The season of goodwill is upon us! The shops online and in the High Streets are buzzing with Christmas fare. There are 3 for 2 and 50% off, etc, enticing us to spend our hard-earned cash. But I have become more savvy over the years. I now make a list and stick to it with self-inflicted discipline to keep myself from going overboard. I learned my lesson the hard way years ago, and now I am one step ahead of the crafty retailers’ advertising. Seriously, write a list. I do mine around the beginning of August (yes, as early as that). And, bit by bit, I find out what the grandkids have their little hearts set on, except George, who is 7 and will chop and change from one week to the next and start putting money aside when I price things up. The older grandkids all want money, so that is easy, and I begin to put money away for them from the beginning of the year; believe me, you don't notice it so much. Around October, I look at my Christmas decoration...
Enjoy the trip back to the 70'S
I was having a perfectly joyful little moment recently, listening to ABBA — as one does — when Dancing Queen started playing and suddenly, I was hit with a memory from about eight years ago.
It was a weekend at my son’s house (I go there one day over the weekend helping out with the grandkids while my daughter-in-law works - still do), and I was preparing lunch for the little ones. As Alexa belted out my disco anthem, Dancing Queen, I couldn’t help myself. There I was — channeling my inner 70s diva, grooving around the kitchen, saucepan in one hand, serving spoon in the other.
Enter Charlie, my then three-year-old grandson, armed with his toddler-sized Kindle and a very serious face. He toddled up to the child gate, stared me with a frown expression, tapped away on his screen like he was filing an official complaint, and declared:
“There’s no singing. No singing.”
Then, just like that, he spun around and toddled off back to the living room, leaving me frozen mid-spin, pot in hand, questioning my entire musical ability.
Apparently, Charlie was not ready for my ABBA tribute act.
From that moment on, I resigned myself to humming softly, so as not to offend the resident music critic’s ears. We laugh about it now — especially when I remind him of the story and he groans like all good grown-up kids do when you pull out one of those gems from their toddler days.
And yes, I still dance to Dancing Queen. Just... a little quieter. And usually when Charlie’s not around.
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