There's something about being a parent that makes you want to create memories to Cherish.  You want your spawn to grow up with fond recollections of what you did and to see them carry it on.  Traditions.  You want to make traditions.

The problem with traditions however is that you have to commit to them, like the pig did to a cooked breakfast. 

Think about it.  Every year.

When I was a kid my parents never went hugely festive.  Sure we had the tree etc but other than three things everything else was more rules than tradition such as no going into the lounge until everyone is awake and no opening presents until the dog had been let out in the garden to pee and a tea tray was ready.   When we were all older The Mother tried to replace the every man for himself with an elongated process of taking turns to open one present at a time.  Now I'm a parent I totally understand the wanting to see everything part but as a child ... who wants to watch everyone else let alone have everyone bog at you every time you own something forcing you to display over exaggerated expressions of gratitude for socks.

So let's talk about some of the traditions I've come across, we're not talking cultural ones we're just talking common popular, well known ones.   Before I get stuck in,  I'm not dissing them per se, I just can't relate to them.  So wind your necks in,  If it works for you.... I'm glad, possibly even envious.  I never said I wasn't a Grinch.

Pyjamas

I won't even pretend to understand the relevance of new PJ'S on Christmas Eve.  Apparently it's a 'thing'. A very popular thing even.  To me however it's just alien.

Stocking

I've never in my life had a Christmas stocking.  Ever.  Neither have The Spawn. In fact I think if they found some new underwear, chocolate coins and a toothbrush in the bottom of a giant Xmas sock their 'WTF?!' Reaction would be warranted. 

Elf on a shelf

The creepy little fucker that gets up to all kinds of stuff that if your kids ever did they'd get bollocked for whilst the parents Facebook all the scenes they spent their evening setting up to try and out-elf all the other parents on the Internet and win the precocious Pinterest crown.  The elf then pisses off back home on Christmas Eve. 

Ok so I admit.  The Dude would possibly find this hilarious.  Maybe.  But think about it... That's 24 different stunts or pranks every December for years. I'd end up hanging it with a noose.

Not to mention it's another little sod you have to clean up after. 

Christmas Eve boxes

A lovely idea.  No, really.  I'm not even being sarcastic here.  Seriously. 

If you have one child.

Or a fat wallet.

I was going to do one this year but I'd either have to replicate everything four times or else endure a real life Hunger Games as The Spawn battle it out.

Gifts for teachers

Just no. They get paid. Plus it's never just 'a' teacher these days.  It's three part timers and leagues of Teaching Assistants. Not to mention the Dinner Ladies, caretaker and office staff.  We're skint and I'm scrooge. Bite me.

Gingerbread houses.

There isn't enough gin or prozac in the world to make me endure the masochistic task of attempting this with The Spawn and the ones you buy and assemble taste like shit.

So what do we do tradition wise here? !

Santa Snacks

Who doesn't?  No wonder he's obese.  Surely leaving out a snack and drink for Mr C and a carrot for Rudolph is the law?

Christmas Lanterns

Two years ago The Spawn decorated some jam jars with tissue paper and glue.  We put a tea light (which my phone just tried to auto correct to Taliban... How absurd,  they wouldn't fit) in them.  We leave these next to the santa snack to glow and guide him to our home.

Pillowcases

As a kid we left Pillowcases out in our room and Santa would collect them,  fill them with presents and leave them in the lounge.   I have The Spawn do the same.

Reindeer food

I'd never heard of this until the inlaws bought The Spawn some from a charity shop a few years ago.  Every year since I fill bags with oats and glitter and the kids sprinkle out the front door (and all over the bastard carpet.  Gits. )

End of bed present

When I was a child, every year,  Santa would leave us a present on the end of our beds which The Parents geniusly named 'The End Of Bed Present'  catchy isn't it?  It was usually an annual.  The reason behind it was to keep us occupied (aka quiet) until everyone was awake and we were allowed downstairs.  This is something we've carried on with a The Spawn.

