Christmas is coming and I am still fat. In spite of my best efforts, there is still too much of me and those slinky numbers which hang, corpse-like, in my wardrobe remain as strangers. Of course there’s not much hope of anything changing until January at this stage as the season of overindulgence beckons.
I do love Christmas, or the feelings and memories the season evokes. A time when, even in the desert, we can pretend we live in Dickensian London -of course sidestepping the fact that life at that time was actually nasty, brutish and short- instead believing that tartan is a good choice for the living room and fake garlands are a tasteful addition to the staircase banister.
It’s also a time of shameless over-spending in a manner which would make even Paris Hilton blush; of throwing things into our trolley’s, virtual or otherwise, without stopping to analyse the long term benefits of such items as a set of bath towels with snowmen on them or a family set of matching reindeer pyjamas (yes, such a thing exists and yes, I must admit I was very tempted).
Ah yes, I love it! Every year I insist to DH that I need at least one Christmas party dress even though we never get invited to any actual parties. This year we're holding a party in the house which I have grandly entitled a 'Mulled wine and mince pie' party, which basically means that on arrival my guests will be offered a glass of gluwine and a mince pie: my duties as a hostess complete, I can get on and enjoy the rest of the night.
In fact, the only Christmas party I’ve been invited to since I got to the Middle East was DH’s work party at the Hilton in Abu Dhabi, the first year we were here. We were very excited about this party as his employer had organised a suite in the hotel for us, we had a babysitter booked to the room, a new dress from Reiss was purchased for me, and we were good to go.
When we got down to the party room we were dismayed to realise that since his company were a Saudi company, there was no alcohol being served -( isn't a non-alcoholic Christmas party an oxymoron?)
To make matters worse, the lights were on full so it felt a bit like a daytime convention. It’s one thing to sit there wearing a party dress and a silly hat if everyone is half-cut on mulled-wine, but quite another to sit there under the glare of the overhead lights sober as a judge.
Sitting at a table surrounded by some very nice Muslim men and women, I attempted to start a debate about the relevance of the hijab in modern society but since this failed to stir up much dialogue I dropped the subject, grabbing a passing waiter instead, in the hope of a clandestine drink for DH and me.
Luckily he was amenable to this as long as we were discreet – turns out there were discreet people dotted all over the room. However, discretion gets trickier as the drinks go down and by the time a Malaysian guy on the next table started sculling brandy from the neck of a bottle, trying to hide our glasses of wine seemed a tad unnecessary.
I ended up on the dance floor believing I was Olivia Newton-John to DH’s John Travolta while the sobre on-lookers made their excuses and left. Oddly enough, that was the last time his employer held a Christmas party.
This year we’re staying put in the UAE. Last year we went home to Ireland but it was too expensive and too cold and frankly it took about five minutes to say hello to all the people I wanted to say hello to, after which we were just filling in the time eating, drinking and buying clothes which would be totally unsuitable once our two week trip was at an end.
On Christmas eve I made the mistake of visiting my sister for ‘a drink’ before going home to do some serious gift wrapping. I was shaken awake at two in the morning by a pleading DH
-‘please wake up, I’ve got two dozen toys here which all need wrapping and I can’t do it alone’.
-‘What? What time is it? How did we get home?’ I was completely disoriented.
-‘You and your sister got drunk – difference is, she’s already done all her wrapping!’ (my sister is the sort of drinking companion who insists on topping up your glass the second it becomes half-empty!)
I stumbled out, helped wrap a couple of toys then decided that this year Santa Claus was trying to be environmentally friendly and was not using wrapping paper. Throwing the pile of toys under the tree, I staggered back to bed. The following morning it was a bit of a free-for-all as the children scrambled under the tree for their toys.
Fortunately with three boys, the gifts were pretty much interchangeable so they didn't mind too much; and my daughter easily deduced that if it was pink, it was for her. All the while I sat there, hungover and shame-faced, while DH glared at me accusingly. He will never let me live it down.
