Today is the last day of November!
Children under the age of 14 everywhere are unwrapping their advent calendars and hanging them up excitedly, ready for tomorrow. Even the kids that are over 14, who are too cool for advent calendars but have accepted the one their parents have bought them, delusional in hiding their happiness.
At 9pm, 30th November, I have just realised that tomorrow will signal the official Countdown to Christmas– the opening of the advent calendar. An advent calendar I forgot to buy myself. I know- what?! How has this even happened? I’ve been spying cool advent calendars for over a month now; choccy ones, beauty product ones and calendars with Yankee Candles in (but who’s going to spend £40 on an advent calendar? Not me, clearly). And the ones with your favourite characters on; Frozen or Mickey or The Snowman, you know the ones! Them with the fake tasting chocolate in that all the 3 year olds love!
I have been out of the nest for 7 years now, that’s 7 Christmases. And yet I still can’t remember that my mum won’t be buying me my advent calendar for the countdown to Christmas. Maybe because for the first few years, she forgot I’d moved and still bought me one? Or maybe I’m just not ready to let go of childhood traditions? I still get excited for Christmas. I still get a rush for decking out the house, doing the tree, going to the Lights Switch On (which I know will be disappointing but I still go every year) and getting up at 6am to open my presents. I have yet to outgrow these magical moments.
I look back fondly on many Christmas memories. Begging my Dad to build the trampoline, jumping all morning and ending up in A&E Boxing Day due to a twisted ankle. Watching my brother race around the garden on his new dirt bike, grinning as my Mum took photos. Having to wake my little sister up and wrapping her up in a dressing gown early Christmas morning, sleepy face looking at mine, not quite believing there would be presents and fun waiting downstairs. And when I got older, watching my mum & dad, sister & brothers open the gifts I’d bought them, their faces light up, eating dinner together as a family, all 6 of us; my mum still shakes her head when I insist on a Prawn Cocktail starter. I will bound out of bed if my husband tells me it’s snowed- nothing will get me out of bed faster!
Growing up only meant a growing appreciation for this holiday. It is my favourite.
I’m excited. Like, 8-year-old excited when she hears her brothers and sister whisper “he’s been…” and running downstairs, eyes wide at the presents under the tree. Trying to open them slowly so the moment lasts, because somewhere in the back of my mind I know I’m getting older and this magic will only start to dissipate.
Well, like that 8-year-old, I’m still desperately clinging to that tingly, Christmas morning feeling. I long for it. Christmas is my favourite time of year and I refuse to outgrow this. I refuse to turn into one of those grouchy grown ups who moan about trimmings and Christmas shopping and whinge about hearing Fairytale of New York on repeat.
Am I gutted about forgetting an Advent Calendar? You bet Rudolf’s red nose I am!
Quick dash to ASDA anyone?