Christmas, magical madness

Ah, Christmas. It’s November fourth, yet here I am, my thoughts stumbling towards you, rather drunkenly, I must admit. For you are magical. And this year will be the most magical of all! Of course last year was magical. It was the turtle’s first Christmas. Awwwwwww. At my insistence he got an Elmo Live. Which he broke a scant few weeks later. He can’t be blamed. He was a mere five months old. It was me and my insistence that Santa bring an inappropriate present. A present that couldn’t be returned, because of a kindly uncle who took it apart until he and Elmo resembled Frankenstein and his monster. Poor Elmo was never the same after that. There was clicking. And grinding. And the record (or whatever magic was inside him) got stuck. And that was that. Before February even landed on our doorstep.

This year I will not be blinded by bells and whistles. In fact, I have not been. Christmas is sorted. For the turtle at least. Yes it is a bit early. But otherwise I will be swayed by the lovely ads on telly for all of the bright, shiny plastic things that I really can’t abide. If one more singing, dancing, shiny, plastic thing comes into this house I may well lose my mind. So, on behalf of the little turtle I have asked Santa for this.

A garage. Wooden. No bells. No whistles. And it looks, to me, virtually indestructible. A toy he can “grow with”. We’ll see.

It’s done now anyway. Whatever happens, this is unlikely to send me around the bend tweeting “Twinkle twinkle” or something at me, randomly, just as I think the little turtle is about to nod off. Thwarting my plans for “making and doing” or reading or staring into space.

Speaking of  “making and doing”, I’m thinking of asking Santa for a sewing machine for myself. Not a new one. Or even a good one. Just one. To nurture my thoughts of making things. From scratch. Obviously these things would turn out very “professional-looking” and people would be very impressed by what I made. My fear of the foot pedal would not overwhelm me and I would not have Mrs. Lawless shouting “Straight! Straight! A straight line” at me from the top of the classroom. This wonderful gift from Santa would not linger in the garage, gathering dust. Looking at me accusingly, shouting “See! See! I told you she wouldn’t use me”  at the Hubby every time he walked by.

Nope, a sewing machine from Santa would be just the thing to usher in a new era in this house. An era where consumerism gone mad would stop. There would be no buying things for the sake of buying them. There would be making things for the sake of making them. And everything would be brilliant. The way things are always brilliant at Christmas. Just before you open your presents. Because once you open them, you find your grandmother has gotten you knickers, again. And your aunt? That would be a nightdress. And your mother is ranting and raving in the kitchen about how tea towels are not a present. And Da is trying to be delighted with more socks. Your brother? He’s giving out about “Darby O’Gill” or something being on the telly, again. And your sister? She’s off gallivanting, even though this is Ireland and the only thing open is the Church.

As I said, Christmas is magical. The magical thing this year? Being away from all of the madness. Just me, the turtle, and the hubby. No sign of Darby O’Gill or flannelette nightgowns or tea towels or thick woolen socks. And likely as not, no sign of a sewing machine, because I’m not sure I have the confidence to ask Santa for it.

No doubt I’ll miss the madness though. Because as magical as Christmas is, there has to be a bit of madness to make it all worth while.

(Written for Sleep is for the Weak’s Writing Workshop – prompt # 2 –

Tell us about the worst Christmas present(s) you were ever bought, and what you’d prefer this year.
– Inspired by Zooarchaeologist’s Things I specifically don’t want for Christmas)