Pandora's box

Me: *Looking at Christmas to-do list, panicking *

MS: *crashing noisily through door wearing knitted turkey hat, arms full of wrapping paper, mouth full of chocolate*

Me: *sighing, putting down list* Oh hello.

MS: *opening arms (and mouth) wide, dropping paper (and chocolate) everywhere* Hiiiiiiiiyyyyaaa.

Me: Well this is an unexpected pleasure.

MS: I know, I know! I'm like an early Christmas gift.

 Me: Hmm, pretty sure I've not asked Santa for you this year.

MS: *pouting, wiping chocolate from chin* Yes, I had noticed. And don't think I'm not hurt by that sweetie.

Me: Well it's just that...

MS: *interrupting loudly* Twelve months of relative quietness. Fifty-two weeks of reasonable energy levels.

Me: Erm, well....

MS: *ignores, continues in louder voice* Three hundred and sixty five days of only minor blips.

Me: Yes, but....

MS: *now at eardrum splitting volume* Thirty-one million, five hundred and thirty-six thousand seconds of slightly uneasy calm. It's not enough for me dahling.

Me: Oh, er, sorry?

MS: Yes, that's right. Sorry is right. Why haven't you seen much of me? Could it be that I've offended?

Me: Well, not offended as such, more sort of....

MS: Could it be that I came on too strong? Too upfront with my attention?

Me: Well, yes, that could be it, I mean...

MS: But my dear, I only want to shower you with the gifts I can give. Gifts like numbness or sight loss or pain. Presents like worry or fatigue or confusion. Gems like falling over or reduced income or fear for the future.

Me: Yes. Not exactly gold, frankincense and myrrh is it?

MS: What is myrrh? I've always wondered.

Me: It's a gum from a thorny tree. Supposed to have medicinal qualities.

MS: Oh. Well, I wouldn't be bringing you anything helpful along those lines would I?

Me: Obviously not. So what is it you wanted?

MS: I told you, I've hardly seen you all year. I miss your little squidgy face.

Me: *nervously prodding face* And?

MS: And what?

Me: There must be something else. I can't believe you've let me get away with limited problems for a whole year when you're causing such horrors for other people.

MS: Well, there is one thing.

Me: Knew it. What?

MS: *scrabbling in pockets and taking out a tiny gold box* Well, it's this.

Me: *surprised* Oh! Is that a present? An actual present?

MS: Of course. It's to remind you of me at this special time of the year.

Me: Oh, crikey. Thanks. *thinks* It's very small. What is it?

MS: *gathering up wrapper paper heading to door* Oh, it's a box of guilt.

Me: It's a what?

MS: *leaving* You know, guilt. Bit of fear in there too. It's small now but it will get bigger and bigger the less you see of me. Happy Christmas.

Me: *Looking at gold box, panicking*

:: Pandora's box by OMD

Stop

After last week's kicking, I decided that I'd have to reign in the activity a bit.

A decision unfortunately aided by my daughter who finally succumbed to the sickness bug which has been haunting her classroom like a dyspeptic spewing spook since November.

This was particularly sad as she woke up vomiting on the one day of the school year that they had a class trip.

Completely rubbish for her - no coach singing and classmate fun; instead a day on the settee with handy bucket and mummy running to and fro with towels, glasses of water and cuddly toys.

By Friday evening the unpleasant bug had, well, bugged off and we were left in the post-sickroom uniforms of pyjamas and blankets.

Aha, thought I, perhaps this is a sensible if slightly wiffy sign. A sign that maybe we should just continue the lockdown and do absolutely NOTHING all weekend.

So that (apart from changing pyjamas, because, you know, yeuch) is what we did.

And it was totally and utterly delightful. We stayed in bedclothes, we relaxed and between hubby and I we read aloud the third Harry Potter book to our recovering daughter who loves a bit of magic.

It made me wonder why we don't do this more often.

The answers of course, are simple: 1) we usually have something booked in almost every weekend, 2) I feel guilty if I stop, 3) the food shopping still needs to be done, 4) I feel guilty if I stop, 4) the house still needs cleaning, 5) I feel guilty if I stop.

Hmmm, perhaps I need to have a little think about that guilt issue.

I'd be the first person telling a friend that it doesn't matter if the washing up doesn't get done or the lawn isn't weeded - you are allowed to just let things go for a weekend. But never easy when we try and apply that sage advice to ourselves is it?

I'm also aware that quite often I'm forced to stop, so having the choice to stop seemed a little bit self-indulgent.

But, do you know what, it was absolutely the best thing for all of us. We had a really, really lovely family time just sitting and reading, laughing, being together and pretending to conjure up a Patronus.*

Maybe stopping for a bit will actually gave us all a little bit of a protective charm for the week ahead. I do hope so. It certainly gave us a magical weekend.

:: Stop by Sam Brown 

*For those not in the know, a Patronus is a silvery-white guardian which is a protective magical concentration of happiness and hope. Man, I wish Harry Potter was real.