A wise woman once told me that assume makes ‘an ass of you and me’. And when it came to a toddler at Christmas, she remains right in every sense.
Raffie is two years and eight months. So I reckoned we had some time to go before he knew the meaning of Christmas, but assume has indeed made an ass of me and the excitement has been mounting with each passing day.
Forget the presents, forget the baubles, Raffie is too busy waiting for Farmer Christmas. I am half expecting a man in Wellies to arrive in a four by four but I have been assured, rather irritably, that this is not the case Mummy.
“I don’t want it to be autumn any more,” said Raffie, after many weeks of talking about why leaves fall off the trees and we are living in apparent constant darkness. “I want it to be Christmas. Farmer Christmas will come down the chimney and leave some presents.” “Have you been a good boy though Raffie?” “No.”
And so to the question of what we leave for him. When I was little we didn’t bother with milk and cookies, we left a tumbler filled with whisky and a mince pie.
So last night, Raffie decided that Farmer Christmas should enjoy a bottle of wine and a mince pie. This morning, it was a bottle of beer and a mince pie. And a carrot of course for Rudolph. In a house now resembling Santa’s workshop, I have a feeling they’ll arrive shortly after we have spent some time preparing some special items for Christmas too.
As Raffie will no doubt be beside himself by bed-time, assume will still be making an ass of me. But I think I am right in that whenever Farmer Christmas arrives, and whatever he leaves behind, he’ll be just as grateful for a brief sit down with glass in hand, and just as hopeful of a Christmas to remember. For all the right reasons.
So Merry Christmas everyone, hope you have a wonderful time! x