Katie Rose Phillips once sang that she saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus, but when I was a little girl I saw him cradling Auntie Cathy’s brand new baby.
The Christmas that falls on a child’s fifth year is special and mine was no exception, old enough to appreciate the rituals, young enough to be utterly suspended in its magic.
This particular season was set to be perfect, my whole family gathered, a little brother to show the ropes to and a bigger one to learn them from. Plus a thick layer of crunchy, snowman-ready snow.
My mother had dressed the house with festive abundance, holly branches draped over all the pictures and a large wreath with pinecones suspended from the front door by a luxurious red ribbon. Everywhere a knick-knack with a story, my brother’s wobbly pottery angel holding miniature candles in her hands, a bauble brought one Wintry day from at tiny shop in London.
Not forgetting the most enormous Christmas tree, that towered above me to the ceiling. It took my father the best part of a morning and (he was quick to add) an afternoon to recover from the exertion of getting it into the hose and ready for decorating. Even my tall Mother had to use a ladder to place the fairy on top.
I handed her the decorations with the care of the keeper of the Crown jewels and with just as much pride. The ceremonial turning on of the lights when the sun had gone down lit me from within too. I was ready for the games to begin.
And so they did. A friends-filled week of mulled wine and mince pies, tobogganing, carol singing and a memorable performance of Jack and the Beanstalk, when the giant pointed to Auntie Cathy’s large tummy in the front row and joked about her not having the baby until the end of the show. Which I couldn’t understand, knowing full well the baby wouldn’t be so silly: we wanted to enjoy Christmas first!
The shaking of the presents occupied every spare minute, whispering and guessing the contents with my brothers. As the ringleader, I was chosen for the task of colouring in my father’s Christmas Day Lunch menu, a tradition that was to continue for many years to come.
I hardly thought we would have room for turkey (with all the trimmings) and a flaming Christmas pudding after consuming all the nuts, Turkish delight and Christmas cake Mum had lain in little dishes on the table next to the log fire, ready for Christmas Day.
But what really intrigued me, the bit I coloured in with extra care in gold pencil, was the ‘Special Guest Appearance’ at the bottom of the menu. I hoped against hope it would be Father Christmas but my parents were giving nothing away; I would have to wait and see.
Luckily, Christmas Eve was so packed I hardly had to time to dwell on I it, with a morning walk in the crystal white fields near our house and a lovely Church service in the afternoon, completed by a tiny nativity scene and a noisy donkey.
Exhausted that night and overcome with the promise of the next day’s excitement I could barely stop my eyes from closing as my brothers and I left the reindeers their peanut snacks under the tree and Father Christmas his glass of sherry.
Of course, I could not unwrap my presents quick enough in the morning, racing downstairs to open the assorted goodies in my hand-sewn stocking before the fun of the day unraveled, all leading up to the moment I had imagined a dozen times already: the arrival of the special guest.
I saw him arrive at the door with his fluffy beard and sack of gifts, bellowing a deep ‘ho ho ho’, bending down to cuddle me in his bright red outfit. He was every bit as impressive as I had hoped, my only disappointment being that Uncle Bill had taken a Christmas gift to our old neighbours next door and was going to miss him!
But just as he was asking if we had been good girls and boys my Aunty Cathy let out a huge moan and there was a flurry of confusion. Suddenly the adults started rushing around and all the children were ushered away to watch ‘A Christmas Carol’ on the T.V.
A commotion filtered through from next door, while in our room my big cousins wanted to know if their Mum was going to be O.K. Eventually, a short silence fell followed by the first cries of a newborn baby.
My mother came to the T.V. room and told us we should come to meet somebody. And there was Father Christmas holding the newest addition to our large family.
‘Is it the baby Jesus?’ I asked, incredulous.
‘No,’ laughed my father. ‘But it is the special guest.’
Christmas is a wonderful time to remember the special people in all our lives; friends and family, near and far. Sending an Ecard is an excellent way to avoid the postal rush, not to mention the seeking out and writing of all those addresses!
At www.katiescards.com I have created a collection of Christmas ecards that are quick to preview and just as easy to send. It’s as straightforward as choosing your favourite E card, personalizing and emailing it, with a low-cost membership to the site that allows you to send Ecards on other occasions also, from birthday ecards to Easter ecards and every special day in-between.
The selection of 20 Christmas ecards includes the telling of the traditional nativity story as well as capturing the season’s mythical charms, with the elves or a magical snow scene, every e-card designed to be a heart-warming greeting to let a loved one know you remember them as they look forward to the New Year.
So why not extend some festive cheer and choose an uplifting Ecard to send to your nearest and dearest this Christmas season?
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