It was a lesson learned – this year I’m wrapping as I go; although hiding the presents as they come in to the house is proving to be a tad difficult. We had a baby-swing hiding in the back of the car the other day: DH was hoping to smuggle it in while the children were asleep; but alas, it was spotted by my helpful and curious six year old while he played outside.
I was out at the time but received a call from DH who was obviously surrounded by a gaggle of children-
-‘You’ll never guess who’s visited early’ he began.
-‘Huh?’
-‘Santa has left a baby swing...hasn’t he kids...in the car...would you believe it?’
-‘Wow, that was early’ I countered.
-‘Yes, he must have meant for it to be an early Christmas present....now he’ll have to get the baby something else for Christmas day (code for- 'get something while you're out')’
Santa Claus is an expensive and praise-sapping scene-stealer, greedily pinching the credit for all the hard work that us parents put in, during the run up to Christmas, for himself. Where else in life would you put a ton of work, time and money into something and then turn around and happily attribute all praise to some mythical creature? Madness!
As is the birthday fairy, another fictitious character invented by my sister, who takes full credit for anything she buys her children for their birthdays, and one that I foolishly adopted for my own children. On more than one occasion the birthday boy or girl has ripped open their birthday present- kindly left over-night from the birthday fairy- turned to me and quietly asked ‘and what did you get me for my birthday mum?’
Mind you, they are becoming suspicious of Santa Claus as they get older, so when eight year old boy quizzed me the other day, I must admit I struggled to come up with an answer –
-‘Mum, do the Muslim kids get presents from Santa?’
-‘Err, no, they don’t, they get their presents at Eid’
-‘And Jews don’t celebrate Christmas, do they?’
-‘Err, no, they don’t, they have Hannukah’
-‘So who has Christmas then?’
-‘Well, Christians do....’ (I could see where this was going)
-‘Are we Christians mum?’
-‘Well, no, we’re not anything’
-‘So why does Santa come to us?’
-‘Umm, well, it’s a good thing you asked (thinking rapidly) .... he comes to us because my parents were Christians so we’re still on his list’ (phew!)
Thankfully he accepted my explanation and wandered off.
And now I must finish....there are gifts to wrap, wine to mull, pies to mince and party dresses to try on.... don't you just love it!
I do love Christmas, or the feelings and memories the season evokes. A time when, even in the desert, we can pretend we live in Dickensian London -of course sidestepping the fact that life at that time was actually nasty, brutish and short- instead believing that tartan is a good choice for the living room and fake garlands are a tasteful addition to the staircase banister.
It’s also a time of shameless over-spending in a manner which would make even Paris Hilton blush; of throwing things into our trolley’s, virtual or otherwise, without stopping to analyse the long term benefits of such items as a set of bath towels with snowmen on them or a family set of matching reindeer pyjamas (yes, such a thing exists and yes, I must admit I was very tempted).
Ah yes, I love it! Every year I insist to DH that I need at least one Christmas party dress even though we never get invited to any actual parties. This year we're holding a party in the house which I have grandly entitled a 'Mulled wine and mince pie' party, which basically means that on arrival my guests will be offered a glass of gluwine and a mince pie: my duties as a hostess complete, I can get on and enjoy the rest of the night.
In fact, the only Christmas party I’ve been invited to since I got to the Middle East was DH’s work party at the Hilton in Abu Dhabi, the first year we were here. We were very excited about this party as his employer had organised a suite in the hotel for us, we had a babysitter booked to the room, a new dress from Reiss was purchased for me, and we were good to go.
When we got down to the party room we were dismayed to realise that since his company were a Saudi company, there was no alcohol being served -( isn't a non-alcoholic Christmas party an oxymoron?)
To make matters worse, the lights were on full so it felt a bit like a daytime convention. It’s one thing to sit there wearing a party dress and a silly hat if everyone is half-cut on mulled-wine, but quite another to sit there under the glare of the overhead lights sober as a judge.
Sitting at a table surrounded by some very nice Muslim men and women, I attempted to start a debate about the relevance of the hijab in modern society but since this failed to stir up much dialogue I dropped the subject, grabbing a passing waiter instead, in the hope of a clandestine drink for DH and me.
