The past few days have been ones of panic. Panic that my poor, hard done by boys have obviously had their childhood ruined by not jetting off to exotic climes this year. Filled with unnecessary concern and passports in hand, I was on the verge of pressing 'continue' on a last minute jaunt that we can ill afford (old houses are expensive), when I realised that the boys have said nothing other than what an amazing few weeks they've had (not to mention that my littlest's passport appears to be several months out of date, anyway).
Christmas is a strange time of year. Don't get me wrong, I love the festive season (carols and After Eights feature on my 'all time greatest things ever' list) but it seems to be the time of the year when we all go a little bit Hollywood-crazy trying to recreate the perfection that we see in films. Maybe it's in the hope that the perfectly decorated house or beautifully wrapped gifts will add a sprinkle of magic to our lives and somehow create the ultimate Christmas moment.