The big people are partial to an extra hour in their pit and only a life threatening occurrence or notice of a lottery win are deemed acceptable reasons to disturb us before 8.30am. 8.30am! Doesn't seem that long ago since I'd only crawled into bed a couple of hours previously at that time. But I digress.
Last Sunday, Finje, aware of possible reprisals but nevertheless unable to hold herself back and positively quivering with excitement, woke us at 7.00am.
Cleverly, she managed to squeak out an apology, therefore saving her skin, before informing us of the reason for such a heinous thwarting of Nowak House Rules.
"It's snowed! It's Christmas!"
In fairness, weather in Northern Germany over the pathetic excuse for the summer months, had been, to say the very least, unreasonable. That said, even in my state of grumbling half slumber, I was fairly sure I wouldn't see snow even if I managed to drag myself to the window. Finje however, was convinced. And extremely fired up.
It was my failure as a housewife that proved to be the cause of the meteorological misunderstanding. And I state that fact with a sense of pride and not shame. A combination of unwashed velux windows and condensation, provided what, in fairness, did look like a light dusting of snow. Finje's look of disappointment on discovering the truth was almost enough to extract some pity......had she not woken me up so damn early.
After the initial letdown, Finje manned up and decided to celebrate Christmas anyway. The sizzle of bacon and grind of the overworked coffee machine were accompanied by her dulcet toned rendition of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer and it was all I could do to stop her from decorating the Yucca. Instead she settled down to draw a festive picture.
Having made one faux pas too many in the past, regarding Finje's artwork, I took great interest in her efforts. Indeed, it was impressive in its detail. Father Christmas, flying above the roof tops, presents on his sleigh and even Rudolph's red nose had not been forgotten.
Slightly concerning, on closer inspection, was Santa's facial hair. Not the big bushy white beard we are led to believe he cultivates but something really quite disturbingly different!