Michael Gorey

Tis the season to be jolly and all that, but Christmas morning for parents is madness. We managed a seven o’clock sleep-in this year, only because the big kids were under orders to wait until the toddlers woke up. James was the last to rise.

We then opened presents, which in proportion to the time it takes to buy and wrap them, represents a ratio of about one to a million.

It takes longer to pick up and dispose of the wrapping paper.

The next hour was spent calming disputes between James and Margaret over who owned which toy. The concept of sharing hasn’t yet permeated. Each claims to own whatever the other one is holding at a given time.

Margaret was quite possessive over her baby doll, which James threatened to kidnap on multiple occasions and succeeded twice.

Meanwhile, we also had to assemble, inflate and install various other items.

Why tiny plastic ride-on tractors can’t come ready to use out of the box is a mystery of the modern world. We don’t have to assemble motor vehicles; why kiddie toys?

Likewise with Kathleen’s bean bag. The 100 litres of stuffing had to be poured from two plastic bags and, of course, several litres finished up on the floor.

Dude’s soccer goals are waiting to be put together. He has no urgency, because he’s busy installing computer games.

One of our dear friends gave James and Margaret a mini ball pit. It has to be blown up. The 50 plastic balls were scattered beforehand and two have already been punctured by the dog.

The same lady gave the twins a plastic megaphone for their birthday. Does she really like us?

Things are calming down now. Having spent the first few days of my holiday playing cricket, I think I can expect to be playing soccer today.

We’re having turkey for lunch. It’ll be a low-key and hopefully quiet affair, then we pack up for a long drive to my parents’ home tomorrow.

These articles might be of interest:

• Plastic shopping bags
• Bread and milk
• Beautiful Margaret