Here we are... Christmas

Or near enough.
The tree is up. The snow has fallen and is continuing to fall. The boy performed in his nativity today and I sat like an over emotional mammy. There is something about children singing 'Away in a Manger' which gets me right in the pit of my stomach.
The presents are bought. The cards are written. I'm ashamed to say they're not posted yet... but I'll do that tomorrow. Nothing is wrapped. I have been uber organised and ordered a turkey from a proper butchers and everything though - even though we are supposed to be having Christmas at my mum's house. (hubby wants our own leftovers!).
The logistical nightmare of the Santa run on Christmas Eve is starting to give me the heebies - especially if this snow and ice continue.
I have already eaten too many Celebrations and drank too much wine.
The book? Well no, it isn't finished yet. It's getting there - I just need to find the time.

But I also need to find the time to breath, relax and just be me for a bit. Not me the mammy. Not me the journalist. Not me the wife, or daughter, or sister, or friend. Not me the writer. Not me the blogger. Just me. If I can remember who she is.
That will be my Christmas gift to myself.

And to all those who have read, posted, commented, emailed, bought books, borrowed books, trekked to signings, listened in to interviews, read columns or stopped me in the street - God bless and a very, merry Christmas to you. I hope, during this festive season, you get some time with the real you as well.

A little bit of magic

This was a big part of my Christmas when I was growing up, stay tuned for the singing and listen to the words. Still are important today as they were then.

Sharing a little festive magic

December reminds me of many things, not least the annual visit to Santa.
There were no super fancy grottos in our day - I remember if you were lucky there was a bit of tinsel and a man in a red suit.
Sometimes the man in the red suit was scary - bizarrely as a child I don't think I ever really noticed just how scary.
But as an adult I can look back on the following picture and wonder how I was not scarred for life by the experience.
I would draw your attention notable to the cigarette in his right hand as he smiles through his melty plastic face at the camera with a vague Freddie Kreuger look about him.
Ladies and gentlement I give you a very Derry Christmas.

That's my sister, my brother (looking king of scared) me and the freaky Santa circa 1982?

What Santa brought...

The most gorgeous charm bracelet in the entire world - complete with three charms (one from my sister, and one from each of my babies).
I have a charm which says 'Mama', and an initial for each of my children all on a gorgeous silver bracelet.

I am a very lucky lady indeed - and the lovely husband (who does exist)has ordered me several other charms which should arrive shortly.

I plan to add to the bracelet on momentous occasions - such as book publications, birthdays and some time just because (for example as soon as I get my advance cheque for book 4 I'll be buying a lovely set of angel wings).

But yes, Santa done good and I'm very happy indeed.

Christmas blessings to all

Thank you to everyone who has read this blog, has bought or read (or bought and read) my books, who has commented, who has supported, who has laughed and who has cried.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas indeed.

The slush pile

So I'm sitting here reading all the entries to the 'Journal' short story competition in advance of Tuesday's judging.
They (being my colleague Erin) asked me to sit on the judging panel as a "local writer done good" and because she scares me I felt too terrified to say no I agreed with enthusiasm. After all surely it is my duty to share the writerly love with all the lovely people of the Derry Journal circulation area?

This has introduced me to the slush pile.
We received hundreds of entries - from the sublime to the ridiculous. (I so wish I could quote you some of the more ridiculous ones... but I'm told that would be unprofessional).
But as I'm sifting through them and reading the contributions it is dawning on me that I could never, ever be a literary agent. This is not only because I don't have the balls to say no to anyone (see my comment about Scary Erin) but also because my eyes actually start to bleed when faced with certain things.

64 word sentences would be one of those things.
As would entries written with CAPS LOCK ON. IT REALLY REALLY REALLY HURTS MY EYES TO READ THAT FOR 2000 WORDS.
If you want to pass off someone else's story as your own, try to write something a little more original than the nativity. It has been done before.
Try not to creep round either us or our sponsors. That is a little bit obvious.
A fiver stapled to your entry WILL help.
Be back later...