Luckily he was amenable to this as long as we were discreet – turns out there were discreet people dotted all over the room. However, discretion gets trickier as the drinks go down and by the time a Malaysian guy on the next table started sculling brandy from the neck of a bottle, trying to hide our glasses of wine seemed a tad unnecessary.
I ended up on the dance floor believing I was Olivia Newton-John to DH’s John Travolta while the sobre on-lookers made their excuses and left. Oddly enough, that was the last time his employer held a Christmas party.
This year we’re staying put in the UAE. Last year we went home to Ireland but it was too expensive and too cold and frankly it took about five minutes to say hello to all the people I wanted to say hello to, after which we were just filling in the time eating, drinking and buying clothes which would be totally unsuitable once our two week trip was at an end.
On Christmas eve I made the mistake of visiting my sister for ‘a drink’ before going home to do some serious gift wrapping. I was shaken awake at two in the morning by a pleading DH
-‘please wake up, I’ve got two dozen toys here which all need wrapping and I can’t do it alone’.
-‘What? What time is it? How did we get home?’ I was completely disoriented.
-‘You and your sister got drunk – difference is, she’s already done all her wrapping!’ (my sister is the sort of drinking companion who insists on topping up your glass the second it becomes half-empty!)
I stumbled out, helped wrap a couple of toys then decided that this year Santa Claus was trying to be environmentally friendly and was not using wrapping paper. Throwing the pile of toys under the tree, I staggered back to bed. The following morning it was a bit of a free-for-all as the children scrambled under the tree for their toys.
Fortunately with three boys, the gifts were pretty much interchangeable so they didn't mind too much; and my daughter easily deduced that if it was pink, it was for her. All the while I sat there, hungover and shame-faced, while DH glared at me accusingly. He will never let me live it down.
It was a lesson learned – this year I’m wrapping as I go; although hiding the presents as they come in to the house is proving to be a tad difficult. We had a baby-swing hiding in the back of the car the other day: DH was hoping to smuggle it in while the children were asleep; but alas, it was spotted by my helpful and curious six year old while he played outside.
I was out at the time but received a call from DH who was obviously surrounded by a gaggle of children-
-‘You’ll never guess who’s visited early’ he began.
-‘Huh?’
-‘Santa has left a baby swing...hasn’t he kids...in the car...would you believe it?’
-‘Wow, that was early’ I countered.
-‘Yes, he must have meant for it to be an early Christmas present....now he’ll have to get the baby something else for Christmas day (code for- 'get something while you're out')’
Santa Claus is an expensive and praise-sapping scene-stealer, greedily pinching the credit for all the hard work that us parents put in, during the run up to Christmas, for himself. Where else in life would you put a ton of work, time and money into something and then turn around and happily attribute all praise to some mythical creature? Madness!
As is the birthday fairy, another fictitious character invented by my sister, who takes full credit for anything she buys her children for their birthdays, and one that I foolishly adopted for my own children. On more than one occasion the birthday boy or girl has ripped open their birthday present- kindly left over-night from the birthday fairy- turned to me and quietly asked ‘and what did you get me for my birthday mum?’
Mind you, they are becoming suspicious of Santa Claus as they get older, so when eight year old boy quizzed me the other day, I must admit I struggled to come up with an answer –
-‘Mum, do the Muslim kids get presents from Santa?’
-‘Err, no, they don’t, they get their presents at Eid’
-‘And Jews don’t celebrate Christmas, do they?’
-‘Err, no, they don’t, they have Hannukah’
-‘So who has Christmas then?’
-‘Well, Christians do....’ (I could see where this was going)
-‘Are we Christians mum?’
-‘Well, no, we’re not anything’
-‘So why does Santa come to us?’
-‘Umm, well, it’s a good thing you asked (thinking rapidly) .... he comes to us because my parents were Christians so we’re still on his list’ (phew!)
Thankfully he accepted my explanation and wandered off.
And now I must finish....there are gifts to wrap, wine to mull, pies to mince and party dresses to try on.... don't you just love it!
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