Chocolate Fingers

As a child, we always scoffed chocolate fingers for breakfast as we opened presents.   Whenever I remember I buy them too for Christmas morning.

Tree presents

Another from my childhood.  Every year my mum would buy us all a small gift which went on the tree. They'd stay there until New Years Day when they'd be placed next to our cutlery and a Christmas cracker at the dinner table.  Sure enough there's currently 5 presents (I don't bother getting myself one) on our tree.

There's so many cute ideas out there such as sooty/snowy footprints but like I said,  It's the commitmaent thing (and the mess)

I always thought I'd let each spawn choose a new Christmas bauble each year yet I never seemed to have the money at the right time and after the first year of parenthood passed it seemed daft to implement it randomly. 

What are your Christmas Traditions?  Did you create them yourself or are they from your own childhood? Are there any you regret starting or any you wish you had started?

Just a ramble.

My hair is beginning to forget what a brush looks like and I have toothpaste on my face.  The toothpaste is marginally more attractive than the crater it's assassinating.  My thighs have doubled more than the dough i'm contemplating making will ever rise, as they bulge like mutant black sausages out of my fleece lined leggings.  My arse looks pregnant.  I could strike a match on my leg stubble and my eyebrows are walking off my face.  I'be been in bed all morning yet i'm still knackered.  The ancient v-shaped pillow has been between my legs more times in the last week (thank you oh pain that is SPD, already.) than the poor deprived Husband has been all year.  It's okay though, he has a beard and he opened my Maltesers, breaking trust like that is hard to repair.  Granted he bought me flowers, but forgiveness isn't cheap.

I stood in front of my full length mirror this morning idly analysing whether the thin film of dust upon it makes the reflection more flattering.  It doesn't.  Nothing could.  From a distance, I look pregnant.  Far more pregnant than I am yet up close I know the secret, the apparent bump is wobbly flubber.  Yes, I ate all the pies ( & everything else that comes within 5 miles of my mouth)  Oh and orange juice in the eye hurts more than jizz ever did.

I'm 98% convinced that Moomin is a boy, we even have most of his name decided yet in a mild panic this morning I randomly leafed through the name book my mum used from the 70s adding to the list of girl names that all feel suspiciously wrong and that we'll never use anyway because, you know, it's a boy.

I'm marginally obsessing about the room rejigging that needs to be done and huge unaffordable purchases that need to be made such as bed and mattresses and other bedroom furniture.  Lets not forget paint.  Then I remember that August is ages away (conveniently forgetting that all this need to be done by June at the latest) and eat some chocolate instead.  And some crisps.  And a pizza... or two.

I'm getting The Guilts about how little I actually do with The Spawn so am contemplating the go-to activity of baking which means a) I don't have to leave the house and b) It's edible. At least in Summer and in the full swing of spring we have some remnants of a garden they can play in and they can play outside yet in this miserable weather it's colouring and television.

Oh to be one of those spiffingly good fun mothers, you know, the ones that have motivation.

Before you dash off, I have a new G+ page, please follow me google.com/+TiarasandprozacCoUkBlog .  Make the hormonal mess smile.  Go on.

Bah Humbug!

As a family we're not ones for traditions as such, especially Christmas ones probably due to our cynical and hermetic nature.  We don't have any accessible family or friends so parties and gatherings to commiserate celebrate the festivities aren't an option, which is probably for the best seeing as we lack the party gene.

The whole Santa shebang is proving somewhat interesting seeing as Thing One is incredibly unconvinced he exists, despite rather hoping he does, whilst being awfully crap at keeping his opinion to himself.  On the other hand if you so much as hint at relaying any questionable behaviour to Santa, The Toddler turns on the full waterworks.  Then there's the random Santa's dotted around that The Spawn have deduced that they're all fake cue a rather complex explanation from us about how there are so many children in the world and Santa is so incredibly busy that he couldn''t possibly be everywhere at once and prepare for Christmas Eve so he hires special helpers to help with his appearances, yet they're indeed sanctioned by Santa and carry his blessing. Phew.