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...

Yesterday was tree decorating day Chez Allan. I had been very much looking forward to it - being Baby's first Christmas and all that.
For various reasons the last few years have not made for the most joyous of festive seasons. In 2007 my father-in-law died six weeks before Christmas and hubby's then firm was hit by the impact of the credit crunch leaving us as a one income family by the time the big day rolled around.
Last year I was still in the throws of the vomiting bokes of hyperemis and the newspaper industry was being hit by the credit crunch with the prospect of seven job losses at the Journal.
These were not happy times.
So this year I want it to be different - and I am probably putting a lot of pressure on myself to make it so.
I even wanted the putting up of the Christmas tree to be just so. so the boy and I went to the wonder that is Matalan (or Mataland as Joseph calls it - as if it is some wondrous magical place) and bought some silver decorations.
We then called past the local garden centre - and I saw the trees.
I have never had a real tree. I think I was permanently traumatised by the John Denver classic 'Alfie the Christmas Tree' and didn't want any other trees ever to be cut down in the name of Christmas.
But then, I've also seen Friends where Phoebe says all trees have the right to fulfil their Christmas destiny.
And I saw the tree - and I wanted it. And I went home to hubby (who does exist) and we discussed it and we went with great jollity to buy a real tree. (I HATE our fake tree, for the record... it is a pain in the arse to put up and take down and one of these days I'm just going to burn it).
Coming home like happy lumberjacks we sat the tree in its stand and fetched the children to help with the decorating.
Cara wanted to eat the lights.
Joseph just wanted to choose which decorations would go on his 2ft tree that he has in his bedroom.
Cara started to scream, presumably because I wouldn't let her eat the lights.
The boy started to throw a blue fit because he hadn't remembered his 2ft tree was golden and "real trees aren't golden" (Yes, they are, I told him. They grow special gold trees in the gold fields of Christmas land...yes, I am ashamed of my lies).
I swore as the baubles fell off the tree while hubby urged me to give the tree time to rest (Why? Had it been running a marathon?)
Then the baby decided she wanted something more than lights to eat so while I was trying to sing Christmas carols with a still vaguely huffy Joseph, hubby brought in her dinner and PUT THE TELEVISION ON to (wait for it) watch a documentary about SEA LIFE!!!
Those of you who know me at all, know that I am an absolute and total phobia about sea life.
This was not going well.
Eventually, baby fed, boy ensconced in his room over decorating his magical tree from the Gold Fields of Christmas Land and husband taking refuge in his office I placed our star on top of our very first real tree. It wobbles at a precarious angle.
But it is still lovely.
And the baby, now fed with non-electrical goods looked entranced.
All in all - family rows, over fractious children and disturbing documentaries - yes, it is indeed beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

So how was it for you?

It's 9.55pm on Christmas Eve. I'm surrounded by discarded Celebrations wrappers and toy boxes. Beside me sits a Ben 10 Annual and a Wall E remote control thingummy. My other half is watching Top Gear and deciding what to eat (the two servings of Christmas dinner not being enough...) and I'm trying not to sick up the one portion of Christmas dinner I managed.
The boy is asleep in our bed - utterly, utterly exhausted from a day of full on excitement, and I'm here - a little mixture of tired, happy and emotional.
So how was it for you?
Christmas started here early - very early. I got up at 5am to take my middle of the night anti-emetic (Such a fun part of my night-time routine) and was only just nodding back off when Joseph started his morning conversation.
It was 5.25am. There was NO WAY we were getting up at that time - Santa or no. I tried, in vain, to persuade him to go back to sleep and he did really, really try but by 6.30 he was almost crying with frustration.
"Mummy, there is just something in my head which won't let me go back to sleep," he said. "I'm just too excited."
So remembering that feeling well from my own childhood - a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away - I caved. The husband was dispatched downstairs to check if Santa had been and once it was ascertained that indeed he had, Joseph and I followed.
There is nothing as magical as seeing a child's face on Christmas morning - except knowing that they are grateful for all they have got.
"Mammy," he said, "I must have been a really, really good boy this year. Santa has brought me so much."

