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...
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I usually jot down a few lines about my grandkid adventures— today is no exception! (Hopefully I’m not boring anyone yet... and if I am, just pretend you’re entertained.)
I arrived at my son’s house bang on time Saturday morning. And there he was: one hand wielding a vacuum cleaner, the other clutching disinfectant and a cleaning cloth, barking out a quick, “Hello Mum! Just off upstairs to do the bathroom!” Usual greeting.
Ryan always puts on for me what he fondly calls “the old music”—which, for the record, is the superior music of the 60s and 70s. Thank you, Alexa.
I pottered around in the kitchen jigging about to the music and doing a few chores waiting for the grandsons to slowly shuffle downstairs. One by one they all appeared bedhead and bleary-eyed between 10 and 10:30. It’s their Saturday tradition after all—late nights, no school, and that universal teenage expression that screams: “Is lunch ready yet?”
After food (because yes, I did start lunch), I had my favourite sit-down moment with George (age 6) and Charlie (age 11). That’s when George, with a perfectly serious face, turned to me and then to Charlie and said:
“Charlie broke my light sabre yesterday.”
Charlie snapped into action like a courtroom lawyer:
“You were wacking me on the arm with it—and it broke!”
Without missing a beat, George grinned and said:
“His arm is so strong, it broke my light sabre, so he did break it!”
Nice try, George.
I replied, trying not to laugh,
“George, if you hadn’t been whacking Charlie with it, it wouldn’t have broken!”
That sent him into a fit of giggles, still clinging to his heroic version of events. Charlie and I just exchanged a look, shared a grin, and turned the TV on.
Ah, the drama of brothers in conflict, but I know they will always be there for each other in the years ahead!
I would not swap these days for anything, another one for my memory box!
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