A Word on Christmas Cards

Two posts in a day? It must be the holidays.

The mince pies are wrapped, the presents are iced, the Christmas cards are baked and the gingerbread house is posted. Or a version of that.

But the writing of Christmas cards did offer another opportunity for reflection. Eddie decided (after a whole term in reception) that he would write his to all his classmates unaided overnight.  I have grave doubts about how many of them will have actually made it to their intended recipients, since, to give a flavour, this one was meant for 'Lucy':

But Gilby went one better and sent a card to God. Yes, he did. Left it on the gravel outside, assuming. I suppose, that angels might carry it up to heaven. Or a dove, perhaps. Wishing God 'lots of fun' at Christmas. 

Ironies on many levels. But lots of fun.

Currently Reading: Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy

Feel the Force

I'm all nativitied out, now.

Gilby was a shepherd in his school production: A shepherd dressed in black with sunglasses and a walkie-talkie, but we love a cheeky anachronism or ten.

Eddie was a king (of course, again) in his nursery version.

Both delivered their lines beautifully, knew all the words and actions of their songs, made their mother cry and generally did what nursery and primary school nativity productions are supposed to do - including providing those moments of sublime but unintentional comedy through missed cues and prop-handling (poor baby Jesus slung mercilessly into his cradle is perennially amusing.)

Gertie's class do the Easter production (unless this is her way of letting me down gently with the news that she didn't get a part this year) but she watched her brothers in their different shows patiently and supportively.

And all three were on parade again this morning. It was the advent 'family mass' where the children took responsibility for all the key moments of the service.  Gertie led the opening prayer and lit the advent candle and Gilby wrote and shared his bidding prayer. They both had 'acting' roles in the gospel.

Eddie played with his lightsaber, mostly - and after some cajoling took part in the offertory procession.

But his main, unscripted contribution took place during the contemplative calm of the Eucharistic prayer. He took himself off to stand in front of the kneeling congregation and demanded, loudly, 'When are you all going to stop BEING LIKE STATUES?'

It had the desired effect, since some of the assembled worshippers were, indeed, unable to maintain their stillness; there was some definite shoulder-shaking.




Currently reading: Remember Me by Melvyn Bragg

Teething Trouble

It was a beautiful day last weekend when Gertie made her first Holy Communion. The sun shone down for my little girl's big day.

But I am struggling a little this weekend once more.  Not over complex theological questions (though she certainly likes to pose those) but over the tooth fairy, and the lengths I am now going to allow the 'magic' to last.  

The tooth in question came out on Friday at school, and Gertie left it in her tray, forgetting to take it home at the end of the day.  She was a little bit upset about this on Friday night, but by Saturday she had found the answer:  She resolved to write to the tooth fairy, setting her straight about the situation, and suggesting that the tooth fairy retrieve the tooth from school, but leave the money under her pillow as usual.

I posted my dilemma on Facebook, and it was quickly resolved by a friend who knew someone who knew someone who has access to the school over the weekend.  I am reliably informed that the tooth will have been removed by Monday morning, and I am fairly confident that the tooth fairy will visit this evening.

What a difference a week makes.

Currently reading: Before the Fall by Juliet West

On God and Merkins

Under what circumstances might a four-year-old boy run round his sitting room shouting "I'm a merkin, I'm a merkin, I'm a merkin!"?


I only ask because this is exactly what you might have heard had you been at our place last weekend.


Before you cast aspersions on the kind of household we have created, allow me to explain.


Last Sunday was 'Epiphany', and, as part of celebrating the journey of the magi, Gilby was asked to be a king at church. He was representing Caspar, and we had a jolly old time making his crown. Cereal box, bandage, and some of Gertie's sequins from her Christmas nail art set all came in very handy. Mister Maker wouldn't have been that impressed, but Gilby was, and that was the main thing.


And what did Caspar have to do? Well, as we discovered, he had to give the gift of myrrh to the baby Jesus in a procession at the end of the service. Which is simply what Gilby was explaining to anyone who might listen.


And therein lies the explanation.





Currently reading: And the Mountains Echoed by Khalid Hosseini. Wow.

Heavenly Thoughts

Gilby, who begins school this week, is brushing his teeth as he asks, "Mum, how far away is God?"
Wow. Where to begin?
"Um. In heaven, which is a long way away."
"Further than France?" Clearly, our recent twelve-hour stint to the south is still very fresh in his mind.
"Yes, further than France..."
He spits out the water he's been rinsing with. "In that case, I don't think I'll go."