One of my favourite bloggers is pregnant and recently announced that she's made her cake. After reading this I immediately felt adrenaline rising through my body, my blood pressure dropped, my vision clouded over... it's November. Already. how did this happen?
So began one of what has become our own, personal Christmas rules: I buy the ingredients for the cake and pudding and the Frog starts pointing out how much cheaper it would be to buy them ready made. Apparently, the cost of the cooking gas needed to steam a pudding for 7 hours once a year will break us; the cost of his rusting Saab and its never-ending battery troubles however... well, that's not mine to discuss...
Either way, the rule in this house is that we make the cake in advance (and make a wish while stiring it) then lace it with so much brandy in the intervening weeks that the Spud isn't allowed to have any of the finished product.
I arrived into this marriage with a whole host of Christmas traditions evolved over the years of my childhood. My husband arrived into the marriage with none at all. I was hoping we could develop our own; he was hoping I wouldn't notice it was December. We have however managed to stumble across one or two of our own rules - to whit:
- We make our own cards. This means that we get very stressed about our annual Christmas card photoshoot and then enjoy it enormously.
- The Frog actually instigated our first real rule which is that we open one small present on Christmas Eve (it's very French, apparently).
- Our Christmas stockings groan under their own weight and are The Best Bit.
- We have a tree. This is a highly-contested rule due to my own conflict about killing a tree and the Frog's hatred of fallen needles. All the arguments however end every year in us buying whatever is left at the local garden centre on Christmas eve. Last year it was a mammoth. The year before it was a poor, dead, balding, shedding remnant. Poor trees.
- We give our son a new decoration to hang every year. Each year we found we have lost or broken the one from the previous year.
- The Frog sneaks away on Christmas Eve to remove half the tree decorations because 'they're tacky and bourgeouis'
- We always save the best presents for last. The Frog hates this as he is chronically impatient and so he is always trying to work out which one is his 'big' present. This from a man who is over 50 and professes to hate Christmas.
I'm hoping that as the spud grows we'll develop more rules and traditions but for now, I think that's us done.
Now on to get that cake started...