And you know, Santa hadn't really brought all that much but enough to make my son grin from ear to ear.
After the statutory 7am on Christmas morning eating of inappropriate confectionary (he had Haribo - or "hars bars" as he calls it) and the trashing of our living room, the husband took pity on my pale and sick looking self and allowed me back to bed while he and Joseph bonded over the boys' toys. (I'm crap with Lego. I shouldn't be allowed near it. I only make walls... nothing as fancy as trucks and fire stations).
So two hours later I got up again and we feasted on bacon sandwiches while I played a mean game of Thomas the Tank Engine on the V-Smile.
It was a shower and an application of make up (something I've not done in a long, long time (make up that is, not shower. I do shower regularly)) later we went to my mum's where she was cooking dinner and we would have the family exchange of presents.
And the boy would go into orbit with excitement at the array of gifts he received. The new baby also received some gorgeous bits and pieces.
Dinner (vay lovely) later and a small glass of wine (my first in six months) I felt nicely chilled out and exceptionally fat.
The boy however, having been awake for 13 straight hours, was starting that glazed, manic, huffy thing that only over tired four year olds can pull off. I had planned on staying in my parents a little longer but I know the signs of imminent meltdown well enough to get out of there and quick. I knew when we got the child home, and he was allowed his nightly "nudey rudey" time (he is a exhibitionist at heart) he would be fine.
And he was. He cuddled on my knee, drinking a cup of milk and then we snuggled together til we went to sleep.
"I love you so much mammy," he told me. "I love you every day and not just Christmas. I'm so glad you are my mammy."

I'm exceptionally glad too.
Who could ask for a more meaningful Christmas message?

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas...

Last week I wrote my column in the Journal about this song - a real blast of childhood nostalgia which can reduce me to tears now, even though it's a stuffed dog and a long gone country singer singing.
John Denver is synonymous with my childhood, as are the Muppets, and their Christmas album WAS Christmas chez Davidson.
This song - with promises that next year all our troubles will be far away - is beautiful and poignant and I wish you all a sincere and heartfelt happy Christmas.

And a further piece of Christmas magic

A little bit of Christmas magic

Have a good one everyone...

Christmas ala the Allans

Stolen somewhat shamelessly from Keris here is quick run down of our festive hi-jinks.

4am: Joseph wakes. I'm aware himself is not in bed yet. Joseph wants to go downstairs to have Coco Pops. He seems to have forgotten it is Christmas so with the help of a quick punch on the nose he falls back to sleep by 4.15am. Am vaguely aware orf himself coming to bed- apparantly he has been "making the house more Christmassy". Resist the urge to go downstairs and clear up inevitable mess.

8am: Joseph wakes again. I'm feeling excited but Joseph appears to still have forgotten what day it is. I tell him, he says "Wow"- my heart melts just that little bit. We wake a reluctant himself and make for downstairs. I creep down first to switch on lights- himself has left them on all night. Thank God we have not been burned to a crisp in our sleep.

8.15am: Joseph comes down the stairs and promptly explodes at sight of toys. Falls muchos in love with his Thomas toys and once he has gotten over the noise fear factor of his Bob the Builder work bench, he also loves that. The drill goes "whuuuurrrrrr", or so he tells me... a lot.

9am: Start process of brushing up 'snow' (flour) from living room floor and stop only to open present from himself. Himself redeems himself remarkably by purchasing diamond pendant for me. I love him.

10am: Shower and dress with full make up. Feels bizarre for 10am. Joseph decides my hair straighteners are more fun than any of his toys so I leave the house with non-straightened frizzy hair to avoid third degree burns, Christmas in Casualty situation.

