the truth about christmas crafting

is that it isn't always idyllic. the day had begun badly: we had to go to the townhall to pick up an important document that was supposed to have been sent to Chile weeks ago, and in fact had been, but had failed to arrive, and now it was all really urgent, and the weather dreadfully cold, so i'd bundled us all up to the nines, Isabelle even wore her baklava hat, which is not pink and has no flowers (just to give you an indication of the direness (not a word...) of the situation), and we had to rush, i made her run all the way because i thought they were shutting at 12:00, it was 11:55, but of course they were open till 14:00, and it was crowded as hell, and equally hot, so the baby woke up, he was sweating and screaming, and the baklava girl had cheeks the colour of red balloons, and she was hanging on my coat saying 'i am tired mama, i am tired, can you carry me?' and the baby screaming so loud, i couldn't hear the grinding of my own teeth. anyway. we finally got the document, rushed off to the post office. equally busy. equally hot. waited. some wailing. some gnashing. some hanging limp. it was almost our turn when i realised i hadn't filled in the document yet. was about to start scribbling like mad, but then remembered it had to be done in BLACk pen. not blue. not pink (as kindly suggested by baklava girl). black. started begging around for black pen. entire post-office did not possess a single black pen (not even one i could buy, i was so far gone by then, i would have bought a box of 100 if they'd had them, and screw the no-buying year) (the baby was still wailing...). rushed off outside, ran to the kringloop shop next door, entire kringloop shop did not have black pen either. ran back out onto the street and straight into the extremely beautiful, extremely unapproachable mother-of-two who lives down the street. actually forgot all about terrible shyness and feeling of awe and made her empty her purse on the street in search of black pen. extremely beautiful woman now known forever and ever as the Angel-of-the-black-pen. back to the post-office. scribbled. waited. sent the document. back out into the cold. it started snowing. and blizzarding (not a word). baby stopped wailing from the shock of the cold wind, which made me think it might be a great idea (WAS i thinking??????) to run past a few shops on the way (well, sort of on the way, in any case not altogether at the other end of town) home. never made it to any shop because baby resumed wailing, having gotten over shock. came home. stumbled and fell off the stairs (only three steps). scratched my hand open with my own nail. almost threw hysterical baby out of the windoww. sat down. and decided it was time for some fun christmas crafting.

one thing. one thing off my list was going to be a success today. just this one thing would work out perfectly. exactly as i had imagined it. so we sat there crafting, the two of us (wailing baby no longer wailing but eating own hand on the floor in empty attempt at communicating ravenous hunger). both of us quiet and watchful. me trying to pacify the dragon inside. she lest the dragon spit her way. but then she forgot about the dragon, just a little. because there were pink feathers, and purple ones. 'mama, can we put those in too?'. 'of course bloody not!!!!', roared the dragon inside, 'who ever heard of pink and purple feathers on a christmas wreath???'. but i did not let the dragon speak this time. instead i ran my hand through her hair. 'of course we can, sweetie, of course we can'. picked up the hungry baby. fed it. and the day kept on its slow rolling motion beneath our feet.