have to wait. It will all get done eventually, it always does. As long as the offspring get home safely - Ms GP back from  NY( yes she's there  again!) and Mstr GP MA (you must indulge a proud mother here) from the frozen wastes of Norfolk.

And if, as last year there are 'blips,' i.e. Grown up son still can't find the stocking Grannie gave him as a toddler, we'll just make do with one of Mr GP's old socks. Santa tends not to call round until after Midnight Mass in any case. Both 'children' are remarkably laid back about the odd 'his' that finds its way into the 'hers' stocking by accident; likely because Mrs Santa is by then  rather too hyped up on carols, incense, candlewax and general good cheer for her own good.  Or as sometimes happens,  it's Mr Santa who fails to appreciate the intricacies of the  labelling system that seemed such a good idea when the elves made their first delivery* to Maison Greenpatch. We'll manage. All Will Be Well.

* To be fair - Mrs Santa is usually the one responsible for the forgotten  bags of mouldering chocolate coins/Santas/Snowmen discovered in the depths of the wardrobe the following summer.

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