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… who disappear for months then only post to say “sorry, I’ll be back soon”…

*eyes own blog and grimaces*

But.

It’s that time of year again – and I have no doubt the writing therapy will be needed. This morning I was reading a blog, and was suddenly drowned in a wave of sadness. And jealousy.

It was a simple thing – a couple of posts with pictures of the blogger with her Mum and Dad, being normal and doing family stuff over Christmas. Giggling and being silly and comfortable and warm and NORMAL.

This year I refuse to get lost in it. I will NOT. Willnotwillnotwillnotwillnot.

But I will catch up on the last 6 months. Honest…

It’s still snowing. I know, it’s a pain. It makes getting around tricky, it makes getting Christmas deliveries a bit hairy, and it’s making getting food in for the holidays a bit awkward.

But.

I love it.

I do, I do, and no amount of complaining will tell me otherwise.

wwwoooooHHHOOOOOOOOO!

Snow just makes me feel like this.

See? 8 in the morning, and I'm not feeding children, I'm in the garden with the camera...

But i do have an ally in my Snow Love...

Oh, AND… the outside Christmas lights are up, and the snow makes them look sooo pretty…. (not that this picture does them any justice whatsoever)

Jolly’s poorly. No.1 is VERY poorly. Pink still poorly. Mummy & Daddy have threatening sore throats… Really evil virus sweeping the school which takes two weeks to go and involves copious amounts of sick and diarrhoea and temperatures. Fingers crossed ours is the common or garden end-of-term-exhausted-boy Cold.
Cake, anyone?

Actually I’m worried about No.1, he’s not well at all, and will be straight down the docs tomorrow for a large dose of penicillin. His glands in his neck scare me – I thought mine got big, but his are horrific. And his throat is so swollen inside its practically touching.
Oh, must tell you about my Poor Lamb. The doorbell rang tonight and it was Father Christmas on his sleigh (lions club do it every year, go round all the villages collecting money and dishing out sweets to the children who come out and talk to Father Christmas in his big tractor-drawn sleigh). Boy was still up, so he was whisked out by Daddy and had a chat with Father Christmas. Jolly was still awake, so I scooped him out of bed and carried him out to see Father Christmas, and wish him a Merry Christmas.

We came back in and there was No.1 at the top of the stairs. My biggest boy looked about 3 years old, pale and big-eyed in too-small favourite old pj’s, he heard the others excited chatter and just burst into tears
Honestly, I’m SO not worrying about Christmas at the in-laws any more. Things really can’t get much worse!