Check out my balls!
I love Christmas. I was told today that it is because I am still a child. I guess that's true. There is still a big part of me that is too excited to sleep on Christmas Eve.
Strangely, it has nothing to do with getting presents and everything to do with the 'magic of the festive season'. I love that for one day a year everyone believes in fairies or Santa or their own pagan jollyness.
For me there is an element of the 'keep the Christ in Christmas' about it. A very unpopular state of mind the other 364 days a year, just on the 25th of December, it's OK to go to church and be grateful to the big fella.
I try to live my life with a 'glass half full' attitude. I am committed to an 'attitude of gratitude' and I would like to think that I 'pay it forward' as often as I can. All cliches covered, I really do quietly, all year round, like to try to be the best, non homophobic (it's all about loving and being loved), non judgy (there is only one true judge), non pro life (every woman's right to choose), non preachy (the best evangelism is a spring in your step) kind of Christian.
I sometimes fail miserably. I am sometimes a vile old bitch who has nothing but mean things to say about everyone and everything but, Looking at the miracle that is the monkeys, it really cements my belief that 'you can't tell me God ain't good!'
It is really so unfashionable now that I'm almost embarrassed to admit it. Publishing this, even to my audience of me; putting it out in the public forum is kind of scary. I don't generally discuss my faith with anyone (except John and that's only when I fancy being personally held responsible for the Crusades and the Salem Witch Trials) so this, for me, is a pretty big deal.
Still, as the Salvation Army float said in the Johnsonville Lions Christmas Parade, 'Jesus is the Reason for the Season'.
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Remember those revolting cupey (sp?) doll people on those 'happiness is' cards and calendars in the 80's? I have to say I always found them repulsive.
Short, nude, prepubescent. There is nothing even remotely charming about that. And yet, it spawned a range of stationary that people actually chose to spend their money on.
It's like the whole 'Lady and the Tramp' thing or 'The Lion King'. In fact any movie where animals play the romantic leads.
Adult humans have romantic feelings, short, fat children, dogs and lions do not.
Anyway, I digress.
The actual point that I am trying to make is that happiness actually is... silence coming from two bedrooms and a clock that reads 7:01.
Now, I love the monkeys. I love them in a way I never dreamed possible. I love them with every particle of my being. My soul actually sings when they smile. I love the way they laugh. I love the way they sing. Hell, I even love the way they shout at each other in the car. Their cuddles melt my heart and, when I am not my evil alter ego, 'sleep deprived mean mummy', I even love their funny little leg kicking tantrums. I love them from the minute they open their eyes in the morning until the minute I tuck them into their beds at night. That however, is my limit.
At 7:00pm everything they do or say ceases to be amusing or cute and instead becomes annoying and foul. Every utterance from their tiny poisonous mouths makes me want to scream 'SHUT UP' and start phoning 'round possible foster carers.
I don't know weather it is an innate body clock thing or simply that once I click out of mummy mode the switch can not be turned back on 'till morning. All I know is that 7:01 brings on a bad case of "SHUTTHEHELLUP" in me.
I even feel bad writing about it but I figure that the incredible guttural overwhelming love that I feel for them for 13 hours a day, cancels out my evil longing for some peace and quiet and time with my husband.