So that was Christmas

The decorations are packed away for another year (with the exception of a large snowflake that somehow escaped the de-adornment), the kids are back at school and the post-Xmas house clear up and reorganise is well under way.

It has been the busiest Christmas I can remember. We were blessed with many visitors which was wonderful but exhausting.

Equally exhausting but the exact opposite of wonderful was the drainage emergency that struck us on Christmas eve. When we should have been singing carols under the twinkling lights of the town Xmas tree and returning home full of festive cheer to a glass of mulled wine, we were in fact  trying to deal with a blockage that meant I could not use my kitchen sink or (horrifyingly) my dishwasher. My ever resourceful husband, with the guidance and support of his dad, had an exploratory poke around before building a temporary system of pipes to divert the waste water to a drain that was flowing freely. The greasy, sludgy problem was then dealt with at a more convenient  moment (ie not on Xmas eve in the dark). Once the blockage was finally dislodged and flushed away, I tried to reward my husband with a big hug of gratitude. The hug did not last long. He absolutely stank.

A much more pleasant memory is that of my little Addy's school Xmas performance. It was a modern twist on the traditional nativity and she played the part of an angel. I was concerned that she would not be well enough to take part having already missed a panto trip because of a nasty cough and cold that seemed intent on  hanging around. I also harboured some lingering concerns after the meltdown she had during the previous year's performance. All my concerns disappeared when she stood up on stage and sang beautifully complete with actions.

Dylan also took part in a nativity. After the event he was given a certificate:

This was the most ill deserved certificate ever awarded!  He was quite determined that he did not want to be a shepherd. He refused to even try on the outfit I had lovingly crafted out of old pillow cases. Foolishly, I believed that when he was with his friends and everyone was dressed up, he would be carried along with the moment. Wrong. When all the little shepherds appeared and paraded around the church on their journey to see the Baby Jesus (delightfully played by a real baby) Dylan was not among them. Trailing behind with the grumpiest expression and wearing his JCB coat over the top of his pillowcase, was my boy. My beautiful, annoyingly stubborn boy. I managed to wrestle his coat off him as he passed but he refused to join the other children for their rendition of "While Shepherds watched their Flocks".  Some days later when I was putting him to bed and telling him I loved him, he asked "do you love me even if I wasn't a shepherd?" I told him "especially because you wasn't a shepherd". He sleepily added, "I didn't want to be a shepherd, I wanted to be just Dylan". Just Dylan is Just Perfect for me.

It has been a Christmas on a budget for us this year. On the positive side this has made me think very carefully about what I've spent money on and I have enjoyed the extravagances (such as my bottle of port) all the more for it. It has also meant explaining to Addy that some of the toys she has seen on the telly are expensive and possibly not quite as fantastic as the advertisers would have us believe. A trusting five year old did not want to accept that adverts tell lies!!! and she could not comprehend why I would worry about expense when Santa brings the toys!!! My eldest daughter is in her twenties - two decades of Christmases and I have NEVER had to deal with the idea of me doing all the work buying presents and Santa taking all the credit.  I  think my first born was far too sensible to entertain the nonsense that a fat man in a red coat visits all the children on one evening, climbs down the chimneys and leaves presents. We didn't even have a chimney in our first house! And she would have never allowed her sisters to believe such nonsense either.  I trod very carefully as I tried to offer an explanation that would not destroy Addy's treasured innocence but would also give her a slightly better understanding of my role in the process. I dared suggest that it couldn't be as easy as Santa bringing you everything you wish for otherwise he'd bring me two new sofas to replace my old tired ones. Addy holds her own in an argument. She laughed at me and said Don't be silly mummy, he wouldn't have enough wrapping paper.

Despite some disagreements about what might be a good thing to put on the Christmas list, both little ones had plenty of presents that they thoroughly enjoyed unwrapping and loved every one. My husband may have cracked his tooth on my home made Christmas cake but overall the festive fare did not disappoint. Best of all, good times with family and friends reminded us of what is most important. Santa didn't bring my sofas but he certainly made sure that the spirit of Christmas was there in abundance. 