11am: Take Joseph to my mums. More presents. He falls in love with his Fireman Sam fire engine courtesy of his grandad. If only we had known- we could have saved a fortune.

11.30: Laugh at inappropriate use of toys including a train that boasts of his very special funny and a dancing Barbie who appears to believe in self love.

2pm: Go home. Attempt to have dinner. Himself does. Joseph eats a little. I pick Fireman Sam from my turkey before dealing with over excited meltdown from the wee man.

3pm: Attempt to watch Monsters Inc. Wee man wants to play with noisy toys instead.

5pm: Back to my mums for promise of chocolate cake. Lose will to stay sober so drink while parents promise to drive us home later. Get drunk on two WKD. Realise I am a lightweight.

8pm: Wee man goes to be without fuss. We settle down for 'Strictly' followed by Vicar of Dibley which was amusing. Eat some nuts, drink some wine, have a festive cry and go to bed.

all done for another year.

And to all a merry Christmas

THE TURKEY has been bought. The wee man’s new shoes are sitting in pristine condition along with his new pyjamas, vests, socks and Christmas best.

The presents are ready to be wrapped. The obligatory Christmas emails sent (we dispensed with cards this year, choosing to donate the money towards Oxfam’s school meals scheme) and our Christmas tree is glistening with an array of coloured lights.
I’ve already spent the best part of the last week fending off the wee man’s scurrilous attempts to remove all the decorations from said tree and leave a trail of them around the house. “A tree is for looking and not for touching,” we’ve repeated to him ad nauseum just in time to see him lift off another gold star and tell us he only wants to give it a cuddle.
Our fridge is heaving with seasonal treats, from the bacon and eggs for Christmas morning breakfast to the bottles of wine chilling in preparation for Saturday night when I will sit down, switch on the telly and catch the ‘Strictly Come Dancing’ final.
Then, and only then, will my Christmas break have begun.
I have to admit I’m really excited about the whole thing. I’m probably more excited than a grown woman should be about the whole thing especially given the fact that this year, for the first time, the Allan clan are flying solo on Christmas day.
Turning 30 has had a certain effect on me. Most notably I have decided it is time to start acting like a proper grown up and not running to my mammy’s house every five minutes.
Added to this is the fact that wee man is now approaching three years of age and for the first time has a real understanding of the magic of Christmas. He can’t wait for Santa to slide down the chimney on Christmas Eve and leave him an assortment of toys. (His latest request, replacing ‘Toys ‘R’ Us’ has been ‘the moon and stars’- I think he might a little disappointed with the Fifi Magnadoodle in comparison.) It would be unfair of us to lift from his Aladdin’s Cave of goodies and take him to his granny and grandad’s for the day where he would watch his cousin play with her toys instead, so in the spirit of being responsible grown ups and parents we are staying home.
The added bonus for me is that himself has agreed to cook and while I’m on driving duty that day so having to abstain from alcohol, it still means I can plonk myself down on the floor with the wee man and have a wonderful day playing in front of the tree. And when Joseph goes to bed, I’ll be opening the wine and getting pleasantly sozzled and watching the ‘Strictly Come Dancing’ Christmas Special, followed by a healthy dose of Hugh Grant being devilishly handsome in ‘Love Actually’.
We have the day planned out, from creeping down the stairs in the morning to checking if the big man in the red suit has been to creeping back up again in the evening and falling into a drink induced sleep.
Of course I’ll be carrying on the traditions of my childhood. Joseph has new clothes- everything from his vest and socks to his shiny new red shoes. Admittedly I had to battle with my husband on that one who argued that I was mad to go the whole hog and that nowhere was it written that a child needed new shoes for Christmas-“The baby Jesus didn’t get new shoes, and I don’t see why Joseph needs them,” he arugued. But he failed to understand that it is tradition round these parts.
When we were wee, and money was tight, Christmas was one of the very few times of the year when you were guaranteed new clothes- from jammies to jumpers. You never got a hand me down for Christmas Day, no matter what other fashion crimes littered your junior wardrobe.
I still remember how wonderful it felt to put on crisp new pyjamas after your Christmas Eve bath and snuggle down in crisp clean sheets and try desperately to fall asleep while waiting for Santa. And it felt even better to dress the next morning in the latest styles, from flouncy dresses to patent leather shoes.
The second tradition was the visit to your granny’s house. My Granny McGuinness’ house was a special treat because having 10 children herself, you were always guaranteed to see most of your family on Christmas morning. We were always treated to presents and a glass of 7Up and a slice of boiled ham. God love my granny, but with 10 children, their partners and a million grandchildren I doubt there was much of the ham, or the 7Up left by the time it came to her sitting down for her dinner.
It was then on to my Granny Davidson’s where my English cousins would be, and we would sit in front of the Top of the Pops Christmas Special and tease my granny about the latest fashions while singing along at the top of our voices.
So I’ll be strapping the J-man into his car seat on Christmas morning and visiting my own parents. I’ve to persuade them to get some ham in for me to snaffle and some 7Up to send Joseph into a sugar induced state of hyperness.
And then it will be home for dinner- a feast of turkey, stuffing, potatoes and broccoli (or Turkey, stuffing, tetatoes and broccowi as Joseph puts it) and TV and booze fest.
All too soon it will be over for another year, but hopefully we, and Joseph, will have a myriad of memories to keep us warm until next year.
I hope the festive season is memorable for you all too and in the words of Rolf from the Muppets: “Have yourself a Merry a little Christmas. May your hearts be light. Next year all our troubles will be out of sight.” God bless.


