The Rooke Family Blog: The Curse of the Christmas Tree (and other gruesome tales)…

Now as Emily is 5 and Niomi coming up to 3, I reckon we are entering the golden years of Christmas-tasia. It’s the great epoch of magical, tinsel-tastic, glittery, cheesy tuneful Christmas joy. I can indulge my inner Christmas elf to my heart’s content, and nothing can stand in my way.

And so to tales of Christmas. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I shall begin...It was a dark night as we set off on our voyage of Christmas discovery. It all began with a wintry, forestry delight of a Woodland light experience. All day the kids were giddy with excitement at the prospect of this sparkly extravaganza. But why couldn't it have happened in the morning? They had peaked far too early in the day and were knackered and grumpy by the half way mark of our evening walk…It had started so well, but now we were forced to beat a hasty retreat back to the car to avoid meltdown. We skilfully managed to get them there and into pyjamas (avoiding excessive mud), and calmed enough to nod off on the drive home. Phew we cried.

And then Niomi was car sick. And as we stood by the roadside trying to clean and change a shivering, screaming child – I chalked the evening up to a 5/10. The first gruesome tale.

Lit up before it went wrong

But then we had kite flying and some Christmas dancing and that insatiable Christmas spirit started to rise up in me once more. For Emily’s birthday this year (and mine), my parents had bought us tickets for the stage production of The Snowman. And so with the festive season proper looming in the wings, we engaged in a preview of Christmasy delight. And it worked well – the excitement built and we set off, only for Emily to forget she wasn’t wearing wellies and do some excited puddle jumping before I could stop her. Cold, wet feet. I started to get an uneasy feeling. But the show itself was brilliant – her feet dried out and we spent a good few hours engaged in the magical, fun tale of a boy and a snowman. Emily really enjoyed it.

And so with a bit a festive spring in my step, I decide to push my luck and head to Hamleys for some toy-tastic joy. As a child I remember going to Hamleys as one of those quintessential child in a candy store moments as you walk through the doors to a shop of delights. But somehow it didn’t quite seem the same anymore. Maybe I am just cynical, or was formerly oblivious to the lurid commercialism, but barring a life sized cuddly toy elephant all I saw was my innocent daughter getting lured into the marketing man’s dream. So thankfully I was glad when we escaped with only a glitter tattoo and one fingernail painted – off for some well-earned pizza. But Emily’s Christmas joy was fading fast – tired and missing Mummy, we just about made it through the meal before she half sobbed her way home. Verdict? Well the show was a brilliant 9/10, but we slowly fell off our festive cloud after that till we arrived home in barely a better state than the Woodland light experience. This wasn’t all going quite to plan. The second gruesome tale.

Let's go fly a kite

Ready for the off to the Snowman

I am dogged and resilient though. And with the dawn of the 25th November – the festive season officially commenced. At least it did in our house. It was the day of the Christmas Tree buying. A day traditionally associated with endless optimism and ill-fortune. A day for the brave and ardent Christmas believers like myself to use the power of Christmas cheer to do battle with the forces of fate. No matter what lay in front of us I needed to shift reality well and truly into the paradigm of Christmas-tasia. Let battle commence I cried as I was awoken at 6am.

And so the day progressed – the hour of 3pm looming closer when the doors to arboreal delight would open and pine-clad joy would come forth into the world once more. As ever though such matters are a little late in the day though for our young offspring. By 3pm they are starting to get a little ragged round the edges, but aided by a small chocolate boost, hats and gloves were on and we were into the car and van to go a-Christmas Tree hunting. And then the Curse of the Christmas Tree hit. Every year something happens (see any previous posts on the matter), and the brave must step forth and continue relentlessly onwards. So with a van suffering from frostbite, Mummy and the kids returned treeless to the house, and I set off by myself to catch the tree and keep this Christmas voyage on target.

30 minutes later I returned victorious. The deed was done – now let nothing else dampen our Christmas mission. And so with a few Christmas tunes, some mince pies and mulled wine, and a few reindeer races round the kitchen… the Curse of the Christmas Tree was once more abated. So much so, by the time we’d visited the Kirkintilloch Lights switch on (Niomi was completely entranced - first fireworks?), had an evening of festive tunes with our friends Yvonne and Wilf, and stirred up the Christmas Pudding the next day, we were ready. Let Christmas commence!!!