Christmas marks the beginning of my second favourite F word, fibbing. This F word is batted around sparingly leading up to December, as soon as we hit the festive period, 24 nights of fib telling begin.
Coming from an Irish family, story telling is in our blood. I grew up listening to stories all real of course. One such story was about a man called Father Christmas. Every year on Christmas Eve he would enter our home, leave presents and disappear. I loved Christmas morning, presents everywhere wow we really had been good!
But as so often, dreams are always better then the reality and no such man existed it was my parents all along, and because of their incredible fibbing, it seems I should have trust issues with them.
Wow if this is the case I am amazed I was never carted off in a strait jacket, to the chants of "but he's real" to the nearest asylum. This fib wasn't the only fib I was told growing up, oh no, I grew up believing fairies, leprechauns and banshees all existed. Many a night in Dublin I prayed the Banshee wouldn't turn up on our window ledge to belt out a wailer of a tune. Not only that, my mum even told my friends these whoppers when they came over, oh the shame!!!
Christmas is about lighting our house outside so there is no confusion with where we are, the temporary landing strip awaits!. Indoors, villages glow, lights twinkle, snowmen dance and National Grid rub their hands. Of course the downside to masses of lights are:
a) endless switches & how long it takes to turn the bloody things off
b) whose turn it is to turn them off
Christmas is about remembering the Chocolate Fairies who visit for 24 nights, praying hubbie remembered to replenish stocks although stupidly waiting until the twilight hour to check this fact! Even the Quality Street tub can't save the day since it contains nothing but empty wrappers. It's these moments that I much prefer my hubbies favourite F word, and spend a sleepless night rehearsing a rock solid fib to tell the kids.
Christmas is about battling through shops having left the list at home, wishing it was like the 'list' my mum sent me, of one item list, a book, which I later discovered wasn't out until April next year!
Christmas is about convincing the kids that the panic bought present I now have due to Argos, surprisingly being out of stock, is really want they want!
Some from the club of 'we don't lie to our kids about FC its damaging' say it's a form of control, threatening kids if they don't adhere but letting them believe they could end up on the naughty list. Damn right it is and one that I milk it for all its worth.
341 other days of the year are spent repeating questions and arguing responses, if it only takes the mention of "remember who's watching" to work then I'm in for the season.
I have even enrolled the eldest two into continuing this traditional fib, they have no choice, fingers crossed they don't grow up with 'issues'. I leave proof he's 'been' with a trail of large snowy footprints leading right to the bedroom where all 4 of them spend the night, once a year, argument free together.
Fibbing goes way back, in years gone by, men would gather on street corners in Dublin to tell many a tale, and one such tale an Uncle told me as a kid which I remember to this day.
Many years ago a war was being fought deep in the Jungle, running from the enemy a young soldier heard the cries of a distressed animal, ignoring the danger behind him he followed the cries. He found a baby elephant trapped and with a smack on the arse the elephant was free and ran off. Some years later the young soldier, now a man had a ticket to the Circus in town. Sitting at the back, the only seat he could afford, he watched as the elephants came in. One stopped, turned and looked up at him. Next thing he knew he was being whisked out of his seat by a trunk and plonked in the best seat in the tent, and with a wink from the elephant the show began, isn't it great how elephants never forget.
Like that elephant I do not forgot all the fibs I grew up with at Christmas, and for that I publically thank my parents, I would also like to thank them for always telling me that of course I can sing, I can even dance and how beautiful I look even with spots! Now where's that X-factor application!
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