Christmas with gun-toting grandma

Christmas was a bit different this year. As previously mentioned, The Daughter was unable to get away from Cornwall this year, and so spent her Christmas with The Boyfriend's family. First thing on Christmas Day, she had to attend chapel, as The Boyfriend's dad is the minister, and they then returned to turkey and copious amounts of wine. We had a slightly tipsy phone call at lunch, during which the phone got passed round the table and we wished her a good day. The Sexist Uncle was also absent, victim of a bad back and knockout painkillers. My Mother had stocked his freezer, cleaned his house and written down the time of his Downton Abbey Christmas special, so he was fine. 

Boxing Day saw the addition of Son Number One's new girlfriend - a huge improvement on her predecessor, having a wonderful sense of humour and generosity of spirit. Being 5' 2" tall, she endures jokes at her expense from my 6' son, mainly about getting child fares on the train and whether she needs a high-chair in restaurants. 

As the wine flowed, so did the family stories. The time when my Father saw a panther whilst inspecting a seed-trial field in Woolpit a couple of years ago. Apparently, it was prowling round a large rabbit warren, and the nearby farmers all knew about it, reacting with a cool, 'Oh, you've seen it, have you?' when quizzed. 

My Mother earned a new respect from her grandsons when she confessed that, aged 10, she'd blasted a hole through the wash-house door whist wielding the shot-gun her brother had been keeping secret. Obviously, it didn't stay secret for long. 

The Husband had a share of stories from his years in the Territorial Army, one of which involved the mysterious disappearance of an officer's snappy little dog during an artillery exercise. And then there was the 'cease fire' order that didn't go quite as planned. It involved a train and a live firing exercise, but that's as much as I'll say...

I'm wondering what will be confessed in years to come - when it's too late to get into trouble with mum. 

Huggy kissmas

School has broken up for the Christmas holidays, today is the Winter Solstice, and I haven't even got the tree or decorations out yet. Thanks to someone passing on the worst cold for years, I missed our staff Christmas do, along with the children's lunch and afternoon of singing in the school hall. Is this why I don't feel the slightest bit 'Christmassy'? Or is it that The Daughter can't get away from work this year, so we'll have our first ever Christmas without her? Or maybe that, even though it's meant to be the season of goodwill, there are still some people around who are determined to be grumpy and bitchy and to bring everyone else down with them. Or maybe I just haven't had enough wine yet. 

The last is easily rectified, thanks to Mrs GSOH, who bought me a gorgeous bottle of red wine 'from her children'. I know The Daughter will be having a wonderful time with her boyfriend's family down in Cornwall. Her presents have been sent, and she's up to date with her studies (or so she says...). I know the Christmas format will change now my children are growing up, and I know they're all happy, so I should stop moping. One of the grumpy people nearly got an earful from Ms Fab yesterday. 'If she moans at me,' Ms Fab informed me, 'I'm going to tell her to piss off.' I looked forward to it all afternoon, but it didn't happen, unfortunately. Lots of us have wanted to tell this person where to go, including The Boss Lady, but nobody has the courage. 

There were some very generous children (or parents, rather) this year. I have to confess now, that I have no willpower when it comes to saving presents for opening on the correct day. As soon as I get home on the last day of term, my sons hang around me like scrounging dogs. 'That one looks chocolate-shaped,' they point out. 'This one sounds like biscuits. That's a candle - open it later.' But the nicest thing I received? It was a hand-drawn card with the message, 'Thank you for always being there for me.' It was from a girl who reached womanhood at the ripe old age of eleven, and has found the resulting mood-swings and all that goes with them, confusing and utterly humiliating. If she found me a useful person to have around, then I'm glad. Sod subordinate clauses and algebra - that's what I want to be there for. 

Actually, the children have been the best thing for my lack of Christmas spirit. They've been very cheerful and have constantly demanded hugs from me and each other. A nice change from last year, when we ended up prising them apart due to violence rather than affection. I also received a lovely letter from a Jehovah's Witness child, who went to careful lengths not to mention Christmas or presents, but who wished me a 'restful holiday, with lots of nice books,' despite the fact that I'd not made her a librarian. As the children left at the end of the school day, The Bookworm wished me a 'stonkingly brilliant and huggy kissmas.' Thanks. Same to you. 

Whatever you celebrate at this time of year, I hope you have a good one. 

Library woes

I risked making myself unpopular yesterday afternoon, and sacked the librarians. Out of the four children who have been wearing 'librarian' badges since September, only one shows any enjoyment of the job. The others have to be constantly reminded to tidy shelves and put books in order, and they do it very halfheartedly (one, I suspect, would rather be playing football at break times, but doesn't want to lose face by saying so). As I'd had a three-o'-clock-in-the-morning-idea about encouraging reading and library-use, I decided to start afresh with some more enthusiastic staff. 

I want to start a library newsletter, to which all juniors can send book reviews and short stories. I want to include author profiles, information about new books in the library and other such things. I used this as an excuse to get new librarians. It wasn't fair, I explained, to dump all this extra work and research and giving-up-break-times on those who had only signed on to tidy book shelves. So I told the class that I was starting again. I'm doing it all properly, with the approval of the class teacher, and am making the children who are interested apply in writing by next Friday. I will then pick four who give me the best reasons and show a spark of enthusiasm for reading. I've had three letters already, written in their free time. 

One writer couldn't be bothered to find out the correct spelling of my name, just writing, 'sorry, I know this is spelt wrong.' So find out how to spell it?? That letter's gone on the rejection pile already. I don't want newsletters that are littered with spelling mistakes simply because someone can't be bothered to be right. Another letter is from one of the former librarians, saying that she knows she wasn't doing a very good job, but promises to do better if I choose her. No, sorry, she's ignored constant nagging from me to tidy shelves, so that's another one binned. Another former librarian just sat there with a wobbly lip while I explained my ideas. They kept shooting tearful glances at Ms Fab, who pointedly ignored them. Did they write me a letter, or come to speak to me? No. I'm expecting a complaint from Mum on Monday. One letter is promising. It's from a girl who's always reading, and has said she thinks working on a newsletter would help improve her writing. Several others are writing their letters at home, although I have pointed out that I want something written by them, not that parents have dictated. 

Ms Fab and I have the idea that, if this library newsletter is a success with the children, we'd like to start a school newspaper. I'm now off to spend a few hours on a prototype newsletter that I can show to the children in a this-is-what-I-mean kind of way. And I suppose I really ought to let the Boss Lady know what I'm up to...

Happy birthday, Dad

My mother phoned yesterday. 'It's your dad,' she said. 'I had to phone you...' I instantly reached for the car keys and hoped I had enough fuel to get to the hospital. 'His remote-control helicopter crashed into the neighbour's garden - he's had to knock on their door to ask for it back,' and she fell about laughing. 

It's his 69th birthday today and he's probably celebrating it by downloading new games onto his computer. I got him an Amazon voucher for his present, as he has a long list of books he wants to add to his Kindle. He's got hundreds of songs on iTunes and downloads them onto his iPod, which he plugs into the adapter he made sure was included in his new car. If we're having computer problems, he's the first person we phone, and he has to rephrase his computer jargon as, often, I have no idea what he's talking about. 

He's really enjoying his retirement, and the only time my mother worries about him is when he takes his credit card to PC World. 

Actually, both of my parents are making me feel old. My mother's thinking of getting a Facebook account and regularly phones to tell me not to call her next week. 'We'll be in Austria... it was a last minute deal. Just in case you try to phone and think we're dead.' Oh... okay... thanks Mum. 

Happy birthday, Dad. You're great the way you are... just don't break anything, okay?