Then there's the terribly virulent Elf on a Shelf fad that seems to be sweeping across the festive period.   The idea appears to be a toy elf that arrived at your house for advent and comes alive at night when everyone is asleep, basically being a naughty little shit.  I admit I struggle grasping the logic behind this, parents spend the entire of December instilling the necessity of good behaviour into their Spawn for Santa yet Santa sends them this little cretin who gets up to all kinds of bollocks and their bad behaviour is supposed to be funny and quaint? Oh the hypocrisy and mixed messages.  It also appears to have kick started a competitive streak among parents seeing who can pin the most creatively naughty antics their elf (yes theirs, not really the children's elf at all, admit it)   Besides any temptation that may have attempted to bewitch me into participating would be a dead duck seeing as the cynical spawn wouldn't buy the whole coming to life at night thing for a second.

I'm rather enchanted with the idea of Christmas Eve pajamas yet also a tad bemused, surely they'd be better being given at the beginning of December?  I'll readily admit to genuinely not understanding the whole Christmas themed brand new pj's .... the night before Christmas?

So what are our traditions?

* On Christmas eve for tea, we have a takeaway.  Preferably an Indian.  The children love it and it makes me somewhat less sulky about all the cooking I have to do on Christmas day.

* On Christmas eve we track Santa on the computer, sprinkle reindeer food outside, light our christmas jam-jar lanterns to guide Santa to our home and leave out the prescribed drink and snack for him.

* We don't do stockings, neither did my parents when I was a child.  I've never had the whole satsuma, toothbrush and new undies shenanigans.  Instead, like me and my siblings, The Spawn leave out a pillowcase for Santa to fill with their presents.  They leave it on the end of their bed, Santa brings it downstairs.

* Santa leaves an 'end of bed present'.  Again this is stolen from my own childhood.  It's usually an annual and gives The Spawn something to open when they awaken and will keep them occupied for a while.

* Nobody is allowed downstairs where all the presents are until everyone is awake.

* Again from my childhood, we eat Cadburys chocolate fingers as we open our presents.

* Boxing day dinner is always a miniature Xmas dinner made from leftovers.

* We have 'tree presents', another one from my childhood.  This is one small token gift each that stays on the tree until New Years Day dinner, they will be set on the table with the cutlery and crackers.

That is about as festive as we get.  If you think our Xmas traditions are scarce and scanty you should see our New Years ones...insofar as we don't have any.  We don't celebrate new years eve.

Changing Rooms

The time draws ever near to eviction, or so The Husband threatens though I'll admit I've done a terribly good job of evading it so far.  The Toddler, you have been evicted, please leave the big bedroom, is along the lines The Husband is thinking for you see, The Husband doesn't do co-sleeping so instead chooses to sleep on the sofa for several years.  However, seeing as he has decreed that The Toddler is indeed our last baby (can you hear my womb weep?  My eggs are trembling and distraught) I'm in no hurry to do anything and indeed am quite grateful that he appears to be a very young 3.5 yr old (unlike Thing Two who I often suspect was born a forty year old)  He doesn't sleep through yet and still breastfeeds throughout the night (& day).  Oh believe me I've attempted to remedy the latter yet it risks waking the entire county and I am loathe to force night weaning as when they're ready it is quite effortless, he obviously on some instinctive level needs it still and my job as a mother is to support his needs.  So to plant him in a room with Thing One or Two would hardly be fair on them.

The other thing The Husband conveniently neglects to consider is the nightmare logistics involved for you see it's not quite as simple as putting him in a room with a sibling.  It would make sense for The Toddler to share with Thing One (male, 9yrs) Yet to be blunt, they fight like cat and dog.  The there's Thing Two (female, nearly 7) who has the box room and is terribly pissed off that a) she has the box room b)cant share a room with me c) has to sleep alone.  Incidentally The Toddler rather adores Thing Two and when in the mood she is effortlessly brilliant with him.  Yet due to the obvious gender difference a long term solution of them sharing would probably be far from ideal so we've had the somewhat grandiose plan of letting The Toddler and Thing Two share for a few years then have The Toddler and Thing One share.  Still with me? terrific....because it doesn't stop there.