I'll be signing off now for the festivities. Have a peaceful and prosperous festive season one and all.

Month 34- Teeny, tiny baby

DEAR JOSEPH,
You've been a little sick lately. Well I say a little, I mean a lot. It started with a bit of a cough of Sunday (your official 34 months birthday) and it's still ongoing.
You went to bed like a wee lamb on Sunday night but within two hours had clambered into bed beside me and lay there moaning, your temperature soaring.
You then threw up everywhere- the most prolific boke of your life if I'm honest- and I tried not to join in as I cleaned it up and got you sorted.
You slept fitfully, the fever making you delirious and my maternal senses were on red alert.
As it turns out it has only been a wee bug. You still have the cough and you turned down sausages today which makes me think you are not quite at yourself, but on Sunday night I really worried about you.
There is nothing worse than thoughts which jump through a parent's mind that something might be really wrong with your child. Yet at the same time I was so grateful because there are parents who every day face the reality of a seriously ill child. All I wanted to do in those hours was make it all better and protect you.

But apart from your bouts of lurgy, you have been in fine form this past month. I see your quirky sense of humour emerge more and more each day. You are obsessed with 'Charlie and Lola' and rockets - in fact every song you know has to have the word rocket in it.

You have taken to singing and talking in your sleep. I was treated to the full version of 'Santa Claus is Coming To Town' last night...
At those moments I want to be cross and tell you to be quiet but who can resist a singing toddler? Whatever the time on the clock.
I love you baby boy.
Mammy
x

A mad mammy moment

IT'S IMPOSSIBLE to explain how this little creature on the right has enhanced and enriched my life over the last two years and 10 months.

Every day I'm proud of him. Every day he makes me laugh a real deep and heartfelt laugh that feels entirely 100% natural.

And there are moments, like tonight when I saw his face completely light up as Santa switched on the Christmas lights in Derry that the very emotion of caring for him, loving him and feeling proud of him almost takes my breath away.

The crowds were cheering around us, but my eyes were locked on this perfect little creature.

There are times were motherhood really does feel like the world's greatest blessing.

