Christmas miracles

So that was Christmas. The lunch with friends passed without incident – the OH’s truffles were suitably admired (especially by an eight-year-old who managed to eat most of them while the adults were otherwise occupied with chitchat and coffee) and in the Secret Santa lottery we came away with a home-made shopping bag and a jar of salted lemons.

The bag has already been pressed into service at Sainsbury’s. The salted lemons are sitting in the fridge while the OH decides what to do with them.

It was lovely to see the latest grandchild and his parents later in the day. They stayed overnight and for lunch on Boxing Day.

I do sometimes wonder if my son is turning into Goldilocks – the bed was too soft, the room was too hot – but at least he had enough common sense to wait until his father was occupied in the kitchen before attempting the traditional parental Christmas task of assembling various items given to children by fond relations. 

Indeed, he managed to put together the push-along trike with only the advice of his wife and his mother and without losing his temper. Truly, a Christmas miracle. 

There were other wonders. The OH (who once bought me an iron for Christmas and has never been allowed to forget it) gave me a smart red handbag which was even smarter than the one I had been coveting in John Lewis. Thank you Google and cookies

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And thanks, too, to Facebook and Instagram, whereby we could see that Father Christmas had managed to find our other grandchildren on an island in Thailand (even if it was rather hot for the reindeer).