A Santa Suit and a Smile

There is a slightly crumpled red and white jacket in my house at the moment - the sort of red and white jacket that might be worn by a jolly fellow who invariably puts in an appearance at this time of year. Pinned to that jacket is a slightly more crumpled square of paper bearing the number 80.

This was the jacket that I wore yesterday to take part in the Bridgnorth Charity Santa Dash.

It was an early start (especially for a Sunday!) with registration opening at 9am and Bridgnorth being on the opposite side of the county from the small market town that I call home. Thankfully, it was a mild morning. The merest hint of wind or rain could well have seen me making a speedy retreat to under my warm duvet.

I was taking part in the Santa Dash with my daughter and a friend from our running club, whose mad idea it was in the first place. After collecting our outfits and identification numbers, we settled ourselves down in the local Wetherspoons to wait for the start of the race with a nice drink and a comfy seat. The hilarity commenced as we tried on our santa suits.

The costumes we had been given were not of the highest quality and designed to fit no one as far as I could tell. We all managed to get the trousers on over our running attire and I had more than enough safety pins to make any adjustments necessary. Unfortunately, no amount of safety pins could deal with the catastrophic seam ripping that occurred with every movement we made. From our Wetherspoons window seat, we could see other participants gathering and there was plenty of evidence of further wardrobe malfunctions in the gusset department. It was encouraging to see that the trousers of people of all shapes and sizes were suffering the same fate as ours. Concerns that maybe it was time for a bum trimming crash diet were forgotten!

As the start time for the race crept closer, we made our not entirely inconspicuous way to the starting point.

The race started and finished right in the middle of a very busy Christmas Market. The organisers made their best attempts to photograph the participants, give a safety briefing and route instructions but it was virtually impossible amongst the hustle and bustle of the market. This would prove even more difficult at the finish.

As we waited for the off, clouds cleared revealing a gloriously blue winter sky and bright sunshine - perhaps a little too bright and low in that gloriously blue winter sky. It was completely blinding. A group of a hundred or so squinting, blinded Santas ran through the market to the cheers of spectators they couldn't see.

The route was described as approximately 2.4 miles long, mostly flat with one gentle incline. I should have anticipated that what the residents of the dramatically undulating South Shropshire countryside classify as a 'gentle incline' would be closer to what their neighbours in relatively flat North Shropshire would  call a long, steep, killer hill. I confess that it was more than I could manage to run all the way up that killer hill, especially given how much I was overheating in the non-breathable fabric of the cheap santa suit. I will be forever grateful that we abandoned any thought of actually wearing the trousers after the third seam splitting comedy ripping sound was the catalyst for more bordering-on-hysterical laughter back in Wetherspoons.

I have always admired the people that conquer the gruelling 26 mile marathon distance. Having had a small taste of how of it feels to run in fancy dress, I have considerably more admiration for the people who run their marathons dressed as chickens and bananas (etc!). I lost my beard before I even started running - it shed white fluff destined to be inhaled or swallowed far too easily. I wriggled out of the top part of the jacket about three quarters of the way round and the hat just had to come off shortly after.

There was lots of support on the way round for the spectacle of the sweaty Santas. However, as we approached the end and called upon our last reserves to go for the big sprint finish, we found our route through the market completely blocked by shoppers. I have never known a race where you have to dodge to the end saying 'excuse me please' repeatedly. It was a bit of an anti climax to an otherwise great run but we eventually squeezed our way through to the finish line via the back of the market stalls and collected our finishers medals!

Squeezing through the crowded market to the finish line!

My medal

It was a fantastically festive event and I thoroughly enjoyed the challenge of the run and the fun we had with garments not fit for purpose! Best of all for me was that the entry fee for the race was to raise money for the Shropshire Smile Maternity Charity that supports maternity units in the county. I always like to include some charitable activity at this time of year to counter the pressure to give in to the commercialisation of the holidays. This was lovely start to our Christmas celebrations.

A well earned post race mince pie and coffee