Ding dong merrily on high

AS IF the arrival of October wasn't depressing enough, here's a thought to make you choke on your turnover this fine Autumn morning- it's only 83 fun-filled days until Christmas.

The shops have already started to fill their shelves with festive treats and I dare say it won't be too long until they are festooned in all their dazzling decorations to tempt the throngs of shoppers through their doors.
The reason I mention the approach of the big day is that this year, despite my disdain for the early arrival of the festive season in our shops, is the year I have promised myself I'm going to be super organised about the whole affair.
I have promised that come December I won't be staring at my meagre pay packet and trying to eek out the money for presents for everyone because I've not bothered my behind to plan things properly.
As a parent on Santa duty, I realise that stretching my December wages between the usual house-hold expenses, presents for everyone in the family and my Santa responsibilities could well be impossible.
The wee man is fast approaching three years of age and has an increasing awareness that Christmas equals toys and that he gets to make up a wish list all of his own. (So far his list consists of a real life Helicopter- you know, like the one that airlifted Richard Hammond to Hospital- and a freaky walking Barbie Horse.)
We are not intending to spoil him- and I'm pretty sure he won't be getting the helicopter or indeed the Barbie horse- but I want to make this a year to remember especially as I'm guessing it will the be the first time he really gets the concept of Santa.
I'm rather embarrassed to admit we have footage from the wee man's first Christmas of this doe-eyed baby staring at the lights of the Christmas tree while we, as sad first time parents, acted out our 'Has Santa been?' routine. Joseph was of course oblivious and the real magic of Christmas wasn't really there.
Regular readers of this column will know that last year, just as Joseph was starting to get the whole Santa thing, we decided to do our familial duty and spent the holidays with the in-laws in England.

Festive magic
It was lovely, but it wasn't the same as waking up in your own bed on Christmas morning and switching on the lights of your very own Christmas tree. So this year, with a toddler who is already getting ridiculously excited at the prospect of all the toys that will be heaped upon him, I'm relishing the thought of spending the big at home and injecting some of the magic into it that all nearly three year olds deserve.
But that is going to take some planning. I'm desperate to make sure I don't become one of those parents who batters the life out of another poor sod as we fight over the last 'must have' of the year in Smiths as the shutters roll down on Christmas Eve.
I'm sourcing the best books, toys and art material for this year already. I was even tempted to buy in a selection box or two at the weekend. The only thing that stopped me was the knowledge that I would no doubt get an attack of the munchies between now and December and the selection boxes would get raided. (Yes, it has happened in the past.)
Of course there is a serious note to all this too. Each year the less organised of us find ourselves relying on credit cards and the Credit Union to make it through the month of December.
The credit hangover inevitably lasts on until January and February which is never pleasant. After all the first couple of months of the year are tough enough, all dark and cold with no Christmas to look forward to, add to that a fat credit card bill and you have a recipe for Seasonal Affective Disorder.
Much as I hate the early arrival of Christmas in the shops it does at least remind me to start budgeting for the big day now and not later. I find I can no longer ignore it and even find myself singing along with the cheesy played out Christmas classics of yesteryear. Christmas shopping this early can actually be quite a calming experience. You can saunter around at your leisure breathing in the Cinnamon scent of candles and cooing over the delicate decorations for sale.
I don't get those people who purposely leave it all to the last minute and fight for the last tatty Poinsettia on a market stall or a lavender soap set with those evil bath cubes which never dissolve so that you end up with a bruised rear upon climbing into the bath.
Likewise, I can't be doing with those souls who are so financially astute they do all their Christmas shopping in the January sales and have it all wrapped from Valentine's Day. These are the folks who delight in spending the Autumn months boasting about their achievements and buying fancy shoes while your hard earned cash is being doled out on toy prams, sock sets and bottles of over-priced perfume.
Yes, I think it is time to give in to the inevitable and get shopping. Just keep me away from the selection boxes.