All that comes with it

I’m having a little trouble getting in the Christmas spirit. I don’t know why but I haven’t had a single dream of white Christmas, my bells haven’t been jingling or even ring-ting-tingling, and the closest I’ve come to a walking through a winter wonderland was hurrying through the freezing rain in Huddersfield town centre.

Still, I’m not working now until boxing day so I should have plenty of time to work myself up into a festive frenzy. Even as I type I have “A Jolly Christmas with Frank Sinatra” playing on itunes in an attempt to summon the ghost of Christmas present.

Kerry and I have very different taste in Christmas music. She tends to favour the pop and rock end of the spectrum: Slade, the Pogues, the Pretenders, et al; while I am more of a traditionalist, preferring a good bit of Bing Crosby or even the odd Christmas Carol.

There is always an assimilation period when two people get married or move in together. Various negotiations take place to determine things like which compartment of the cutlery drawer the spoons go in, who’s towel is whose, or if you are allowed to leave the margarine tub open on the kitchen counter for days at a time (you are not apparently). After nearly seven years of living together Kerry and I have ironed most of these out, but at Christmas we still sometimes find ourselves raising our eyebrows at each other and saying things like “OK, that’s not how I used to do it in my family, but we could do it like that I suppose”.

This will be the first year that we will do the whole Santa thing with any conviction. Last Christmas Amy was too young to grasp the concept, but this time round she’s raring to go. It’s surprising how many things need to be decided about his visit. Will he put presents in a stocking or a pillowcase? Will this be left in Amy’s room or downstairs in the lounge? What percentage of the total gifts should be from him?

Both Kerry and I have slightly different cherished childhood memories and traditions which we are keen to pass down to our children. She used to get presents in a stocking in her bedroom, which invariably contained a Satsuma and a few small presents – the rest of her gifts awaited her under the Christmas tree. In my family we used to come downstairs to find entire pillowcases stuffed full of joyful delights waiting for us on the couch, the tree sheltered only our “big present” from Mum and Dad like a TV or bike.

Kerry and I do have some things in common however. We both carry the emotional scarring of our parents forcing us to wait until they had finished a sadistically leisurely breakfast before we could touch the gifts under the tree; a tradition we will no doubt torture Amy with - therefore continuing the circle of abuse. It’s good to see that despite our differences we can still come together at this time of peace and love in order to torment our children. After all, family is what Christmas is all about.