In order to action the plan it involves Thing One and Thing Two swapping bedrooms for a few years.  However, Thing One (unlike The Toddler who is rather partial to pink) point blank refuses to reside in a pink room.  Thing Two's room is, you've guessed it, pink.  Pink walls, pink curtains, pink blind and pink carpet. So firstly we'd have to redecorate the room, including replacing the carpet.  Then there's Thing One's lair, which is terribly scruffy with a bed that is literally held together by Heathen prayers and witchcraft.  We's need to redecorate this room too and then buy bunk beds with mattresses.  Bloody nora.  All this on a shoestring budget of erm....nothing.  Can you see my eyes rolling?  They're lodged in the back of my skull they rolled that far.

Thing One is vying for a red room, an absolute and definitive not on your fucking Nelly, seeing as he has The Husbands diabolical temper already.  Thing Two and The Toddler are rather hoping for orange.  Yes orange.  Indeed.  Do you see what I have to work with?

Thing Two would be immensely chuffed with a personalised room in some format seeing as the poor bugger has a gorgeous yet unique name meaning no personalised off the shelf adornments for her.  Ever. Oops.  Parent fail.  Sorry Thing Two, Sorry God (& Fuck you Coca Cola).  Granted there are many wonderful handmade customised things that are superbly darling yet frightfully out of budget that could perhaps be replicated had I a single craft bone within my being, which I don't. Not even a little one, not even at all. Arse.

Here comes my genius moment, are you ready?  Are you dazzled by the lightbulb beacon glowing above my head? Stencils.  Yes, stencils.  How utterly brilliant is that and before you get overexcited about the prospect of me artfully making such things.  Stop.  Remember?  I'm craft inept.  So it's lucky there are places out there such as Stencil Warehouse who you guessed it, sell pre-made stencils.  I'm thrilled, how is it for you?  Better still, they do Alphabet Stencils.  I have images of stenciling her name, emblazoned across an entire wall in her room, with the aid of spray cans, which seem infinitely more fun and easier then brushes, right?  I could even expand on that with a flurry of stenciled butterflies around it then The Toddler can have a transport theme and his name stenciled on another wall.  Jobs a good 'un.  How wrong could this possibly go? Sometimes, I amaze myself with my own genius.  I think I need a sit down and a large gin to recover.

The only problem would be The Husband having to restrain me from erm.... 'decorating' the rest of the house seeing as the possibilities are endless...my artistic vision renders me so misunderstood.

Yet for now, The Toddler will remain with me with our night time cuddles and the lullaby of his little breaths soothing my soul whilst The Husband, with prickly stubble and gnarly feet, can remain downstairs a while longer.

Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?

I'm still here, somewhere although as to whether i'm waving or drowning remains to be seen.

Despite the lounge being festooned with Christmas finery, or should I say looking like the exploded insides of a 1970's tarts handbag I remain to feel festive despite rather liking the festive period.  Perhaps it's a product of my isolation or mayhaps i'm just that bloody miserable.

It doesn't help that I have a loathing for many of the iconic treats, i'd rather suck out a tramps toe jam then eat mince pies, Christmas cake or indeed Christmas pudding.  I would buy some sprigs of festive mistletoe to adorn the house for Yule yet The Cat would probably eat it and failing that I may be forced to actually kiss The Husband.

I have achieved the unheard of and have completed approximately 99% of my shopping with 95% of that being wrapped already, I actually feel somewhat feint at that. I haven't the foggiest as to what must have come over me. Granted it hasn't been without a complaint (or three) due to some unfortunately crap couriers.  One would think that to be a courier, one really rather ought to be able to read and to use a bit of common sense and look for places.  I. won't even begin my tirade at the ridiculously typical inefficiency of The Royal Mail at this time of year.

