Feeling a bit better this morning, going out to buy stuff for mince meat pies to make tomorrow for the girls to do their Santa letter, I might even find kings carols on Spotify!
Thought id contribute to this thread in the hope that helps someone else more festive.
This is a story of two connected memories, the 2nd more magical than the 1st.
When I was about 7 Santa brought me the most beautiful dolls pram. It was huge, navy cord with a silver frame and big cream wheels. Inside were beautiful knitted cream covers with navy edging and my dolly’s name embroidered on to the edge and when I touched them they were still wet and cold from the North Pole snow, it was the most magical thing I’d ever seen and quite unbelievable that it was there in our sitting room!
I was one of 3 girls and though we are happy and never went without what we needed, money was definitely tight and I didn’t get things like big posh dolls prams.
I went from complete disbelieve and thought Santa had got me mixed up with another little girl to very teary that It was for me and I played with that pram and kept it in my sights for a very long time to come.
The 2nd memory was long after Santa brought me that pram and I’d just had my 2nd daughter it was a few weeks before Christmas. We had so little money, I was absolutely shattered from looking after two small children and every thing felt a bit hopeless. I want to give to give my girls the piles of fisher price and little tykes plastic that everyone else seems to be able to give. I went round to my mum’s for a cup of tea and had a bit of a drip about how I wished I was still small and the magic still happened all around me and recalled the memory of the pram.
My mum laughed and then told me the real story of that pram....
My dad and her had spotted that pram in the co/op window it had caught their eye and they knew I would love it but it was a lot of money, my dad worked extra shifts and my mum collected her post office stamps and every week they would tally round how much more they would need. The day before Christmas Eve my mum (who didn’t drive) walked the 4 miles to the co/op in a blizzard and tearily handed over the money and walked the 4 miles home with her jacket over the cord to protect it.
Once we had hung our stocking and gone to bed, my mum worked into the night making the covers and she said she’d just finished pressing with a cold damp iron (the North Pole snow) as the 1st bit of light started to appear.
I still remember how I felt that December afternoon, a mixture of gratitude, being absolutely unconditionally loved but also understanding where the real magic of Christmas comes from. It isn’t in a fisher price box or a bank account its in the love of parents doing their best for their children and the memories that come from it.