On Saturday morning, the hub made the epic journey into the loft, battled through boxes of carefully-packed-away-things (of which neither of us can actually remember what they are) and located our Christmas tree and decorations. As item after item passed gracefully down through the hatch in the ceiling (and by this you know I mean they got lobbed down), I made sure that no small children were harmed in the graceful manoeuvring of over-sized sparky reindeer from loft to floor. Festive challenge #1 – complete.
I always remember decorating the Christmas tree as being really exciting when I was little. Dad would put the Christmas cd on (same one every year, I knew all the songs word-for-word, loved it), then he and I would argue over putting the tree together, and after that mum and I would decorate it. That would always signal the start of Christmas in our house and I had romantic notions of recreating the same traditions in my own family. Minus the traditional festive falling out.
So on went the Christmas music channel and after about 30 seconds into Last Christmas (it ain’t Christmas without Wham!), Big Monkey declared , “This is rubbish, can we watch Spiderman?”
Resisting the urge to scream “But it’s Wham!” in his face, I tried to explain it was a Christmas classic, by which point he was already poking his little brother in the ribs with a bauble shouting “You can’t get me bad man, I’m Spiderman!”. Sorry George, clearly you’re wasted on these children.
So the tree went up (minus the fall-out), lights were entwined and baubles and ornaments were added. They were also taken off by little fingers almost as quickly as I was attaching them, but nevertheless, the decorating was complete. All that was left was for the hub to put the angel on the top. Something that should technically be my job as chief-tree-decorator, but due to height restrictions, I bestowed this honour upon him.
After we’d finished and admired our handiwork, I asked Big Monkey what he thought of the tree, excited to share this special moment with my son. “It’s nice” he said nonchalently, “but why don’t monkeys wear clothes?”
Yup. Why indeed.