The year my young niece ate everything edible in her Santa sack (and probably everyone else's) for breakfast, then had a 30 minute car ride, and started vomiting when she got to our place. Yeah, enjoy your Christmas lunch everybody.
When I was 3, jumping around with excitement so much that I pulled a muscle or something in my neck and appeared in every photo with my head tilted to one side, looking like Rain Man.
|That's me, Rain Man, in the middle|
The year I woke up and discovered I still wasn't pregnant. For the thirteenth month in a row.
The year I got drunk very quickly and danced like a fool to swing music played on old vinyl records, all while wearing a yellow paper crown. Oh... that was the same year as above.
The time I made, and burned, four enormous pavlovas before managing to turn out three edible ones. That's a total of 42 eggs, people.
When my son was 3 (must be something about that age) and my Husband shut the car door on the poor kid's hand. Happy Howling Christmas to my sister's entire street.
The year I had a beautifully laid out, sit-down lunch for fifteen people in our new family room, which was mid-construction. With only two walls and a roof up but no windows or doors, much of the day was spent praying for no wind. We were lucky.
The day I may have had a few drinks and was photographed on the sofa cuddling a toy koala.
The day I may have had a few drinks and was photographed on the sofa cuddling my niece's new puppies up against my own puppies.
The day I may have had a few drinks and... oh, who am I kidding...
|Spot the puppy...|
The time we gave all the kids water pistols, and while one nephew spent a great deal of time leaning over our back fence shooting the neighbour's chooks, I spent a great deal of time ambushing my sister-in-law.
The year we all wore the stoopidest shiny crowns ever.
|I think I am either waving, or saying "I need FIVE MORE DRINKS to|
keep this crown on".
The year we had a Tropical Holiday themed lunch, including Hawaiian shirts, plastic flower leis, mosquito net tent and flaming bamboo torches. No, I have no idea why.
When my sister finally gave up on her 70s style Fluffy Ducks, Blue Lagoons and Banana Daiquiris, and made Midori & Lemonade her Christmas Drink of choice. I don't think she has seen her blender since that day.
The year Santa gave Son a Big Dipper tipper truck and track set. The truck made it's way around the construction site track, picking up a handful of small black plastic balls and depositing them elsewhere. My Son decided to deposit one up his nose. I had to buy myself new tweezers as soon as the shops opened after Christmas.
The year I sat on Santa's (my Dad's) lap at a Christmas Party to choose a Kris Kringle present from his sack, and pulled out the gift I had contributed three times in a row. Finally we cheated and looked in the sack so I could get something else.
My first Christmas as a mother. Actually, that's a lie. I don't remember anything, I hadn't slept for the six weeks since Son was born.
The time my mother gave Daughter the ugliest, scariest clown doll any of us had ever seen. It never made it into our house. Somehow it was trapped in the boot of our car for a week and then vanished. There was a reported sighting at a local charity shop, but this was unconfirmed.
The time Daughter was flushed and grumpy because of a urinary tract infection. Multiplied by 6 years.
The time the cat destroyed half the Christmas tree decorations. Multiplied by 17 years.
The time I swore we would go away somewhere by ourselves for next Christmas. Multiplied by 26 years.
Now if you'll excuse me I need to go find the decorations which will be destroyed this year by the Pets of Christmas Present....