A Beginner's Guide To Christmas

Christmas Eve: Christmas Is (Unfortunately) All About The Kids - Part I

Mum made a huge fuss of the grandchildren, which was natural as she usually had to make do with Skype and emails, so seeing them in the flesh was a treat. Dad came down from the loft and tried roping first Stephen and then seven-year-old Austin into helping out. 

'They've just got off an eight-hour flight and Austin doesn't want to be cooped up in the loft.' Mum gave a tut while Dad sulked in his armchair. 'Besides, I've got a very special job for Austin and Riley.' 

'What is it? What is it?' Riley jumped up and down, her blonde curls bouncing around her face. Had she really been on an eight-hour flight? Whenever I flew anywhere, even if it was a two-hour flight to Mallorca, I was comatose for the next day or so. 

'Do you see that tree?' Mum pointed to the bare Christmas tree in the corner of the sitting room. 'It's your job to decorate it and make it look fabulous. Do you think you can do that?' Austin and Riley jumped up and down a bit more. 'Brilliant. Aunty Ruth will help you to reach the branches at the top.' 

What? 

'Me? What about Stephen? He's taller than me.' And father to the kids. It was his job to entertain them. 

'He's just been on an eight-hour flight. Give him a chance to rest a bit.' 

Lesson 10: After being on an eight-hour flight, you will be absolved of all tasks. 

'Fine. Come on then. Let's get this over with.' 

Lesson 11: Never allow children within twelve feet of a Christmas tree. 

The tree was a shambles. One half was still bare while the other half was cluttered, with one branch containing seven ornaments, courtesy of Riley. It also transpired that Stephen's youngest, the adorably chubby Ryder, was spawned from the devil himself and decided to make my life hell by pulling over the tree at every opportunity.  

'Can't you stop him?' I asked Stephen after the millionth time. 

My brother simply shrugged his shoulders. 'He's fifteen months. They're into everything at that age.' 

I was sure strapping him down to a chair would help but apparently that was a 'barbaric' idea. 

'Oh, fuck!' The smell of burning reached my nostrils and I tore into the kitchen, pulling the ruined biscuits out of the oven. They were unsalvageable and no amount of icing could mask the fact that they were burnt to smithereens. Still, at least we'd have some (char)coal to put in the children's stockings if they misbehaved. 

I returned to the sitting room where I found the tree upturned yet again and three grown up faces glaring at me. Jeez, they were only biscuits and everybody makes mistakes. 

Ryder toddled towards me, gummy grin in place. 'Fuck!' 

Lesson 12: Christmas or not, you have to be really careful with what you say in front of kids.