We 3 Kings...

Yesterday when I picked Egg up from school his teacher came up to me and asked whether Egg had told me that he was going to be a 'King' in the school christmas concert. I was so proud! My little Egg...a King (sigh). I had my mobile out, ready to call Jay and tell him the charming news, but as we walked home, Egg let slip that there were several kings...in fact possibly as many as 14 if he is to be believed.
I asked him if he had a speaking part, and skaking his head no, said that 'loads of boys are going to be kings' and that all you have to do is march across the stage. Ho hum. Nonetheless I am very excited to see my wee man in his first production. Being musically inclined he goes around the house singing the songs with the cutest intonation and I can't wait to see his beaming face alight as he stands proudly on stage.

We finally got our Christmas tree all decked out - if not with boughs of holly, then at least candy canes, twinkling LED lights and all the beautiful treasured ornaments my mom has procured for me over the years (thanks Mom I adore them and shall treasure them always). It's a beautiful tree, so tall and full and regal. In fact it's so giant and spectacular it just barely fits in our high-ceilinged front room. I had a 'Charlie Brown' moment when I saw it last weekend...it was standing back from the rest, perfect in every way and I knew it was 'the one'. It is by far the best one we have ever had or likely ever will have:)

I have to confess however, that there have been a few false starts with the decorating aspect of it. First of all I had to upgrade our lights to the giant obscenely expensive version after the large strands I purchased failed to make it all the way up the tree! Then, I discovered that the fantasy of 'trimming the tree' as a family, with Christmas music, big smiles and all of us doing it together was SO not going to happen. For a start, the hubby felt that shouldering the bohemouth tree down the street on his back and hiking it up the stairs and wrenching it into place marked the end of his commitment regarding festive decor. Fair enough. As for the munchkins, well they proved not only unhelpful but downright counterproductive, as they began removing my precious ornaments as soon as I placed them delicately on the Nordstrom needles. It was like a reverse assembly line. I would take a star, place it gently on a branch, step back and admire my handiwork, then turn around and bend down to get another, only to stand up again and see that the previous ornament had been removed and was tucked under one of the boys arms as they ran giggling from the room.

Eventually I cottoned on to the fact that it was a pointless effort, and so the other night while they lay sleeping in bed I did the whole tree and had a lovely evening of reflection (quite literally) as I stretched out on the worlds most comfy sofa and admired my handiwork glittering amongst the twinkling lights.

I suspect it is only a matter of days before the tree is knocked over as we are 'puppy-sitting' Auntie Mo's super-naughty dog 'Daisy' over Christmas, and she likes nothing more than to jump up and chew the tree and the various dangly ornaments jiggling temptingly just in reach. So unless the tree remains bare on the bottom then we're just going to have to deal with it. If Daisy isn't the culprit than it will be Egg or Dumps as they love crawling underneath it and scouting about for candy canes within reach.

At least we've learned a lesson from Christmas past, when one year we stupidly hung chocolate santa's on our tree and paid the consequences. I've had to also rethink the Christmas star biscuit decorations as that would just be foolishness to end all foolishness. Those chubby chickens would have the tree stripped bare faster than you could say 'hanging biscuits' and even if hung high, they would find a way to navigate the sofa armrest and likely wield a broom handle if it was called for.

Anyway, the husband is off to Chile on Saturday, Auntie Mo is off to sunnier climes, and I have to figure out a way to get through a week of solitary childcare, arrange for a total kitchen renovation in one of our flats, and puppy-sit the worlds naughtiest, untrained puppy...URGHHH. I have gotten to the stage where I am unwilling to deal with fecal matter unless it is directly resulting from one of my offspring. In the poo-stakes I am well and truly batting above my average and I am afraid that if Daisy the Dirty Dog doesn't watch her toilet habits, then she just may end up center stage at our Christmas dinner in the form of some tiny tasty kebabs.