Before he even walked into the bar I was in love with him.

We’d met four weeks before on the Internet.  By the time we met we knew virtually everything about each other.  He may have left out that he’ll watch absolutely every sport possible apart from synchronised swimming.  I may have omitted to tell him about my fear of housework and that occasionally I talk/sleepwalk/laugh and leap about in my sleep.

One week into our online banter he sent me a photo of himself.  Today, I can still remember opening that email and looking at him for the first time.  My legs turned to jelly and I knew instantly that he would be my husband.  Who’d have thought that a handsome man sporting an INXS t-shirt with a small child on his knee could have evoked such a reaction.

Three months after our first date we were living together.  In two weeks we’ll be celebrating four years of marriage.  Who knows, we might celebrate by finally picking up our proper wedding photos.  *COUGH*

The last ten years have been the most entertaining, stressful, joyous and personally challenging years of my life.  I can’t think of anyone I would have rather inflicted them on.

Tonight we’ll raise a glass to another ten years.

I used this picture of our wedding day because we looked so very happy, however. I am also a tad shiny.  Great Grandma Driver, approaching her mid eighties, had asked the nice man at the hotel to turn off the air conditioning during our wedding meal.  It was one of the hottest days of the year and she was a bit chilly.  This photo was taken around the moment we realised what she’d done, as everyone started to melt.

I was in the village sandwich shop the other week when I saw a sign for football for 3-6 year old’s. I rang The Husband in excitement and we booked his first session immediately.

Realising that his trainers were too small and his school shoes too, well … non-trainery we went shopping.

On the way to the shopping sheds (as TFMo3 likes to call them) The Husband told me in no uncertain terms that he would be in charge of football gear purchasing.

To be fair he has waited a long time for one of his children to show an interest in sport.  He’s been patient; The Teenager is interested in horse riding and the 5 year old is interested in reading and drawing.  Luckily the 4 year old is interested in anything which involves hitting a ball, kicking a ball, throwing a ball or just generally moving at speed.

We took a fleeting visit to Clarks to get him measured properly and get the 5 year old some new school shoes. I pointed out some really nice Clarks trainers and was mocked (by The Husband) and told that he would be wearing ‘proper’ trainers for football.

Next stop the sports shop. A pair of white (me with a ‘they’ll be ruined in a fortnight’ face) trainers later and The Husband beaming we went home.

Sleeping with his trainers ...

The trainers went on as soon as we got home.

They remained on until bedtime when they were put back in their box and taken to bed with him.

Three weeks later and The Husband is swelling with pride.

Not only is the 4 year old left footed but he scores more goals than anyone else.

And me? I need to put my ‘they’ll be ruined in a fortnight’ face back in my handbag. The trainers are still immaculate and white.

When I started thinking about our Christmas rules I realised that we don’t really have many. 

We are fairly kamikaze in our approach to Christmas and of course very … ahem …  relaxed. 

Really …

Decorations

Before having children we would wait till as late as possible before decorating the tree, on one year not having a tree at all.  Bah humbug. 

Nowadays we I put up our tree as early as possible, the only rule being it is in December.  I whack on the Christmas tunes and let the children decorate the tree.  We buy one new decoration a year for the tree.

When the children are in bed the husband who is a perfectionist redecorates the tree.

Every year without fail the husband will threaten to buy a ‘tasteful’ whicker light up reindeer for the front lawn.  This means he wanders round the garden centres illuminations once a week eyeing them up.  So far no reindeer.  Maybe this is the year.

Christmas Eve

Every Christmas Eve we pile into Teacher Friend Mother of Three’s house for party food and games.  We then go to the neighbouring villages church hall to listen to a brass band (all volunteers) play whilst we sing along.  As we leave the church hall Santa says goodbye and hands us each a piece of fruit whilst holding a banner advertising the local fruit and veg shop. 

Although this is not my activity of choice I have ulterior motives.  Out of the house for approximately five hours the children use up some of their excess excitement and arrive home ready for bed.  I come home feeling REALLY Christmassy. 

The husband has already told me he refuses to attend ‘the dodgy carol singing’ this year and would like to return to his old Christmas Eve ‘out with the lads’. But he won’t.

Children

The children leave a mince pie and beverage of the husband’s choice out for Santa and a carrot or two for the reindeers.

As they are getting ready for bed they will question me relentlessly about how Santa will get down our chimney as we have a gas fire.  I will come over all Paul Daniels and repeatedly say “It’s magic”.

On Christmas Day the children will wake early as usual and open the presents in their stocking on our bed as we try to prise our eyelids open.  We then go downstairs to see if Santa’s been.  There will then be a frenzy of present opening and a lull whilst the husband spends an hour removing various toys from their packaging and assembling them whilst swearing.  It will only be 7am.

The children then get dressed before ringing people who have sent presents.  The 3 year old will remain silent during his part of the phone call whilst I tell the person in a loud voice that he is very grateful.  The 5 year old will rabbit away and confuse anyone who is partially deaf (Gramps).  I will have to go on the phone and translate for the person on the other end of the phone.

The teenager will get socks and pyjamas … amongst other things. Fact.

Christmas Dinner

The husband always does ALL the cooking whilst wearing a festive apron and draining a bottle of Red wine.  He likes it that way and I don’t complain.

Everyone has a scratch card at their table setting and the stepfather in law always wins, sometimes up to £50.

We have sprouts as they are one of my favourite vegetables. 

I eat the most sprouts.

The teenager will humour me by having her one and only sprout of the year.

The mother in law will present her trifle which is unusual as it has pink blamanche in it. She will leave her trifle dish at our house and forget about it until 2 weeks before Christmas when she will collect it.

I will eat lots of trifle.

Later when we have partially digested a massive Christmas dinner we will eat cold leftovers. 

Cold sprouts are delicious. Fact

We try sit down to watch a great Xmas movie, but as usual there aren’t any. Fact.

The night after we moved in I dreamt I was trapped in the cellar, in one of the rooms was an old woman who just stood and stared at me in a Village of the Damned fashion. Since then I have always used the quick in/quick out method when going down there.

On Saturday morning I went down into the cellar to get some washing out of the machine. When I came back upstairs the door was shut and locked.

It was 6.45am. Thinking I was possibly in my very own nightmare I banged on the door like a crazed woman (another reason for the neighbours to harbour ill feeling).

Just before I started hurling myself at the door whilst clutching my husband’s wet underpants and begging the old creepy staring lady to leave me alone the door opened and there stood my lovely cherubic children each wearing their well practised ’It wasn’t me’ faces.

I’m sure as they wandered off after a shaky berating from me I saw them celebrate with a high five.

Innocent Mr Snake violently beheaded in an unprovoked attack

The sight of poor Mr Snake greeted me on Saturday morning, laying lifeless next to the sofa.

I immediately accused the children of the slaying.

They told me it was not them, but, they had witnessed the savage attack. 

With further probing they told me that Daddy was the perpetrator and his weapon of choice … the vacuum cleaner.

RIP Mr Snake.