The Husband and I are frightfully amused at some of our hiding places this year with many of the presents being incredibly right under The Spawns little noses.

Four more sleeps.  More more sleeps and then wham.  It's all over.  How utterly anti climatical and wasteful of emotional energy.

We did the parental duty of watching Thing Two be an endearing wee reindeer singing with her class and managed not to fall asleep through Thing One's carol service with perhaps the most boring rendition of the nativity from another class accompanying it.  I laid back and thought of Vodka.  Oh wait, that was during some other arduous event.

We survived the trauma of The Turkey of Doom.  I'm terribly partial to a roast Turkey and actually relish the idea of leftovers for several days and as such I ordered a frozen beast of a bird which resulted in a spontaneous bezerker behaviour at the freezer, with a hammer.......oops.

I'll regale you with our adventures in random crafting with the kids for Christmas shortly, once I've recovered.

The moon is made of cheese (..and other such tales)

Liar liar your bums on fire. Or it bloody well should be.  I'm astounded that my nose has not yet grown large enough to play hoopla on.  Whilst preaching to The Spawn the absolute necessitity to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth at all times we fail to realise the full extent of our hypocracy.

So the biggee's aside, you know Father Christmas, The Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy there's all the other white little lies we tell day to day because as I've said before, anything for an easy life.

Like when I'm hiding in the kitchen scoffing biscuits and chocolate yet when asked by The Spawn I solemnly declare i'm cooking tea and they can't possibly come in because it's hot hot hot and i'm terribly busy.

Then if they do happen to catch me stuffing my face and ask for some I apologise sincerely because 'I'm so sorry darlings this is grown up chocolate/ice cream and children aren't allowed it.  It's full of grown up things.  You can have a banana if you want?"

Or when I claim to be having a shit when really i'm just sat on the loo trying to grab a quick 40 winks.

Then there's the empty threats that you never have any intention whatsoever of carrying out irregardless of how utterly and cockle warmingly tempting they may appear such as 'if you don't do x, Christmas/after school club/your sleepover is cancelled' or the infamous 'if you don't behave we're going home right now' or the old favourate (sorry teachers. sorry god) 'RIGHT tomorrow we're talking to your teacher about this behavior of yours' which makes them positively quiver with the fears because seemingly it's terribly more important to be seen as well behaved to their teachers then it is to their bloody parents, don't mind me Spawn, you know...I only birthed you (water melon out of a cherry much?)

Lets not neglect the meal time lies 'it's not a vegetable! it's sports candy!!!' ... 'Ooooh magic trees, that's what Tree-Fu Tom eats to fuel his magic! nom nom!" (Broccoli) 'wowee look at those fluffy clouds, nom nom!" (cauliflower)

It would be rude not to mention the old wife tales tales and miscellaneous lies at this point, we've all heard /used them 'if you the wind changes your face will stay like that' ... 'I saw that.  I have eyes in the back of my head'  ... 'eat your carrots they'll help you see in the dark' ... 'eat your crusts they'll make your hair curl' ...'it won't hurt (much)' 'yes we're nearly there, just round this big corner' ... 'if you don't get back here by the time I count to ten i'm going'

Oh and then there's the lies purely for shits and giggles because we all need a hobby, parents hobbies just happen to often be picking on their spawn.  It's either that or alcohol.  These consist of things such as 'if you don't tidy your room, rats will chew through all your stuff and cover your room in poo' ... 'if you don't put your shoes on properly, eventually your feet come loose and fall off' .. 'oh dear you have toetus.....'

Oh shush. Are you genuinely trying to tell me you have never ever lied to your child?

See? so many lies.  Parents are quite awful beings really.  Thankfully The Spawn can be much awfuller....even so far as being awfullist.  It's okay though, when you eject the placenta they secretly jab you with a love venom which means even when they're vile and beastly you adore them...in a way....a little bit....sometimes.

'I hate tidying'

Thing One and Thing Two don't really have chores per se yet there are some simple tasks that we expect them to do such as putting their washing away and the real thorn in our side, tidying their rooms.  Don't get us wrong we're not OCD on the tidy front, infact I'm a reet scruffy bugger so we don't by any means expect it to be spotless, just well...tidy or tidier should we say, then it was.

Yet judging by the reaction Thing One displays every single time we ask him to tidy his room, you'd think we were asking him to go scalp himself.  To say he tantrums would be somewhat of an understatement.  He'll argue, shout, throw himself on his bed, throw himself under his bed, rock, scream, cry, hit himself, shout bloody murder etc etc.  Yes, really.

Thing Two however is a tad more subtle in her protests she usually just shuts her door, sits down and starts dressing up or reading or else wonders of wonders actually just gets on and tidies it!  Very occasionally if she's tremendously tired she may cry.  However, last night she silently handed me a note that said 'I hate Tidying' followed five minutes later, again in sullen silence, by another note that said 'I'm really tired'

Me too darling.  Me too. On both counts.

Falling on my head like a memory

The rain has returned with a vengeance and the grey has consumed the light.  There's a wanton heaviness to the air, it's ripe and swollen as if something is coming, only I have no idea what.

The Husband did a rather classy overture of vomiting at the school this morning due to a sodding migraine.  Apparently Thing One was most concerned yet as usual Thing Two really couldn't have given a toss.  I'm a walking zombie as The Toddler is teething, yes again.  The night before last he woke twelve times, yes twelve.  For the first time in my nursing history (Thing Two was nursed until 33 months and The Toddler is 26 months and still feeding like a newborn) I appear to have a blocked duct or something.  Ouch.  Like I really needed that.

As I predicted The Toddler is vocally following in the footsteps of Thing One insofar as being virtually wordless until he turned two and ever since his birthday new words are occurring each and every day and he indeed never shuts up.  Thing Two is most disgruntled that he has still yet to even attempt her name yet he's started calling her friend by name.  Oops.  Bad brother.

The adventures of becoming blonde have been aborted.  After another frying episode with uber lightener and incessant usage of violet toner my hair is still the attractive colour of piss with orange bits.  I even made myself use a protein treatment of raw egg yolks which yes, was as disgusting as it sounds, especially as i had no gloves and thus had to apply it with my bare hands. So in typical MamaUndone fashion I've ordered bright red, again though I'm awfully disappointed that it still hasn't arrived despite me pouncing the postman this morning.

Despite The Toddler being out third, he has introduced us for the first time to the phenomenon that is The Terrible Two's.  Quite frankly he's a little bugger. He has mastered the opening of gates, climbs everywhere and on everything and launches himself  from heights, has epic sulks and dramatic tantrums, gives death ray looks that would make Damian himself wither.  He is adamant, independant, stubborn and possessive.  His favourate phrases as of late are 'I'm NOT' (complete with a stomping of the foot) and 'No.'  This Morning he opened the gate and let himself into the kitchen, turned the washing machine on with all the buttons selected and then turned the microwave on before turning his attention to the stereo.  He is obsessed with closing doors and loves to let the dog out then shout at him until the poor dog comes in.  He can unlock doors.  He is the most adorable pest I've ever met (& the greatest contraception) 

His latest favourite thing is to sneak his beaker into the lounge and fill a variety of pots and pans from his play kitchen and drink the water out of those, strange child.

Half Term

Oh dear.  Only day two of half term and Thing One and Thing Two are already fighting like cat and dog with the familiar cacophony of tears, screams, accusations and shouting (& that's just The Husband and I) Even when separated and banished to their rooms, they still argue.  The garden is too damp for them to play in and the swing needs re-cementing.  I'm trying to convince The Husband with promises of sexual favours, that he really should let me bid on a climbing frame/slide doodah for Thing One and Thing Two.

This is going to be a long day.

Is it Valium o'clock yet?

I wonder if we have a spare cupboard I can hide in.